The Penguin: Scarface meets Gotham in HBO’s new superhero saga (review).
The Penguin, HBO’s latest foray into Gotham’s delightfully grim underbelly, is a show that proves one thing: the only thing better than watching Colin Farrell slither around in prosthetic makeup is watching him do it while shooting, scheming, and schmoozing his way up the crime ladder. Yes, Gotham’s favourite bird is back, and this time he’s not just waddling—he’s clawing his way to the top with all the grace of a mafia Tony Soprano with a quack.
We pick up where The Batman left off, with Gotham more waterlogged than an episode of Waterworld, and Farrell’s Oswald “Oz” Cobb (because apparently “Cobblepot” just wasn’t “real” enough for modern-day TV) is the latest mobster on the rise. And rise he does—well, after some murderous mishaps, side plots with juvenile delinquents, and awkward family moments that make your average Thanksgiving dinner look like a wholesome episode of The Waltons.
Colin Farrell, as expected, steals the show, channelling the energy of every classic mobster you can think of—Vito Corleone, Scarface, that one guy you owe money to at the pub—but with a disfigured face and an ever-present sneer that’s just… well, perfect. His performance? Emmy-worthy, no doubt. It’s the sort of “give him the award already” vibe that HBO likely bet their entire marketing budget on.
Then there’s Cristin Milioti as Sofia Falcone, playing an Arkham escapee with the charming demeanour of a sociopath who’s just decided that Gotham should be hers too. Of course, we can’t forget the hodgepodge of characters that float in and out of Oz’s orbit. Rhenzy Feliz as Victor Aguilar brings that classic “I’m a teenager, but also a mobster’s enforcer” vibe that really says: “The streets of Gotham just hit different.”
The show has the noir aesthetic nailed—imagine The Sopranos but with slightly more murder and slightly less pasta. It’s dark, gritty, and, at times, seems to revel in the violence for the sheer shock value. Yes, there’s plot, but let’s be honest, we’re all here to see Farrell threaten, strut, and occasionally have an awkward moment with his dementia-stricken mother. That’s the real heart of the show—a grim family dynamic that’s both uncomfortable and surprisingly compelling, giving this series a depth beneath the mobster clichés.
But not everything is top-notch. While Farrell’s Penguin is magnetic, the pacing at times feels sluggish, like Oz himself waddling through some unnecessary plot points. You might wonder: do we really need eight episodes of this? Well, yes and no. If you’re here for the slow-burn character study, this is your jam. If you’re more into Batman flipping through the skyline and kicking butt, maybe not so much.
In short, The Penguin is everything you could want from a Gotham crime saga: violent, stylish, and occasionally a bit too slow for its own good. But with Farrell at the helm, it’s hard not to be completely absorbed in his world of power, bloodshed, and yes, penguins. So, buckle up—Gotham’s about to get messy, and you’ll be grinning the whole way through.
