There is a smugness and a seemingly celebratory tone to the all the excess and privilege surrounding the characters of Ryan Murphy and Bret Easton Ellis’ new Disney+ streaming series, The Shards. Based on Ellis’ semi-autobiographical, metafictional novel of the same name (which originated as a serialized audiobook), The Shards is a coming-of-age horror-thriller set in early 1980s in Los Angeles. It follows a group of wealthy, self-possessed high school seniors during an era when serial killers and cults were in everywhere.

The series is narrated by its protagonist, Bret (Igby Rigney), an aspiring novelist. He narrates the events of his senior year from the future, which allows him to editorialize and to talk with some hindsight about what is to transpire on the show. Bret is a rich kid, whose parents are never home, and lives a life defined by reckless excess – drinking, drug use, and fast driving with his best friends, Susan (Kaia Gerber) and Thom (Graham Campbell), alongside his girlfriend Debbie (Hayes Warner), all who share his same proclivities. Together, they all drink, take drugs, throw massive parties, have a lot of sex, and are completely self-possessed, with barely any adult supervision. But their senior year would be predicated by the arrival of a serial killer known only as “The Trawler,” while cultists have been attacking neighbouring cities and coming ever closer. And all this coincides with a new kid in school, Robert (Homer Gere), who first captures the eye of the gender-fluid Bret, only to quickly transform into his primary nemesis.

Guided by Bret’s narration, we see a world that is very much like any Bret Easton Ellis novel (I’ve read a few and seen some of the movie adaptations of his works). It’s cynical and nihilistic. It parodies but, inadvertently, celebrates the cold, almost dismissive nature of his characters – very gorgeous, very rich, very elitist – which makes them very hard to like or root for. In the first four episodes, they take everything for granted. They smoke and drink and take drugs and feel untouchable. Driving their own expensive cars and have money in excess to throw lavish parties and think they are on top of the world.

Consequently, the arrival of The Trawler and the intermittent mentions of the cultists roaming around their Los Angeles playground, creates tension and fear. Except I found myself actively rooting for their demise rather than hoping for their survival. It is a strange feeling to have on a series that attempts to frame these characters as tragic victims of their own privilege and wealth.

When the initial murders happen, and of course, it is to people around them, I found myself least interested in The Trawler and more excited about finding out when he begins to go after our protagonists, most especially the aloof and intensely self-centered Bret.

True to the signature styles of both Ryan Murphy and Bret Easton Ellis, the entire cast is gorgeous. There’s also quite a lot of nudity and objectification of their bodies – especially the male ones – which can be a draw. As Bret (yes, the lead character has the same name as the author) continues to explore his gender fluidity, he is equally cognizant of the bodies of his friends and the camera follows suit. Murphy, directing the first two episodes, is sure to put the camera right where we can see every taut muscle, every gorgeous smile, every curve of the bodies of his actors and actresses. Yet. despite this intimate lens. it doesn’t humanize them.

The pacing is very good, maintaining a constant sense of something is about to happen. The mystery of Robert and Bret’s obsession with him intersects with Bret’s own fears about The Trawler that we are meant to feel that they are connected; but it will not be that simple. Other than the sex and drugs, the show is also unapologetic to show off the dirtier side of Hollywood; as Debbie’s parents are in showbusiness. Prostitution, implied sex with teens, and other taboos are scattered into the episodes to make a show that is meant to shock us but provide no real profound insight into the state of human nature.

Because the show’s direction refrains from taking a moral stance, it presents these images and situations in a glossy, hyper-charged manner that gives the impression that Murphy and Ellis find this entertaining. The only character who ever almost reaches the precipice of depth is Kaia Gerber’s Susan. She’s a young woman who is growing out of her high school sweetheart, Thom, and is at the edge of growing up but she’s always undermined by her own privilege. She’s the only character I’m rooting for; hoping she’d break through the shallowness of Murphy and Ellis’ world. 

Much like Ellis’ ‘American Psycho,‘ The Shards is obsessed with brand names and standout symbols that signal luxury and status. It is the celebratory tone of all this excess that I find truly disturbing; all amplified by the smugness of the lead character’s narration. He considers himself cool and undeniably important. And the fact that the narration is done in the future, as he looks back into his youth, it leaves a frightening thought that he is going to survive the horrors of this story entirely untamed and unhumbled.

Ultimately, The Shards will be a difficult series to sit through, though I have hate-watched shows before. And the male objectification is done in the usual sensuality that Ryan Murphy is good at; so that’s a bonus (though they are all white people). I’m really hoping for Susan’s character to find growth. That’s the only thing I’m really sticking around for the rest of the season.

My Rating: 2 Stars

Unchecked privilege, serial killers, and 1980s LA excess. Will you survive the thriller of the season? Stream The Shards today, only on Disney+.