Colman Domingo’s latest project, The Madness, should have been a career milestone. With a string of standout performances in Euphoria, Zola, and If Beale Street Could Talk, the actor has steadily risen to prominence. His Oscar nomination for Rustin and a second potential nomination for Sing Sing have placed him firmly in the spotlight. So, expectations were high for this eight-episode Netflix thriller, which should have added another feather to his cap.
But there’s a catch: while Domingo delivers a solid performance as an increasingly desperate man on the run, The Madness ultimately falls short, becoming bogged down in a mix of drawn-out plotlines and heavy-handed social commentary.
Domingo stars as Muncie Daniels, a CNN commentator who rents a secluded cabin in the Poconos, only to discover his neighbor gruesomely murdered in his sauna. The neighbor, it turns out, is a notorious white nationalist. When Muncie reports the body to authorities, his own ties to the Black Lives Matter movement make him an immediate suspect. From there, Muncie is thrust into a dangerous, fast-paced race to clear his name.
However, The Madness suffers from a lack of clarity in its storytelling. Muncie’s political background, his troubled marriage, and the mysterious forces that seem to be hunting him are all underdeveloped. Early dialogue hints at Muncie’s past as an activist-turned-pundit, but the details are sparse. The series positions his quest as a way to reconnect with what matters—his estranged daughter and a past filled with radical connections. But without a clear understanding of his starting point, these emotional beats feel hollow and unearned.
Created by playwright Stephen Belber and directed by Clément Virgo, The Madness struggles to maintain focus. The premise—pitting a Black liberal against white supremacists—has the potential for a gripping thriller with contemporary relevance. But instead of building tension, the series constantly shifts Muncie’s adversaries. Neo-Nazis are introduced early on, followed by a bizarre connection to armed antifa militants, then a vague corporate villain. These sudden switches undermine any sense of real danger, making Muncie’s investigation, often accompanied by an FBI agent (played by John Ortiz), feel aimless and disconnected.
At times, The Madness lapses into absurdity. One of the more outlandish moments occurs when Muncie’s investigation leads him to an antifa militant who frequents a swinger bar. In a plotline so ridiculous it verges on camp, Muncie enlists his soon-to-be-ex-wife (played by Marsha Stephanie Blake) to stake out the bar in broad daylight. It’s a moment that invites viewers to suspend disbelief and just go along with the chaos.
Despite its flaws, The Madness benefits from a strong supporting cast, including Stephen McKinley Henderson, Bradley Whitford, and Alison Wright. While they each add value to the show, it’s clear that their talents are wasted on a script that doesn’t do them justice.
As for Domingo, he uses the role to showcase his impressive range. Muncie evolves from a man desperately trying to survive into one consumed by reckless determination. However, the character remains more of a reaction to events than a fully realized person. Muncie’s journey lacks depth, and by the end of the series, his transformation feels unconvincing.
Ultimately, The Madness is a mixed bag. While it provides a notable starring role for Domingo, the series doesn’t live up to its potential. It feels like a box checked in the actor’s growing career—his first lead in a TV series—but not one that will become a defining role. The show may offer some thrills, but it fails to deliver a truly engaging or memorable experience.
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