In the shadowy underbelly of Netflix’s latest offerings, Wayward emerges as a chilling psychological thriller that dissects the horrors of the troubled teen industry, wrapped in a veneer of small-town idyllic charm. Created, written, and starring Mae Martin, this eight-episode limited series premieres on September 25, 2025, thrusting viewers into the fictional Tall Pines, Vermont—a bucolic haven where nothing is as it seems. At its core, Wayward explores manipulation, trauma, and the blurred lines between healing and control, with Toni Collette delivering a mesmerizing performance as Evelyn Wade, the enigmatic head of Tall Pines Academy. Martin’s shift from the heartfelt comedy of Feel Good to this genre-bending drama marks a bold evolution, infusing the narrative with personal metaphors for adolescence, gender transition, and community isolation. While the series captivates with its atmospheric tension and Collette’s tour-de-force villainy, it occasionally stumbles in pacing and resolution, leaving audiences divided between binge-worthy intrigue and frustrating ambiguity.

Set against the lush, foreboding forests of 2003 Vermont (filmed in Ontario, Canada), Wayward opens with a frantic escape attempt from Tall Pines Academy, a reform school for “wayward” teens. The story converges on two timelines of vulnerability: Alex Dempsey (Mae Martin), a transgender police officer relocating from Detroit with his pregnant wife Laura (Sarah Gadon), and the rebellious teens Leila (Alyvia Alyn Lind) and Abbie (Sydney Topliffe), who plot their breakout from Evelyn’s clutches. Alex, seeking a fresh start after losing his job, becomes entangled in the town’s secrets when he investigates missing students and bizarre rituals, including psychedelic toads and the ominous “Leap” ceremony. Laura’s deep ties to the academy—having been a former student—add layers of codependency, forcing Alex to question loyalties amid whispers of abuse and cult-like devotion.

Evelyn Wade, portrayed with spine-chilling precision by Collette, is the series’ magnetic antagonist—a saccharine authoritarian whose “therapeutic” methods sever family bonds and reprogram adolescents through coercive milestones. Collette, drawing from her iconic turns in Hereditary and The Sixth Sense, masterfully balances cloying empathy with tyrannical menace, her eyes alone conveying unholy control. As the academy’s founder, Evelyn recruits alumni as staff, fostering a self-perpetuating ecosystem of trauma that mirrors real-world critiques of the troubled teen industry—exposed by survivors like Paris Hilton. Martin’s Alex provides a counterpoint: a calm, introspective outsider whose investigation uncovers Evelyn’s endgame, blending dry humor with moral ambiguity. Yet, some critiques note Martin’s performance lacks the gravitas needed for the lead, overshadowed by Collette’s dominance and the teens’ raw intensity.

Supporting characters enrich the web of deceit. Gadon’s Laura embodies fractured loyalty, her pregnancy amplifying themes of generational trauma as revelations about her parents surface. Lind and Topliffe shine as Leila and Abbie, capturing the visceral rebellion of adolescence—their intense friendship a beacon amid isolation, drawing from influences like Girl, Interrupted and Booksmart in a One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest hellscape. The ensemble, including Brandon Jay McLaren as Dwayne Andrews and Patrick J. Adams in a pivotal role, populates Tall Pines with suspicious locals, from academy guards to enigmatic residents like Stacey (Isolde Ardies) and Rabbit (Tattiawna Jones). Directed by Euros Lyn (Heartstopper), the series employs stark contrasts: verdant woods against sterile institutional halls, evoking dread through visuals alone.

Thematically, Wayward is Martin’s “ton[s] of metaphor,” allegorizing gender transition (Alex’s arc parallels the teens’ “reprogramming”) and the perils of isolationism versus communal healing. Inspired by Martin’s friend’s real-life stint in a troubled teen program, it critiques abusive “therapy” that prioritizes conformity over autonomy, echoing The Institute by Stephen King. The narrative probes what we carry from adolescence into adulthood, with Evelyn’s cultish hold symbolizing manipulative figures who exploit vulnerability—perhaps drawing parallels to political demagogues. Subtle supernatural hints, like croaking toads and dreamlike sequences, nod to Twin Peaks without fully committing, grounding the eerie in psychological realism. However, the show’s tonal shifts—from detached mystery to sympathetic drama—can feel uneven, diluting its thriller edge.

As the series unfolds, suspense builds through Alex’s probe into vanishings and the teens’ daring plots, culminating in a finale laced with ambiguity: Does Abbie and Leila truly escape? Is Evelyn dead? Revelations about Leila’s sister Jess and Laura’s family unravel cycles of control, but the rushed resolution leaves threads dangling—hinting at Season 2 potential, though designed as limited. Alex’s choice to stay in Tall Pines, embracing an uneasy domesticity, underscores the show’s warning: Trauma’s grip persists, cloaked in false healing. Critics praise the “jaw-dropping twists” and Collette’s “committed performance,” but some decry the pacing as a “slog” and plot as unresolved.

Reception mirrors this tension: A 79% on Rotten Tomatoes from critics lauds its style and social commentary, with The Guardian calling it “stylish and hugely watchable.” IndieWire highlights its adolescence allegory, while Variety notes its thrilling evasion of expectations. Audience scores lag at 47%, plagued by review-bombing over Martin’s trans portrayal and “woke” elements, with X users decrying it as “grooming” or biased. Yet, fans binge for the mystery and child actors’ prowess, with some hailing it as “super creepy” and binge-worthy. Social media buzz amplifies divides: Enthusiasts like @kirsten_fernand rave about its grip, while detractors slam the acting and agenda.

Despite flaws, Wayward succeeds as a character study, propelled by Collette’s “utterly magnificent” Evelyn—dryly funny yet terrifying. Martin’s voice expands here, blending humor with unease, though the series’ density risks alienating viewers. For thriller fans craving Twin Peaks-esque vibes without full Lynchian weirdness, or those intrigued by real-industry exposés, it’s a must-watch—demanding a binge to unravel Tall Pines’ web. Stream it, but brace: In Evelyn’s world, escape is illusory, and comeuppance tantalizingly elusive.