Callum reviewed
5 november 2025•
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ – You – Love, Obsession, and the Logic of a Madman
You is a love story told through cracked glass — glossy, obsessive, and disturbingly intimate. It’s the kind of show that makes you realise how thin the line can be between affection and fixation, and how easily one can masquerade as the other when seen through the wrong lens. Penn Badgley’s Joe Goldberg is the perfect unreliable narrator: charming enough to draw you in, unsettling enough to make you wish you hadn’t.
What makes You brilliant isn’t the blood or the bodies — it’s the logic. Joe kills for what he believes are good reasons: protection, justice, love. Each murder is rationalised with a poet’s sincerity and a sociopath’s precision. And yet, as the story unfolds across seasons, we start to see the scaffolding of delusion holding him up. He’s not a monster born — he’s a man built by trauma, loss, and the naive belief that love can justify anything.
Each new woman he meets becomes both muse and mirror, reflecting his madness in fresh shades. He changes cities, names, even moral codes, but the pattern never shifts. He falls, he kills, he repents, he repeats — and we watch, not because we expect redemption, but because we can’t look away from the inevitability of his downfall. Like an air crash investigation, the fascination lies not in if it’ll go wrong, but how.
You captures that strange, uncomfortable brilliance where empathy meets revulsion. It’s beautiful, horrifying, and addictive — a perfect portrait of how love, when warped by obsession, becomes just another form of control.
🥃 Pairing: A glass of old bourbon — smooth, deceptive, and dangerous in the wrong hands, just like Joe himself.
Callum reviewed
5 november 2025•
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ – You – Love, Obsession, and the Logic of a Madman
You is a love story told through cracked glass — glossy, obsessive, and disturbingly intimate. It’s the kind of show that makes you realise how thin the line can be between affection and fixation, and how easily one can masquerade as the other when seen through the wrong lens. Penn Badgley’s Joe Goldberg is the perfect unreliable narrator: charming enough to draw you in, unsettling enough to make you wish you hadn’t.
What makes You brilliant isn’t the blood or the bodies — it’s the logic. Joe kills for what he believes are good reasons: protection, justice, love. Each murder is rationalised with a poet’s sincerity and a sociopath’s precision. And yet, as the story unfolds across seasons, we start to see the scaffolding of delusion holding him up. He’s not a monster born — he’s a man built by trauma, loss, and the naive belief that love can justify anything.
Each new woman he meets becomes both muse and mirror, reflecting his madness in fresh shades. He changes cities, names, even moral codes, but the pattern never shifts. He falls, he kills, he repents, he repeats — and we watch, not because we expect redemption, but because we can’t look away from the inevitability of his downfall. Like an air crash investigation, the fascination lies not in if it’ll go wrong, but how.
You captures that strange, uncomfortable brilliance where empathy meets revulsion. It’s beautiful, horrifying, and addictive — a perfect portrait of how love, when warped by obsession, becomes just another form of control.
🥃 Pairing: A glass of old bourbon — smooth, deceptive, and dangerous in the wrong hands, just like Joe himself.
