Wayward Series Review: An Atmosphere Suspended Between Idyll and Nightmare

Wayward Series Review: Wayward, a miniseries on Netflix in eight episodes, created by and starring Mae Martin, is a difficult narrative creature to define. Is it a thriller? A psychological horror? A satire? It’s actually all of these things together – and none at all. Set in 2003 in a seemingly quiet small town in Vermont, the series mixes the disturbing tone of Twin Peaks with the social satire of Nine Perfect Strangers, telling a story of institutionalized manipulation, abuse disguised as therapy, and teenagers forced to deal with trauma that they didn’t choose. Martin guides us into a world where the line between help and coercion is thin, where good intentions are often masks for control dynamics, and where rebellion is an act of survival. Mystery, psychological tension, and reflections on the fragility of adolescence are at the basis of a project created by actress and comedian Mae Martin, already appreciated for the comedy “Feel Good”. A dark and disturbing journey into the secrets of a small, seemingly quiet community: welcome to Tall Pines.

Mae Martin had already made himself known with Feel Good, a semi-autobiographical series distributed by Netflix that combined irony and introspection to tell about relationships, addictions, and queer identities. There, his gaze was intimate, fragile, and personal, supported by a humor that balanced the darkest moments. With Wayward, Martin attempts a broader leap: building an ensemble thriller in which his voice intertwines with very different registers and genres, from provincial mystery to family drama. The ambition is evident: to bring its cherished themes –identity, youth distress, internal conflicts – into a more mainstream narrative structure. The result, however, appears unclear: the story is lost and often seems to follow more the dictates of Netflix seriality than a precise vision. The first episode of Wayward opens with intriguing questions: the isolated city, the suspicious academy, an enigmatic director, and a disoriented policeman. All elements that recall a well-codified imagination, from Twin Peaks to Wayward Pines, passing through From with an unsuspected quote to Midsommar by Ari Aster. The spectator is pushed to seek answers, to expect gray areas and secrets capable of overturning certainties. 

Wayward Series Review: The Story Plot

At the center of it all is Evelyn Wade, played with unsettling precision by Toni Collette. Her character is the founder of Tall Pines Academy, a school for “difficult” teenagers that, under the guise of a therapeutic oasis immersed in nature, hides mind control practices and a cult culture. Evelyn is not the usual thriller villain: her charisma is real, her language familiar, even affectionate, and her power derives precisely from this ambiguity. Collette alternates manipulative sweetness and ruthless frost with a naturalness that disturbs more than any explicit gesture. His gaze is enough to create tension, and his presence elevates every scene. She is the focus of the disturbing atmosphere that permeates the series.

Wayward Series Review and Analysis

Tall Pines is the perfect place… on the surface. White houses, smiling neighbors, organic markets, a progressive community that welcomes a new trans cop and his pregnant partner without question. But it is precisely this artificial perfection that generates restlessness. Euros Lyn’s direction masterfully exploits the natural beauty of landscapes to amplify the sense of alienation: each scene, even the quietest, is accompanied by a sound that seems out of place, a visual detail that is not convincing, a sensation that something is about to break. The sound design, made up of amplified noises and prolonged silences, contributes to creating a dreamlike, almost hypnotic atmosphere, where reality always seems on the verge of slipping into a nightmare.

Wayward’s true horror is not supernatural: he is profoundly human. The Tall Pines Academy embodies the darker side of a real and thriving American industry, that of recovery centers for rebellious teenagers. Boys and girls are torn from their homes at night, locked up in isolated facilities, and subjected to “treatment” that often borders on psychological – and sometimes physical violence. Therapeutic language is distorted and used as a control tool: every emotion is analyzed, every rebellion punished, every form of emotional bond interrupted in the name of an alleged healing. The series not only shows but constantly suggests that these mechanisms are part of a larger system, accepted and normalized by adults who just want to get rid of “problematic” children.

A giving voice to broken adolescence are Leila and Abbie, two Canadian girls who find themselves, against their will, inside the Academy. Their friendship is the most authentic and touching element of the series. Leila, marked by family bereavement and a self-destructive use of soft drugs, is the most impulsive; Abbie, more thoughtful and calmer, is guilty only of being her friend. The two find themselves immersed in a universe where human contact is forbidden, caresses are punished, and absolute obedience is the only way to salvation. Their determination not to bend, to seek and protect themselves, becomes the most powerful gesture of rebellion. Alyvia Alyn Lind and Sydney Topliffe offer sincere, intense interpretations that keep the emotionality of the story going even in moments when the plot becomes more dispersed.

The character of Alex, played by Martin, is a policeman marked by a traumatic past, looking for a new beginning in a place that promises hospitality but hides threats. Alex is not a traditional hero: he is an observer, a survivor, a trans man struggling to maintain control over an identity that the community says it accepts but actually tries to encompass. The series itself, like its protagonist, is constantly changing; it oscillates between genres, changes tone, and reinvents itself from episode to episode. It is a story about transition –personal, narrative, social – and never tries to arrive at a definitive form. It is a metaphor about growth, pain, and the refusal to accept that certain traumas can be “cured” by manuals or dogmas. The ending of Wayward doesn’t offer great answers. There is no textbook twist, nor a revelation that explains everything. It is an epilogue consistent with the path of the series: suspended, ambiguous, deliberately incomplete. For some viewers, it will be a fascinating choice; for others, a frustration. But it’s this tension between what’s shown and what’s kept quiet that makes Wayward a unique work in the current landscape of Netflix series, often too prone to shut everything down in reassuring narrative packages. Here, however, we are left with open questions and a persistent sense of unease.

There are initially two narrative lines presented to the viewer in Wayward: Rebels: on the one hand there is the story of Abbie (Sydney Topliffe) and Leila (Alyvia Alyn Lind), two Canadian best friends teenagers who would like to escape far away and have family situations that don’t enhance them; on the other we find that of Alex (Mae Martin), a police officer who had an accident on duty, and Laura (Sarah Gadon), originally from those parts who returns home to start over, pregnant. Leila is considered “bad company” for Abbie and has a painful past in which he had to deal with the death of a loved one. She is not the only one of the protagonists to have a secret trauma in your family’s past: the same goes for Evelyn and also for Alex and Laura. The guru would like to be everyone’s mother, and indeed, maternity will play a fundamental role in the development of events. Toni Collette is definitely the right casting choice for such a complex and ambivalent role, but at the same time, wasted on such a rough script and character development.

The suggestions that the staging would like to create, moving in terrain that is not exactly supernatural, remain on the surface: the viewer doesn’t get the magical realism or the same mystery behind the secrets of Tall Pines’ characters. Not even the retro soundtrack or some aesthetic choices are attractive, which would like to exploit the darkness of the apparently infinite woods in the Wayward area. As a further level of reading, it must be said that the Tall Pines Academy is part of a deeply felt reality in the United States: the problem adolescent industry (also known by the acronym TTI). Inside, there are various residential programs for young people aimed at teenagers in difficulty, labeled precisely as “problematic”. The term includes various facilities and courses, including treatment centers in nature, training camps, and therapeutic colleges. Boys and girls may have learning and emotion management difficulties, mental illness, and substance addiction. An environment that has met with many scandals over the years due to child abuse, institutional corruption, and even deaths, resulting in it being extremely controversial.

As the episodes pass, however, the series changes. What promised to be a dark mystery turns into a school teen drama, with affective and relational dynamics typical of Netflix’s YA products. Youth rebellions, small sentimental dramas, and the search for identity end up having more space than the starting mystery. Added to this is a parallel strand of family drama. The result is a hybrid story, which attempts to touch too many registers without really delving into any of them. Wayward addresses a multitude of issues: adolescence and its fragilities, youth traumas, worn-out family relationships, sexual identity, and a sense of alienation in small communities, complete with references to Manson’s “family. Important themes, which, however, always end up being treated in the same way, following the narrative scheme typical of the most recent Netflix productions. The comparison with the series taken from The Institute of Stephen King is inevitable: the same frame of boys forced into an academy, the same tension related to control and rebellion. The difference is that The Institute had incursions into the paranormal on its side, capable of giving the plot a further dimension. Wayward, instead, remains anchored to realism and chooses not to dare: the narrative always remains on the surface.

Toni Collette manages, as often happens, to transform a potentially stereotyped character into a complex, charismatic, and disturbing figure. Mae Martin brings a credible cop to the screen, torn between private life and a sense of duty, Sarah Gadon in a mysterious and stratified role, and he is the most in-depth character whose events are interesting to follow. Together with the cast of adults, the two young women join Alyvia Alyn Lind and Sydney Topliffe, protagonists of the YA side of the series. The biggest problem concerns the secondary characters: often functional to the plot, but without real development. The chorality promised at the beginning never finds a balance, and the coexistence between the various narrative strands appears forced. Wayward is a series that could have dared more. The first episode revealed a dark and layered plot, capable of evoking the great American mysteries. Over time, however, the series chooses the most predictable path, embracing teen drama and family drama without real depth. A product that entertains and maintains a good acting level, but which fails to stand out in the crowded panorama of Netflix series.

Wayward Series Review: The Last Words

Wayward is an original and disturbing miniseries, sinking into the heart of repressed adolescence and social control mechanisms. Alternating dark tones, surreal humor, and references to cinema and TV cults, it builds a disturbing but fascinating universe. It is an imperfect series, but deeply alive, where interpretations and atmospheres matter more than narrative responses. A journey into manipulation, resistance, and difficult self-search. The first episode revealed a dark and layered plot, capable of evoking the great American mysteries. Over time, however, the series chooses the most predictable path, embracing teen drama and family drama without real depth. A product that entertains and maintains a good acting level, but which fails to stand out in the crowded panorama of Netflix series.

Cast: Mae Martin, Toni Collette, Sarah Gadon, Alyvia Alyn Lind, Sydney Topliffe, Isolde Ardies, Brandon Jay McLaren, Tattiawna Jones

Creator: Mae Martin

Streaming Platform: Netflix

Filmyhype.com Ratings: 3/5 (three stars)