O Americano

When we talk about Portuguese TV fiction, it's easy to start thinking about telenovela. A format inherited from Brazil, but one that has never grown in Portugal beyond being a sub-product of something that is in itself a cultural sub-product. In recent years, and with the rise of streaming, Portugal has been producing series that almost appear embarrassed by the legacy of the telenovelas. Some filmmakers who once tried their hand at auteur cinema are now trying their hand at auteur series. But if it's easier for a TV director to make an auteur series, it's practically guaranteed that mega-nepobaby Ivo M. Ferreira won't be the maker of a TV masterpiece. The plot is perhaps the most lifeless (and sexless) thing that has ever graced our screens. Pretensions to being American in style are undermined by a verbose script with no particular literary force, informative dialogue that would make the series better as a radio drama, and flimsy performances that don't lift the story's madcap potential beyond the academism of dimensionless character types. As much as the true story piqued my curiosity, the first episode didn't make me want to watch the second.