TL;DR: House of Guinness is Steven Knight’s Irish answer to Succession, with Peaky Blinders flair. Messy at times, but compelling throughout, it’s one of Netflix’s better historical dramas in recent years.

Steven Knight has always been fascinated by the way power eats people alive. Whether it’s the razor-cap gangsters of Peaky Blinders or the reckless soldiers of SAS: Rogue Heroes, he takes groups of men and women, drops them into the furnace of history, and watches them either sharpen into diamonds or crack apart completely. His new Netflix series House of Guinness is no exception, though here, instead of smoke-filled betting shops or military barracks, the battleground is a family dynasty suddenly without its patriarch.

If you’ve ever thought Succession would be even more chaotic if it were set in 1868 Dublin, that’s essentially the pitch. But what could have been a lazy mash-up—Peaky Blinders with fancier waistcoats—becomes something richer thanks to Knight’s fingerprints and the show’s strong Irish identity.

A Family Divided Before the Battle Even Begins

The show opens with the sudden death of Benjamin Guinness, founder of the brewing empire that already dominates Ireland and much of Europe. His four children are left to sort through grief, legacy, and the crushing weight of responsibility they’re neither ready for nor aligned on.

Arthur (Anthony Boyle), the eldest, is already halfway gone—living in London, sneering at the family name, dragged back only by the reading of the will. Edward (Louis Partridge) is the idealist, the reluctant heir whose modern ideas about labor rights make him both admirable and dangerously naïve. Anne (Emily Fairn) is the overlooked sibling, shunted aside by virtue of her gender despite having the clearest head of the lot. And Benjamin Jr. (Fionn O’Shea) is the family liability, a young man undone by indulgence and arrested development.

The will, naturally, complicates everything. Arthur and Edward are bound to share power, Anne is excluded, and Benjamin Jr. is cut off with a humiliating allowance. Immediately, the question isn’t who will lead, but whether the family can survive at all.

Power, Politics, and an Ireland on the Edge

What makes House of Guinness feel more than just a glossy period melodrama is the way it roots its drama in Ireland’s 19th-century turmoil. The Guinness name is not simply a brand—it’s a symbol of privilege, of ties to the British Crown, of the widening gap between those with wealth and those fighting for independence.

Enter the Fenians, an underground nationalist movement determined to strike at the empire wherever they can. Among them are Ellen and Patrick Cochrane, siblings whose mission runs parallel to the Guinness heirs: protect their own, fight for a future, risk everything in the process. Where the Guinness children squabble over a fortune, the Cochranes squabble over survival. That duality—family as both strength and weakness—gives the show its most compelling tension.

The political dimension also broadens the canvas. House of Guinness isn’t just about inheritance squabbles; it’s about what happens when private dynasties collide with public revolutions. Knight thrives in these spaces where history breathes down the characters’ necks, and he doesn’t waste the opportunity here.

Performances That Carry the Drama

House of Guinness benefits from an ensemble that feels both fresh and deeply rooted in the story’s Irish setting.

Anthony Boyle delivers a standout turn as Arthur, weaponizing arrogance to cover for insecurity, playing the reluctant heir with a mix of charm and venom. Louis Partridge, often cast in softer roles, surprises with his portrayal of Edward, capturing both the appeal and futility of his idealism. Emily Fairn might steal the whole show as Anne—her quiet frustration and occasional flashes of steel provide some of the series’ most affecting scenes. And while Benjamin Jr. risks being reduced to a caricature, O’Shea finds moments of rawness that hint at more.

Supporting players add even more texture. Jack Gleeson (yes, Joffrey himself) reemerges as a cunning negotiator, slipping between menace and charm. James Norton’s Sean Rafferty radiates the kind of dangerous charisma that makes you believe he could bend a city to his will. And Danielle Galligan brings wit and presence to Lady Olivia Hedges, Arthur’s arranged partner, who proves every bit his equal in sharpness

The Knight Formula, Refined but Not Perfected

Stylistically, House of Guinness bears the hallmarks of Knight’s work: anachronistic music choices, stylized visual flourishes, and a willingness to blend grit with glamour. What differentiates it from Peaky Blinders, however, is how much more distinctly Irish it feels. Characters slip into their native language, subtitles splash across the screen like ink, and the soundtrack balances punk with folk. It’s history with personality, refusing to sink into the stuffiness that often plagues period dramas.

That said, the show stumbles in its structure. Eight episodes should be lean, but pacing issues creep in. Subplots are introduced and then abandoned, particularly in the back half of the season, where Anne and Benjamin Jr. feel pushed to the margins. Time jumps appear without warning, leaving viewers disoriented and sometimes robbed of key developments. The result is a show that feels sharp and confident in some episodes, scattered and distracted in others.

Why It Still Works

Despite those flaws, House of Guinness succeeds because it commits fully to its world and characters. The central family drama is gripping, the political backdrop gives it stakes beyond sibling rivalry, and the performances are consistently compelling. It doesn’t always balance its ensemble gracefully, but when it hits, it hits hard.

What lingers after the finale isn’t just the intrigue of inheritance, but the broader question Knight always circles back to: what does power do to people? In this case, the Guinness siblings are a reminder that legacy can be as much a curse as it is a gift.

Verdict: 

A gripping family drama that blends Succession’s sibling warfare with Ireland’s turbulent history. It’s flawed, yes—but still fascinating, with performances that elevate even the uneven stretches.