The Regime Crumbles Under Uninspired Political Commentary and Weak Gags

Political satire that’s any good always walks a tricky tightrope. It has to balance humor and messaging, poking fun at bureaucratic absurdities in a way that demonstrates it understands how these systems work while still maintaining a comedic edge. And if it’s a TV show, it can be even harder because they have to offer specific, pointed critiques about political ideologies without alienating a large swathe of potential viewers, at least according to the suits bankrolling these projects. A prime example is The Colbert Report, a pretty clear spoof on conservative talk show pundits that still proved popular among those it was making fun of because it made it easy for people to interpret its commentary through whatever lens they wanted.

The Regime, a farcical miniseries from HBO about a failing authoritarian state in Central Europe, mostly falls short of even reaching this blunted irony. While never entirely unwatchable, its cast of thin characters generally makes its drama uneffecting, and most of its points about political systems feel played out. Worse, its humor largely lacks a punch, relying on a constant hum of low-key ridiculousness that fails to go beyond vaguely amusing. This one may only be six episodes long, but like a leader refusing to concede after their term is up, it overstays its welcome.

The story begins as Corporal Herbert Zubak (Matthias Schoenaerts), a soldier who recently gunned down civilians at a protest, is whisked away to the government palace for an audience with the chancellor. A cadre of advisors make sardonic quips as they warn him about a long list of faux pas to avoid when meeting their leader, most of which involve avoiding popping her carefully-protected bubble. But despite the warning signs, when Zubak sees Chancellor Elena Vernham (Kate Winslet) for the first time, backlit by a golden halo, he’s immediately smitten, caught up in the mythology of their head of state. From there, the two begin a rocky relationship that threatens the balance of this failing administration as the country hurtles toward disaster.

If there’s a fundamental flaw in this series’ construction, it’s that it never finds a convincing, consistent tone. It’s stuck halfway between being a lukewarm comedy and inert drama, with humor that isn’t sharp enough to be truly cutting and heavier beats that are undermined by its tongue-in-cheek vibe. Both halves are constantly stumbling over the other, and although it successfully shifts towards grave material in its final episode… by that point, it’s too little too late.

As far as its humor goes, there is an occasional good line here and there, such as when one of the cynical members of the chancellor’s inner circle comments that an out-of-place Zubak looks like “a dog using a calculator” while struggling with a piece of technology. But for the most part, the show is more content with operating on a buzz of subdued farce, best embodied by Alexandre Desplat’s score, which accentuates these clownish circumstances through taunting accordions and other folk music flourishes.

Although this lack of sharp comedy could have worked if its more dramatic material had come together, attempts at weightier moments largely don’t land because these characters are caricatures. Chancellor Elena Vernham is likely the most ridiculous of the bunch, a hypochondriac despot who wavers between outwardly stern and deeply insecure. She’s best summed up by her lispy transatlantic accent, an intentionally grating affectation meant to represent her upbringing among the sheltered political elite. Winslet does a great job in the role, embodying the ludicrous reality that unreasonable people frequently control the levers of power. But even this performance can’t overcome the fact we’re asked to spend so much time with a character that would ultimately feel more at home as the butt of a joke in a one-off satirical comic strip than as the co-lead of a prestige TV series with hour-long episodes.

Her counterpart, Zubeck, has moderately more going on, an emotionally and physically scarred man from the rural reaches of the country. At one point, he goes full Rasputin mode, which is admittedly a very good bit. But he also doesn’t go beyond being a single thing, a clenched fist of masculine rage. That said, while they’re both relatively simplistic figures alone, together, these two make an amusingly toxic pair, and the greatest delight of the series is watching them accelerate toward self-induced calamity. But despite this entertaining schadenfreude, the attempts at grandiose emotions between the two don’t quite deliver.

The extended cast is even more one-dimensional, such as the feckless yes-men who enable their leader or Elena’s fussy French-speaking husband. One of the only gasps of fresh air comes from the palace manager (Andrea Riseborough), who stands out as a somewhat normal person caught in the middle of the circus, but by the end, she’s entirely sidelined. In short, nearly every member of the cast is insufferable, and although this is an intentional decision meant to make us loathe this group, which is either actively oppressing this country’s people or enabling this behavior, their antics are so unvaried that if all feels more irritating than enlightening.

This sense of repetition is also present in this narrative’s main thrust: dictators are bad. This is undeniably a true statement, and far too much of the world is under the thumb of self-serving, power-hungry sociopaths who murder dissidents, annex land that isn’t theirs, and exploit the labor of their people. But it’s also a viewpoint that is glaringly obvious and not particularly served by the sarcastic tone at work here. This political commentary is almost entirely based on repeating a single joke: that this kind of authoritarian regime is the peak of absurdity, and while true, it eventually comes across like the same gag being repeated ad nauseam.

Thankfully, some of its other ideas are more considered. For instance, there is compelling criticism of America’s foreign policy and how the country is willing to ignore human rights abuses as long as the regime committing them capitulates to the Land of Liberty’s interests or offers access to precious natural resources. Topical issues such as annexations and labor exploitation over cobalt mining are addressed in ways that are appropriately critical. This all is most pointed in the strongest episode of the series, its finale, which diminishes the tonal inconsistencies found elsewhere. There’s other good stuff here, too, like how the story’s central relationship represents the ways hurt, angry people are taken in the thrall of right-wing movements that redirect their rage at other victims of these systems. The filmmaking does its best to pick up the slack at times, such as when Dutch angles accompany similarly off-axis cabinet meetings that emphasize the crookedness of the proceedings. But overall, these respites are relatively brief compared to the show’s more tiring stretches.

While The Regime isn’t an outright disaster, for the vast majority of its runtime, it’s unable to deliver scathing political commentary or sharp comedy, instead settling into a humdrum, repetitive cadence. There are some prickly barbs worth praising, and it can be fascinating to watch this house of cards collapse, but the series can’t overcome its tendency to repeatedly make the same tired jokes. Much like the performative head of state at the center of this tale, this one mostly ends up feeling standoffish and empty.

The Regime premieres March 3rd on HBO and streaming on Max. 

Elijah Gonzalez is an assistant TV Editor for Paste Magazine. In addition to watching the latest on the small screen, he also loves videogames, film, and creating large lists of media he’ll probably never actually get to. You can follow him on Twitter @eli_gonzalez11.

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