‘Smoke’ Review: Jurnee Smollett and Taron Egerton Lead Apple TV+’s Flawed but Fascinating Firefighting Mystery

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Without a doubt, I’ve described Jurnee Smollett as an “impassioned” actress at some point. The talented star of “Lovecraft Country” and “Friday Night Lights” possesses the ability to portray wild-eyed, fierce intensity in a manner that is both mesmerizing and dependable.

But this is getting a bit ridiculous.

Last year, I found myself on the fringes of a not-so-convincing, CGI conflagration in the movie “The Order”. Prior to that, I faced burning crosses in “Lovecraft Country” and torches in “Underground”. Now, I’m diving headfirst into the flames with Apple TV+’s new limited series, “Smoke”, a gripping adaptation of the podcast “Firebug”. While it’s masterfully acted, the formal aspects of this production seem to be a bit hit-or-miss.

As a dedicated gamer, I’ve found myself immersed in a nine-episode series that, despite its length, can be maddeningly repetitive at times. Yet, it delves into a mystery so captivating, it’s like unraveling the most intricate puzzle pieces. The cast, one of the standouts this summer, is nothing short of exceptional. However, while the themes it explores are grand and thought-provoking, they don’t always translate smoothly in the execution, leaving me yearning for a more polished experience.

Michelle Calderon, portrayed by Smollett, is a detective in a police department based in the Pacific Northwest. Having been scorched by a recent romantic entanglement with her superior (Steven Burk, played by Rafe Spall), and also emotionally scarred from a childhood fire ignited by her mother, Michelle finds herself teaming up with arson investigator Dave Gudsen (Taron Egerton).

Michelle Calderon, played by Smollett, is a detective working in the Pacific Northwest police department. She’s been hurt from a breakup with her boss and has emotional wounds from a fire started by her mother when she was young. Now, she works alongside arson investigator Dave Gudsen (Taron Egerton).

Dave, a retired firefighter, finds himself in a tough spot due to two active arsonists terrorizing the city – namely, the Divide & Conquer arsonist and the Milk Jug arsonist. His understanding boss, Greg Kinnear’s character Harvey Englehart, is growing increasingly frustrated as the D&C arsonist has reportedly ignited over 200 fires, with his annoyance just starting to simmer.

People seem less concerned about the Milk Jug Arsonist, who’s been targeting the city’s lower-income areas, but we soon meet a possible culprit: a quiet, soft-spoken fast-food employee named Freddy (Ntare Guma Mbaho Mwine).

As I find myself entangled in the lives of two arsonists, navigating my new partnership and a delicate marriage to Hannah Emily Anderson’s Ashley, I decide to do what any logical writer might: I embark on crafting a tale about an investigator pursuing a serial arsonist, with a fresh partner by my side.

Soon, both Dave and Michelle’s obsessions escalate and games of cat-and-mouse ensue.

This podcast/series is full of unexpected turns, with an early twist that essentially forms its foundation. It’s likely you’ll guess this surprise ahead of schedule, possibly a whole episode before it’s officially disclosed. There’s another twist later on that isn’t easily predictable and a crucial final twist that the series could have presented more effectively visually. I’m being deliberately vague, but the appeal of Smoke lies not in its shock factor, but in enjoying the intrigue as these characters grapple with their situations.

Thanks to the involvement of Lehane, Egerton, and Kinnear, it’s possible that Smoke may draw comparisons with the critically acclaimed 2022 limited series, Black Bird, which rightfully earned an Emmy for Paul Walter Hauser.

The Apple TV+ series, Smoke, shares a resemblance with Alfonso Cuaron’s Disclaimer, a show that delves into the consequences of turning real life events into narratives and labeling human behavior as heroic or villainous, disguised as a revenge plot. Essentially, Smoke is about identity and self-identification, a fact that becomes clear from the decision to commence each episode with the explanation of straightforward terms such as “creativity,” defined as “the act of bringing something new into being; the skill of producing through one’s imagination.

Michelle’s identity is significantly shaped by external influences, such as the actions of her mother, the influence of the men she associates with, and unfortunately, prejudices related to her race and gender within her field.

Dave lacks distinct characteristics that clearly define him. His past appears tragic yet uncertain, and his professional accomplishments are minimal. His marital success has been modest at best. However, as he strives to portray himself as the protagonist in his own life’s tale, he envisions a route towards acclaim or infamy instead.

The blunt, fictional tone from Dave’s book, “Fire doesn’t care about your wallet or the size of your gun or the size of the gun you wish was bigger,” distinguishes a narrative that intentionally maintains a sense of detachment from reality, as it is a work of fiction rather than a nonfiction podcast. The setting, an amalgamated Pacific Northwest region with Vancouver represented as “Orrington” on license plates and legal documents, further underscores this separation from factuality. “Orrington,” a clever blend of words, serves as one of those ambiguous locations often found in stories like the sunless locale of ‘Seven.’ Despite the fact that some details of the story may mirror real-life events documented online, the fictional nature of Dave’s character and the setting emphasizes the artifice of the narrative being spun.

The performances are split between naturalistic and attuned to heightened genre conventions.

Egerton masterfully tackles a complex role, effortlessly transitioning from sincere and amiable to a quirkier, vaguely Slater-esque unease. However, his portrayal feels staged rather than authentic, which suits the show’s self-aware style. In this context, it fits seamlessly, particularly alongside Smollett who delves into the heartache of a woman undergoing intense physical and professional transformations, notably dedicating extensive effort in the first episode to fitness routines.

Egerton plays a complex character that goes from friendly to weird in a way that reminds us of Christian Slater. His acting feels like it’s for the show, not real life. But it works here, especially with Smollett who shows the pain of a woman trying to change herself both physically and professionally, putting in lots of effort at the gym in the first episode.

Kinnear is understated yet deeply moving, portraying one of several characters whose dedication to their work has cost them ordinary human qualities. In contrast, Spall’s performance oscillates between likable and loathsome, appearing to do so more for the sake of the narrative than for logical reasons. The show gains significant momentum at midseason with the introduction of John Leguizamo, who is both comically amusing and emotionally vulnerable as Kinnear’s disgraced former partner. Additionally, Anna Chlumsky delivers uproariously sarcastic performances as an outsider in law enforcement who becomes entangled in the story’s turmoil.

Mwine’s performance in the show is truly exceptional and deserves high commendation. Freddy’s character, who is a foster system survivor with numerous unmentioned social struggles, borders on stereotypes in certain aspects. However, Mwine portrays a deeply emotional picture of a lost, angry, and isolated individual so powerfully that I often found myself yearning for more scenes involving him in the script.

During certain segments, particularly towards the latter half of the season, it seemed that the show Smoke would blatantly reiterate its themes, which at times exposed a plot twist prematurely and left me questioning if those key elements were truly demonstrated or substantiated by the series. These instances hinted that perhaps the show could have benefited from a shorter season of six episodes, or nine with less repetition, allowing for a deeper exploration of this fictional city’s economic disparities and the complexities of contemporary firefighting.

Despite being a resident of Los Angeles, still recovering from the devastating January fires, the television series Smoke rarely reminded me of those events until the final episode. This suggests that the show manages to be both authentic and distinctly removed or detached from real-life experiences. Given its intricate plotline, robust dialogue characteristic of Lehane’s writing, and powerful performances by actors like Smollett, such limitations don’t necessarily condemn an otherwise flawed series.

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2025-06-26 22:25