In the shimmering haze of a Greek island getaway, where azure waves lap against cliffside villas and champagne flows like secrets in the wind, Prime Video has unleashed a serpent into paradise. ‘Malice,’ the six-part psychological thriller that dropped all episodes on November 14, 2025, isn’t just another sun-drenched escape—it’s a slow-burning inferno of privilege unraveled, where every smile hides a shank and every family dinner simmers with unspoken vendettas. Starring comedian-turned-menace Jack Whitehall as the charming interloper Adam Healey, alongside David Duchovny’s brooding patriarch Jamie Tanner and Carice van Houten’s steely matriarch Nat, the series has ignited social feeds and critic circles alike. Dubbed “the next White Lotus” by early reviewers for its opulent locales masking savage human frailties, ‘Malice’ transforms the glossy allure of the ultra-rich into a claustrophobic cage of lies, leaving viewers breathless, paranoid, and utterly hooked.

Created by James Wood—whose sharp pen etched the satirical bite of The Great—’Malice’ arrives as Prime Video’s latest salvo in the prestige thriller wars, co-produced by Expectation Entertainment (the minds behind Clarkson’s Farm) and Tailspin Films. Directed by the deft hands of Mike Barker (The Handmaid’s Tale) and Leonora Lonsdale (Doctor Foster), it clocks in at a taut six episodes, each around 50 minutes, perfect for that weekend spiral where you emerge bleary-eyed and questioning your own loved ones. Filming spanned 18 grueling weeks, kicking off in the drizzly gloom of London in February 2024 before transplanting to the sun-baked idyll of Paros, Greece, in July. The result? A visual feast that juxtaposes the Tanner family’s gilded cage—think infinity pools overlooking the Aegean with the metallic tang of impending doom—with the shadowy underbelly of their Mayfair mansion back home. “We wanted the beauty to feel like a trap,” Wood shared in a post-premiere chat, “the kind that snaps shut when you least expect it.”

The premise slithers in like a polite houseguest who overstays. The Tanners are the epitome of new money swagger: Jamie (Duchovny), a slick property developer whose empire of luxury resorts spans from Shoreditch lofts to Santorini hideaways, exudes the easy confidence of a man who’s never heard “no.” His wife, Nat (van Houten), is the coolly elegant counterpoint—a former gallery curator turned philanthropist, her poise masking the quiet resentments of a life orbiting her husband’s orbit. Their three children—rebellious teen Kit (Harry Gilby, channeling angsty fire from Tolkien), wide-eyed middle child April (Teddie Allen, a pint-sized force from Swallows and Amazons), and precocious youngest Dexter (Phoenix Laroche, stealing scenes with pint-sized mischief)—round out a brood that’s equal parts photogenic and fractured. On a lavish family holiday to Paros, meant to patch the cracks in their marital facade, disaster strikes: their nanny collapses from a mysterious illness, stranding them without childcare amid escalating tensions.

Enter Adam Healey (Whitehall), the silver-tongued tutor who materializes like a genie from a Birkin bag. With his Oxford drawl, boyish grin, and impeccable references, Adam swoops in to mind the kids, charming his way from poolside babysitter to indispensable family fixture. But beneath the manny’s manicured facade lurks a predator with a grudge. As the Tanners jet back to London, Adam embeds himself deeper, whispering doubts into Jamie and Nat’s ears, pitting siblings against each other, and unraveling the threads of their meticulously curated lives. Why the hatred? The series doles out clues like poisoned breadcrumbs: a faded photo glimpsed in Adam’s wallet, a cryptic phone call to a shadowy sister (Charlotte Riley, simmering with sibling malice), and Jamie’s hazy recollection of a long-buried scandal from his cutthroat rise. “Adam isn’t just after their money,” teases the logline. “He’s after their souls.” By midseason, what begins as domestic unease erupts into full-blown sabotage—hacked emails exposing affairs, staged accidents threatening the kids, and a Greek detective (Yorgos Karamihos as the dogged Nikos) sniffing too close to the truth.

Whitehall’s pivot from affable everyman to icy manipulator is the series’ venomous heart. Best known for his self-deprecating stand-up and the heartfelt wanderlust of Travels with My Father, the 37-year-old Brit sheds his comedic skin here, channeling a chilling blend of Tom Ripley’s calculated allure and Patrick Bateman’s repressed rage. “Playing Adam was like wearing a suit made of lies—it itched at first, but then it fit,” Whitehall quipped at the London premiere on November 3, where he arrived arm-in-arm with co-star Duchovny, the pair’s easy banter belying their on-screen enmity. Critics rave about his slow reveal: the way Adam’s eyes flicker from warmth to wolfish glee during a bedtime story, or how his laughter at Jamie’s jokes rings just a hair too hollow. “Whitehall doesn’t just act the part; he inhabits the venom,” gushed The Guardian in a four-star review, awarding it for “turning a punchline into a stiletto.”

Duchovny, 65, trades his X-Files skepticism for a man unmoored by his own success. Jamie Tanner is Duchovny’s most vulnerable lead since Mulder—charming yet crumbling, a father whose absences have left emotional landmines in his wake. “I’ve waited my whole career for a role where the monster is the mirror,” Duchovny told Variety post-premiere, alluding to a pivotal confrontation scene that had audiences gasping in test screenings. Van Houten, the Game of Thrones alum whose Melisandre seared into collective memory, brings a feral elegance to Nat: a woman whose loyalty frays under Adam’s gaslighting, her arc exploding in a rain-lashed Episode 4 showdown that’s already meme fodder on TikTok. Supporting turns add fuel—Christine Adams as Nat’s confidante Jules, whose own marriage to Raza Jaffrey’s Damien buckles under the Tanners’ chaos; Anna Wilson-Jones as Jamie’s embittered ex Rachel, dropping bombshells over high tea; and Elliot Levey as a nosy journalist circling the family’s skeletons.

What elevates ‘Malice’ to “next White Lotus” status isn’t just the envy-inducing backdrops—those Paros sunsets scored by Alexis Grapsas’s throbbing, minimalist pulse (fresh off A Quiet Place: Day One)—but the surgical dissection of wealth’s rot. Like Mike White’s anthology, it skewers the idle rich with pitch-black humor: a yacht party devolves into a drunken truth-or-dare exposing Jamie’s infidelities, while Nat’s charity gala becomes a battlefield of whispered alliances. Yet where The White Lotus luxuriates in satire, ‘Malice’ injects Hitchcockian dread, its twists landing like gut punches. Episode 3’s mid-reveal—that Adam’s vendetta ties to a corporate cover-up Jamie orchestrated decades ago—shifts the ground, turning sympathy on its head. “It’s Ripley in a resort brochure,” IndieWire proclaimed, praising the series’ “sun-soaked sinister” vibe that leaves you side-eyeing every nanny cam.

Since its Friday drop, ‘Malice’ has stormed Prime Video charts, cracking the global top 10 within 48 hours and amassing 12 million minutes viewed in the U.S. alone, per Nielsen. Social buzz is feverish: X threads dissect Adam’s micro-expressions (“That smile in Ep2? Pure psychopath”), while Reddit’s r/television hails it as “the revenge porn we didn’t know we needed.” Fan edits mash Whitehall’s Adam with Succession‘s Tom Wambsgans, racking up 3 million views on TikTok under #MaliceManny. Backlash? A smattering from comedy purists who miss Whitehall’s laughs, but even they concede: “If this is his dark side, sign me up for the sequel.”

At its core, ‘Malice’ probes the fragility of facades—what happens when the help knows your dirtiest laundry, and the laundry is monogrammed in blood money? In a post-Succession world craving class warfare with claws, it delivers: breathless pacing, moral ambiguity that lingers like sea salt on skin, and a finale that detonates without mercy, leaving threads for a potential Season 2 (Wood’s already teasing “Adam’s not done shedding skins”). As Jamie snarls in the closing moments, “Trust is the real luxury—and we’ve all gone bankrupt.” Binge it before spoilers spoil the sorcery. In the game of thrones (or Tanner trusts), you either scheme or get schemed. With ‘Malice,’ Prime Video ensures we’re all playing.