The eight-part adaptation of Julia May Jonas’s provocative 2022 debut novel of the same name has not shied away from the properties that made the book great – black comedy, bleak insight, evisceration of accepted pieties – and fitted them perfectly to the new form.

It’s such fun. Awash with academic ego and sexual brinkmanship, it leans into the main character’s obsessiveness and makes us almost complicit in ways that feel naughty, grown-up and sophisticated — quite rare for a Netflix show these days but hugely welcome.

“Vladimir” works because it is indeed funny and sexy but also because it has fully developed, complicated characters — the too-smart-for-their-own-good sort that are having a hell of a time sorting out their lives.

The zany, farcical, HOT MESS of the first seven episodes culminates in a satisfying eighth—that’s cheeky and ultimately about reclaiming power. Not everyone will make it past the first seven, though. If you do, a wink and an arched brow will be waiting for you.

[An] over-long, repetitive, and scattershot affair which takes satiric aim at various targets and, to a tee, misses them all.

Much like M, it gets so caught up in proving its own relevancy, it overlooks the core principles of a good story. Obscurity awaits the show. Luckily, the book is still there, and infinitely better.

Ms. Weisz is shortchanged by the material, which likely wouldn’t be improved by, say, a snappier delivery. Or a less self-absorbed M. Everyone seems to be trying too hard, with the exception of Mr. Slattery, which is why he’s the best thing here.