TL;DR: Malice is a glossy, addictive psychological thriller that blends the wicked humor of The White Lotus with the stylish sociopathy of The Talented Mr. Ripley. Jack Whitehall surprises in his first major dramatic role, while David Duchovny absolutely steals the show as a charismatic billionaire with more skeletons than storage space. It’s bingeable, chaotic, and the perfect holiday-season escape into the lives of fabulously messy rich people.
Malice
I’ll be honest: if you’d asked me back in January to fill out a 2025 TV bingo card, “Jack Whitehall becomes the world’s most chaotic manny opposite David Duchovny on a sun-drenched Greek island” would’ve been somewhere between “Christopher Nolan directs a Muppets movie” and “Netflix stops canceling excellent shows after one season.” And yet—here we are. And honestly? I’m having a ridiculously good time.
Because Malice, Prime Video’s glossy psychological thriller, is the kind of show that feels like it was genetically engineered in a lab stocked with sunscreen, martinis, and all 17 editions of Patricia Highsmith’s collected works. Imagine The White Lotus and The Talented Mr. Ripley had a morally ambiguous baby, who was then raised by a nanny with a suspiciously perfect resume and a talent for Greek mythology trivia, and you’re somewhere in the right zip code.
In this bingeable fever dream, Jack Whitehall plays Adam—a tutor-turned-“manny” whose smile says “I’m here to help” while his eyes whisper “I’m absolutely about to ruin your life.” Opposite him is David Duchovny, who slips into the role of morally flexible multimillionaire Jamie Tanner like he’s been waiting his whole career to pour himself into a linen shirt and quietly emotionally destroy people from a poolside chaise.
And somehow, against all odds, the chemistry works. It really works.
Adam the Manny, Jamie the Millionaire, and a Greek Villa That Definitely Has Secrets
Let me set the scene the best way I can: picture a shimmering Greek island, a villa so opulent it makes Tony Stark’s place in Iron Man look like a starter home, and a group of wealthy vacationers who all give off the vibe of people who have never touched their own luggage. Into this steps Adam, hired to tutor the kids of the Tanners’ guests—Jules (Christine Adams) and Damien (Raza Jaffrey), who are basically the beta version of the main family’s alpha spectacle.
From the moment Adam arrives, he begins a masterclass in weaponized helpfulness. He tutors. He mixes cocktails. He cooks calamari so good I could smell it through the screen. He waxes poetic about ancient Greek myths like he’s auditioning for a BBC4 documentary. And of course, he’s happy to accompany Jamie to strip clubs because that’s definitely a normal employer–manny bonding activity.
But little by little—and this is where the thriller starts to unfurl its claws—we see Adam collecting information, sowing tiny landmines, and silently orchestrating the downfall of anyone with a functioning trust fund. The man tosses Jamie’s passport into the sea like he’s skipping a stone. He poisons food with cheerful finesse. He flirts with Jamie’s wife, Nat (Carice van Houten), with a confidence that suggests he’s already rehearsed the consequences.
Some traps snap shut immediately. Others linger in the shadows for episodes before biting down. And the whole time, Whitehall maintains this disarming, almost puppyish charm that makes you forget he is essentially the world’s most polite supervillain.
Duchovny is Having the Time of His Life, and Honestly, So Was I
Let’s talk Duchovny. Because Malice is one of the best showcases he’s had in years. Jamie Tanner is the kind of role Duchovny was born to play: a razor-smart, morally ambiguous, dry-witted billionaire whose charisma is so effortless it’s almost rude. He’s a guy who could be telling you a joke or plotting your demise and you’d laugh and thank him for the privilege.
In the tradition of all great, messy, delightfully corrupt TV millionaires—from Logan Roy to Ben Linus to any given character in Big Little Lies—Jamie is both terrible and magnetic. He’s insulated from consequences by wealth, charm, and a brand of smug confidence that would infuriate me if it weren’t being delivered by Duchovny, who has perfected the art of the laconic smirk.
There are moments, especially in the early episodes, where I caught flashes of his old Californication persona—Hank Moody if Hank made obscene amounts of real estate money instead of writing novels and ruining lives through sheer vibe. And honestly? I didn’t hate it.
Malice Is Not Subtle. But That’s Half the Fun.
Now, let’s be absolutely clear: Malice is about as subtle as a neon sign that says “SOMETHING SINISTER IS HAPPENING HERE.” And the show knows it. It revels in it. There’s a literal snake in the family pool. There are lingering shots of a giant, borderline-parodic portrait of the Tanner family glowering down on their London mansion. Characters repeatedly mutter variations of “there’s something off about that Adam fellow,” like they’ve wandered off a stage production of Clue.
The show wants you to catch the foreshadowing. It wants you to notice the tropes. It wants you to feel like you’re in on the joke while also being fully invested in the spiraling chaos.
And if—like me—you’re a devoted fan of the high-gloss, high-stakes, rich-people-being-terrible-to-each-other thriller genre, then this is junk food nirvana.
A Dogged Greek Detective, a Resistant Stomach, and Many Creative Acts of Sabotage
By the end of the first two episodes, the dominoes are already wobbling. Adam has fully embedded himself into the Tanner household, now relocated to London, where the family’s portrait looms large enough to have its own gravitational pull.
And while he’s slicing through their lives with surgical precision, the show throws in just enough unexpected obstacles to keep things spicy—a persistent Greek detective, an avocado poisoning attempt that doesn’t quite take, and a web of old disputes and land feuds that tie Jamie’s past to the chaos now knocking on his door.
These complications keep Adam on his toes, and they keep the story from becoming predictable. Every success he scores comes with a thread attached… and you get the sense that eventually, those threads are going to knot.
It’s Whitehall’s Best Dramatic Work, But Duchovny Runs the Show
Is this Jack Whitehall’s career-best dramatic performance? Honestly—yeah. He slips into the role of charming sociopath surprisingly well, even if his menace hits harder in subtle moments than in the bigger, “I could kill you right now” speeches the script occasionally hands him.
But the show belongs to Duchovny.
He is magnetic, sly, unnervingly collected, and effortlessly charismatic. His presence elevates every scene, grounding the melodrama in something sharp and emotionally lived in. When the show leans into his strengths—a dry quip here, an eyebrow raise that says “I’m smarter than everyone in this room” there—it sings.
Is There Something Rotten in the Gilded Woodhouse? Absolutely—and It’s Delicious
Malice is tailor-made to tap into our timeless fascination with the very rich and the very doomed. We love watching perfect lives implode. We love seeing interlopers upend polished, curated worlds. It’s cathartic. It’s hypnotic. It’s escapist in a way that feels almost therapeutic.
And in that sense, the show is moreish. It’s slick. It’s dramatic. It’s fun. It’s exactly the kind of thing I’ll happily watch with a bowl of popcorn the size of my torso.
All episodes are streaming now on Prime Video—and trust me, you’ll binge it faster than Adam can ruin a family vacation.
