TL;DR: Harlan Coben’s Lazarus is a moody, supernatural murder mystery that gives the Coben formula a welcome jolt of weirdness. It’s uneven and occasionally predictable, but the performances and eerie atmosphere make it worth the binge.
Lazarus
Let’s be honest — at this point, Harlan Coben’s name showing up on a new TV series feels like spotting a Marvel post-credit scene. You know the tone, you know the rhythm, and you’re already predicting who’s going to disappear, reappear, or secretly be their own twin. But every now and then, amid the Coben Cinematic Universe’s steady output of middle-class mysteries and suspicious neighbors, something strange happens: the formula mutates.
That’s what Lazarus — Coben’s first full-fledged Prime Video collaboration with BAFTA-winner Danny Brocklehurst — attempts to do. It’s a supernatural thriller draped in noir shadows, with Sam Claflin and Bill Nighy giving it more emotional heft than the script sometimes deserves. It’s equal parts The Sixth Sense and Broadchurch, with a dash of The Haunting of Hill House’s dreamy grief aesthetic. The result isn’t perfect, but it’s far fresher than Coben’s last few Netflix outings — and, shockingly, it has a pulse.
Ghosts, Guilt, and Daddy Issues: What Lazarus Is Really About
Sam Claflin plays Joel Lazarus, a forensic psychologist whose life implodes after his father Jonathan (Bill Nighy, dignified as ever) dies by apparent suicide. But this is a Coben show, so of course “suicide” means “definitely not that.” Soon, Joel’s spending his nights in his late father’s study, brooding over cryptic notes, dusty case files, and possibly haunted furniture.
And then things get weird.
Joel starts seeing patients who shouldn’t exist — specifically one who’s been dead for decades. The more he digs into his father’s past, the more the line between memory and hallucination blurs. Oh, and did I mention his sister was murdered 25 years ago, and the killer was never caught? Because of course she was.
It’s grief, guilt, and ghosts all tangled together — but Lazarus’s big trick is how it balances all those threads without collapsing under its own melodrama. Instead of a straight procedural, it’s a haunted detective story where the biggest mystery might be whether our protagonist is losing his mind.
Sam Claflin Finally Gets the Spotlight He Deserves
I’ll say this right up front: Lazarus works almost entirely because of Sam Claflin. The man’s been waiting years for a role that lets him actually act — not just smolder (Peaky Blinders) or swoon (Me Before You). Here, he’s messy, exhausted, and believably fraying at the edges. Joel’s constantly torn between his forensic instincts and his emotional implosion, and Claflin nails that sense of barely-contained panic.
His chemistry with Bill Nighy is the show’s beating heart. Their scenes — equal parts love, resentment, and intellectual sparring — feel like two generations of trauma politely refusing to blink first. Nighy brings a cryptic, almost spectral weight to Jonathan Lazarus, making you question whether he’s haunting Joel or just living rent-free in his head.
Alexandra Roach, meanwhile, brings some badly needed warmth as Joel’s late sister Jenna. Even when she’s appearing in dreamlike visions, she grounds the story with humanity — like the one person in the show who remembers what joy looks like.
A Fresh Take on the Coben Formula
Let’s face it — the Coben brand was starting to feel algorithmic. A missing person, a long-buried secret, a perfectly nice cul-de-sac hiding sociopaths. Lazarus flips that template by adding a supernatural current that actually works. Instead of the usual “domestic noir,” we get a grief-soaked ghost story that leans more psychological than procedural.
The directing team, led by Wayne Yip (Doctor Who, The Wheel of Time), commits to the weirdness. Those eerie, dreamlike sequences — flickering lights, impossible reflections, whispers in the wallpaper — give Lazarus a texture most Coben series lack. The cinematography glides between realism and fever dream with unnerving fluidity.
Sure, some of the ghostly moments feel overexplained by the finale (Coben can’t resist an exposition dump), but the show at least earns its surreal turns. It’s refreshing to see a thriller willing to admit that horror and mystery can play nice together.
Not Quite Dead, But Definitely Uneven
Now, let’s talk about where Lazarus stumbles — because, yeah, it stumbles. The pacing in the middle episodes dips like a rollercoaster losing momentum on the incline. A few “shocking” reveals land a bit too neatly, and one major twist will be spotted a mile away by anyone who’s seen two or more Coben shows.
That said, when Lazarus hits, it hits hard. The first two episodes are masterfully tense — eerie, slow-burn storytelling that feels genuinely cinematic. The finale swings for the fences, wrapping up the core mysteries in a way that’s both satisfying and a little bit nuts. You can almost hear Coben whispering, “You didn’t see that coming,” as if daring you to argue.
The show also benefits from an unusually tight edit for a streaming thriller. While it could’ve easily bloated into an eight-episode slog, the six-part format keeps things (mostly) lean.
The Supernatural Element Saves It
The big win here? Lazarus leans into the uncanny instead of running from it. We’ve seen plenty of grief-fueled detective dramas before (Marcella, The Missing, Sharp Objects), but few that flirt this openly with the paranormal without going full ghost story. The way Lazarus treats its supernatural elements — half metaphor, half menace — keeps it from sinking into cliché.
Coben and Brocklehurst manage to find that sweet spot where trauma, guilt, and the inexplicable all coexist. Even if the logic occasionally wobbles, the mood never does. The result is a dark, meditative thriller that feels like if David Lynch directed an ITV crime show.
Verdict: Lazarus Isn’t a Masterpiece, But It’s a Damn Good Resurrection
Lazarus isn’t the second coming of the mystery genre, but it is proof that Coben still has some creative life left in him. Anchored by a phenomenal Sam Claflin performance and spiked with genuinely creepy supernatural moments, it’s an uneven but rewarding watch.
You might roll your eyes at a few familiar beats, but you’ll stick around for the atmosphere — and the nagging sense that, for once, Harlan Coben is less interested in shocking you and more interested in haunting you.
