A Series of Unfortunate Events Review

A mini-series is quite tricky to execute. On one hand, it has to contend with not being long enough to be a full show, but also too long to be a movie. On the other hand, it has to find that sweet-spot between the two. Factor in budget limitations, and you’re left to juggle good storytelling with restrictions and time-constraints. It’s a tough balancing act, one that not every mini-series can pull off.

My name is Zachary Perlmutter, and it’s my solemn duty to discuss the Netflix adaptation of A Series of Unfortunate Events. All pretence aside, I’ve been following this series for over three years, with my excitement beginning prior to Season 1. It had a solid premise, a strong cast, and it was being made for serialized streaming. Considering that the 13 books this show was based on were already serialized, it made more sense to adapt them into a mini-series instead of jamming them into 4 or 5 films. There’d also be more room to let the story breathe this way.

A Series of Unfortunate Events, for those unfamiliar, follows the lives of Violet, Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire, three intelligent children who are tragically orphaned when their mansion burns in a mysterious fire. Initially sent to a creepy, distant relative named Count Olaf, their situation gets worse when it’s revealed that Olaf wants to marry Violet so he can get his hands on their inheritance. The rest of the story involves the Baudelaires travelling from place to place in hopes of refuge, all-the-while being pursued by Olaf in a variety of phoney disguises. They also soon discover a secret organization that may be linked to their parents’ deaths. But what is this organization, and why’s Count Olaf so interested in their fortune?

A Series of Unfortunate Events is a collaborative effort between Daniel Handler, the author of the books, and show-runner Barry Sonnenfeld, whose repertoire includes the Men in Black and Addams Family films. Many long-running stories tend to get muddied with conflicting artists’ visions, so having everything overseen by two or three people often makes for a more cohesive end product. This is definitely the case here, as everything about this 25-episode series, right down to its aesthetic and tone, is consistent. Nothing feels wasted either, which is a plus.

The most-striking part is the cast. Ignoring the three leads, who are fantastic in their own right, A Series of Unfortunate Events has many character actors in side and primary roles, and they all bring their A-game. Whether it be famous stars, like Cobie Smulders and Nathan Fillion, or lesser-known stars, like K. Todd Freeman and Aasif Mandvi, no one is wasted or miscast. Perhaps the two stand-outs are Neil Patrick Harris and Patrick Warburton as Count Olaf and Lemony Snicket respectively. In the case of the former, Harris is clearly enjoying himself, hamming it up while simultaneously flexing his villainous chops. For the latter, Warburton breaks from his tough guy typecasting and delivers his deadpan monologues with enough grace to distract from how funny it is to hear him say them.

It helps that this show is unbelievably kitschy. Constant call-backs to espionage aside, every episode oozes with silliness, which makes it easier to swallow how dark and depressing the story is. Considering all the terrible events, tragedies, false starts and red herrings the Baudelaires regularly contend with, having no levity would make watching this show that much more unpleasant. Though, to be fair, this show is still an exercise in schadenfreude.

The intrigue is also really effective. As the episodes progress, you get a sense that there’s a much bigger picture than initially let on. The Baudelaires quickly discover that their parents were part of a bigger, more secretive organization, one with members all over the world. But who is this organization, and why did it collapse so abruptly? Each time you think you’ve learned a little more about what’s really going on, the rug is quickly pulled out from underneath you, until, like the Baudelaires, you’re left in the dark once more. It’s frustrating, it’s nail-biting and it’s brilliant.

One last point of note is the music, thanks to head composer James Newton Howard and songwriters Nick Urata and Handler himself. Their work-whether it’s the opening jingle warning to “look away”, or the tracks played in-show-makes A Series of Unfortunate Events as melodically fun as the writing. And it’s all memorable in some fashion.

That’s not to say the show’s perfect. Ignoring its cheap production value, because Netflix always puts budget restrictions on what they green-light, the writing’s incredibly on-the-nose. The characters routinely espouse what they’re feeling to the audience, which can be grating at times to sit through. Additionally, Warburton’s narration, though funny, tends to drone on. It’s not a deal-breaker, I adjusted quickly, but it could turn some viewers off.

The show can also feel padded. Because each book’s adapted into two episodes each, save for the finale, lots of filler is needed. Events that moved faster in the books take longer in the show, with ancillary material from Handler’s All the Wrong Questions filling in much of the cracks. It also doesn’t help that, after a while, the writing starts feeling formulaic.

Finally, for as dark as it is, I’d have liked if the emotional beats had more weight. Plenty of grim deaths and horrible situations occur throughout the show’s 25 episodes, yet none of them are given time to breathe. This is something that the 2004 movie, flawed as it was, understood how to do, and that was considerably shorter. Still, the finale more than makes up for it with a real heartbreaker, so it’s not a full loss.

Would I recommend A Series of Unfortunate Events? That depends on your tolerance for enjoying schadenfreude. I liked it enough to recommend it, since it kept picking my brain, and its underlying message about adversity in trying situations is welcomed, but whether or not you can tolerate the kitsch and unsubtle writing is up to you. Personally, I’m glad it exists, flaws and all.