Lemony Snicket's A Series Of Unfortunate Events

Hype ahead of this Netflix original show was stoked to stratospheric levels by the clever marketing boffins at the streaming TV giant. Teaser trailers revealing tantalising glimpses of Neil Patrick Harris, unrecognisable as the dastardly Count Olaf, and strategically dropped promos introducing the ill-fated yet endearingly fresh-faced Baudelaire orphans, had fans of the books and the 2004 film adaptation on tenterhooks.

Unfortunately for Netflix, when you fly so high, you have a long way to fall, and despite the efforts of its marketeers, this latest addition to Netflix's stable of original programming has failed to spark the level of enthusiasm earned by recent hits like Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, The Crown or Stranger Things. A Series Of Unfortunate Events is as handsome and well-heeled a series as we've come to expect from Netflix, but ultimately, this serialised incarnation of Lemony Snicket's tale of woe is hampered by some pretty problematic ground-level flaws.

Perhaps most notably, this opening season attempts to deliver a huge amount of exposition to its viewers, while simultaneously trying to be aloof. This stuttering flow of information also seems poorly judged, as surface details eclipse deeper character development. These are complex protagonists, with wants and needs and psychological intricacy to explore, but rather than allowing undercurrents of a more sophisticated reading to percolate through this narrative, we're offered a two-dimensional introduction to Snicket's world.

This show also deals in short, pithy plots that must compete with a broader, series-scale narrative architecture. The effect is disorientating, as the foreground of story shifts between short-order wrap-ups and long-form references. There are some ingenious moments, for example the cadence to one of the more obscure narrative threads featuring an adventuring "Mother" and "Father". It climaxes with a brilliant double bluff, and yet the potency of this punchline is blunted by the tangle of other plot points vying for attention.

Arguably this show's greatest misstep is its identity crisis. It's not sinister enough to be a black comedy and yet it's not whimsical enough to be a fable. It's not pointed enough to be satirical but it's also not edgy enough to be subversive. In its attempts to tap a broad audience it has become at best middle-rank and at worst, frustratingly rudderless. Largely, this debut season seems to be hindered by poor choices, and perhaps this can be forgiven as teething pains. But, if Netflix hopes to replicate the adoration garnered by its previous successes, the second season of the Lemony Snicket saga will need to do a lot of growing up.