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In a world where artificial intelligence feels less like fiction and more like everyday reality, here comes a series with a magnetic lead - Alexander Skarsgård, that rare blend of quiet intensity and impossible good looks - playing a robot. On paper, it's timely. Even gripping. And for a moment, it almost is. Skarsgård brings a subtle gravity to the role, even beneath the helmet that obscures the very face much of the audience came for, which feels like both a bold choice and a missed opportunity.

From the outset, the show tries to wink at the audience, to play clever, to subvert expectations - but it never quite gets there. The tone is aiming for sly, maybe even irreverent, but more often lands in that uncomfortable place where you're not sure if you're supposed to be laughing, or just politely enduring. And then there are the supporting characters - flat, forgettable, cartoonish in the worst way - not flawed in the human sense, but underwritten, as if no one expected viewers to care about anyone but the man in the metal suit.

The middle stretch drags. A slog of half-hearted twists and limp dialogue, the kind of television that makes you glance at your phone or, worse, doze off entirely. Still, the episodes are mercifully short - twenty minutes apiece - and Skarsgård is compelling enough to keep you from walking away. Just barely.

Then comes the finale, which almost feels like a different show - darker, sharper, unexpectedly alive. It hints at a direction the rest of the series never dared explore, and while the cliffhanger concerning the fate of the robot actually works, the rest of the ensemble is left hanging, unresolved and unmissed. You get the sense that if this series gets another shot, the smartest move would be a clean slate - keep Skarsgård, lose the baggage, and finally build something worthy of that brooding machine with a pulse.

I'd been looking forward to this one for a while - word of mouth was strong when it first dropped back in April. I kept my eye on it, waiting for the rental price to fall to something reasonable, maybe six bucks, but instead, it landed on HBO, no strings attached. From the opening scene, it had all the right ingredients: a sense of mystery thick enough to cut, a touch of folklore that felt lived-in, music that caught your ear without trying too hard, and a cast that knew what it was doing. Michael B. Jordan takes the lead - twice, in fact - and he pulls it off with a kind of quiet precision that makes you forget how hard that is to do. Miles Caton, playing Sammie Moore, turns in a performance worth remembering - part actor, part vocalist, and fully convincing in both. The musical elements, which weave between styles and generations, do more than fill space; they elevate the atmosphere, add depth, keep your attention locked in. But then comes the reveal. And it's... fine. Not bad, not great - just not worthy of the tension the film spent so much time and energy building. That final stretch should've been the knockout punch, and instead it lands soft. Still, for the craftsmanship alone - the ambition, the talent, the commitment to something different - it's worth your time. Just temper your expectations going in.