All Her Fault is fantastically well done. All the carefully planted seeds come to fruition. All the narrative cogs turn and interlock fast and seamlessly. You come for the terrifying premise and stay for the absolute pleasure.

Like any mystery worth its salt, All Her Fault does eventually get to a point where we know everything there is to know, and exactly where to place our blame. Its touch of savvy is understanding how easily blame can be dropped on some people or deflected by others, and why we’re so eager to cast it in the first place.

There are many strong performances here; Elliott, Peña and Lillis are particularly good. There are weaker ones, too, partly as a function of the writing; a few characters remain one-dimensional. But the pacing is terrific, and the miniseries understands its genre well, deftly deploying the viewer’s own fluency in narrative conventions against them. “All her Fault” is a tense, entertaining watch.

The soapiest of TV affairs, its every twist and turn so outlandish that each surprise elicits a hearty chuckle.

There’s nothing actually wrong with All Her Fault. But we’re just so tired of these kinds of thrillers that we just don’t have the energy to spare watching rich people in nice kitchens trying to keep their secrets from getting out.

Snook and Fanning deliver memorable and strong performances, but they can't save a series that's a bit too smug about its gotcha moments and less concerned about weaving a compelling narrative with innovative ideas.

So ill-conceived and poorly executed, on so many levels, that it’s hard to know where to start. The writing is mechanical. The plot alternates between obvious and nonsensical. .... If you tune in anyway? It will be nobody’s fault but your own.