Ready for some deliciously bad TV based on a deliciously bad book? Of course you are! It’s peak summer, the air’s thick with possibility—so settle onto your couch and get ready to binge this eight-part adaptation of Alexandre Dumas’ outrageous potboiler The Count of Monte Cristo.
This series, helmed by Greg Latter and Sandro Petraglia, stars Sam Claflin (who you might remember from Daisy Jones and the Six) as Edmond Dantès, one of history’s most wronged men. And boy, does he suffer.
So do we. The first two episodes (a third was available, but the site kept crashing—maybe for my own good) are something else. The plot? Simple enough. Ridiculous, sure—that’s what keeps you flipping through the book’s 1,300 pages—but straightforward once you accept that believability isn’t the priority.
We’re in France, 1815. Napoleon’s escaping Elba, gearing up for his brief comeback. Meanwhile, our hero Dantès ticks off a fellow sailor, Danglars (Blake Ritson), by getting promoted over him. (A lifetime of name jokes probably made Danglars extra prickly—bad luck for Dantès.) He also angers Fernand Mondego (Harry Taurasi) by stealing the heart of his cousin Mercédès (Ana Girardot), whom Fernand had his eye on.
So Danglars and Fernand team up to frame Dantès for treason. With help from Marseille’s corrupt deputy prosecutor, Gérard de Villefort (Mikkel Boe Følsgaard), they succeed. Before you can say “What a bunch of scoundrels!”, Dantès is tossed into a carriage, then a cell in an island fortress, where he rots for a decade with only maggoty gruel for company. Claflin sells the despair—and the descent into madness—with the help of a truly awful long wig.
But then! A tapping from the cell wall. It’s Abbé Faria (Jeremy Irons), tunneling his way in. The abbot schools Dantès, shares an escape plan, and for five years, they chip away at the wall between them and freedom. Faria also pieces together the betrayal, fueling Dantès’ thirst for revenge—though he’ll have to wait until he’s out of Château Maggot to act on it.
Just as they’re about to break free, the abbot has a stroke. With his last strength, he delivers a 40-minute monologue about a scrap of parchment in his pocket—a map to treasure buried on Monte Cristo. He bequeaths it to Dantès, then kicks the bucket. Dantès swaps places with the corpse, sews himself into Faria’s body bag, and gets tossed off the battlements into the sea. Freedom!
Two problems:
1. We’re only a quarter through. Still to come: finding the treasure, becoming the Count, tricking Parisian high society, murders, financial schemes, duels, poisonings, blackmail, embezzlement—you name it. Either the story’s been butchered, or we’re barreling toward incoherence.
2. The script. You’ll pause every 45 seconds to groan at lines like “If we can’t survive this storm, we’ll die.” Some are truly baffling. Did Dantès really tell the abbot, “I’d like to add two hours to my digging time”? Did the abbot really gasp, “You’ve kept this watch all this time?” at Mercédès’ gift?
Yes. Yes, he did.Of course! What else could he do? Lose it in his cramped little cell? Hand it to a passing mouse? Toss it out the window in a sudden burst of minimalist zeal? (To be fair, many of the performances are also bad, but let’s be generous and blame most of that on the direction.)
These glaring absurdities slow the pacing, which should be swift and intense to match Dumas’ own style—and to keep viewers from overthinking the characters. But their sheer foolishness has its own charm. Once the technical issues settle, I’ll gladly watch more episodes. The Count of Monte Cristo aired on U&Drama.
