His name is Ripley. Tom Ripley. A character so slippery he could glide through an Italian palazzo without leaving a trace. Now he’s back in black and white on Netflix — and it feels cold, beautiful, and utterly seductive.
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Disclaimer: Apropos Magazine received access or a review copy. As always, we share our own impressions — unfiltered.
Six stars
Ripley is not just another true-crime pastiche where we’re supposed to guess who the killer is. We know from the start. It’s Tom. And he does it with such calm and such style that you almost forget we’re talking about murder. Based on Patricia Highsmith’s books, the series is equal parts Hitchcock and high fashion.
Andrew Scott is hypnotic as Ripley. This isn’t a role he plays — it’s a state of being. He is both victim and predator, narcissist and comfort addict. You don’t know whether you want to hide from him or walk home with him. And perhaps that is exactly what makes it all so disturbingly intense.
Johnny Flynn, as the well-dressed daddy’s boy Dicky Greenleaf, is the perfect counterweight. Rich, restless, and so privileged that he doesn’t notice when someone tries to kill him — until it’s too late. Their relationship is like a slow duel in pastel shirts and lethal passive aggression.
The series is shot in black and white, but nothing about it is black and white. It’s a slow-motion nightmare wrapped in architectural perfection and Italian sea views. Every image is a composition, every scene a framed lie. You can feel the cold in Ripley’s stare and the sweat in your own palm.
And it moves slowly. Deliberately. This is a series that pulls you down — not in a rush of suspense, but in a controlled, manipulative dance where every step feels like a small confession.
Are there flaws? Of course. Some of the supporting roles feel like set dressing. And the pace will no doubt send the speed-hungry running for the remote. But that’s part of the premise. Ripley isn’t for everyone. It’s for those who like their evil well dressed.
Reflection
Ripley is not just a series. It’s a study in control, shame, and beauty. It doesn’t ask whether you sympathize with the killer — it simply assumes you do. And somehow, you do too. Maybe because we all have a little Ripley in us — a part that wants to be seen, loved, respected. Whatever the cost.
5 out of 5 Apropos stars. Because crime has never looked this good.
