Steven Zaillian’s adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s “The Talented Mr. Ripley” recasts the familiar story in stark black and white, transforming the sun-drenched Italy of previous adaptations into a world of shadows and menace. Andrew Scott stars as Tom Ripley, a small-time grifter sent to Italy to convince a wealthy man’s son to come home. What follows is a story of identity theft, murder, and meticulous cover-ups that unfolds with glacial patience and extraordinary visual control. The series has been widely praised for its artistic ambition, with debate centered on whether its deliberate pace enhances or undermines the thriller at its core.
This Ripley is immediately distinguishable from previous screen versions. Where Anthony Minghella’s 1999 film made Ripley sympathetic through Matt Damon’s vulnerability, Zaillian’s version offers no such comfort. Scott’s Ripley is calculating from the first frame, a man who sees other people as problems to be managed or obstacles to be removed. The show isn’t interested in making you understand him. It’s interested in making you watch him work.
Black and White as a Moral Statement
The decision to shoot in black and white is the show’s defining choice, and it’s a triumph. Cinematographer Robert Elswit transforms the Italian locations into something out of a 1950s noir, all deep shadows and sharp geometry. The Mediterranean coast, usually depicted in golden light, becomes ominous and austere. Interiors feel like traps. The visual approach strips away the seductive beauty that typically accompanies stories set in Italy and forces the audience to see the landscape the way Ripley does: as a series of environments to navigate and exploit.
Andrew Scott delivers a performance of terrifying stillness. His Ripley rarely raises his voice or quickens his pace. The danger comes from the precision of his movements, the way he studies people the way a locksmith studies a lock. Scott communicates volumes through micro-expressions and calculated pauses, building a character who is simultaneously fascinating and deeply repellent. It’s a performance that improves on reflection, with details that only register in retrospect.
The show’s treatment of the murders is remarkable for what it doesn’t show. Violence, when it comes, is presented with a matter-of-factness that’s more disturbing than graphic depiction. Ripley doesn’t murder with passion or rage. He murders with the focused pragmatism of someone solving a logistical problem. The aftermath, the cleaning, the improvisation, the careful destruction of evidence, receives more screen time than the acts themselves, which makes the horror more cerebral and more lasting.
Zaillian’s pacing serves the material perfectly for viewers willing to submit to it. The show breathes with Ripley, moving through Italian streets and apartments at his deliberate pace, giving the audience time to notice what he notices and feel the walls closing in as complications arise. The investigation sequences, as an Italian detective slowly connects circumstantial dots, generate tension from bureaucratic procedure rather than action set pieces.
Patience Tested to Its Limits
The pace will be a dealbreaker for many viewers. Episodes can spend extended sequences on Ripley walking through streets, examining rooms, or sitting in silence. The show trusts its visual storytelling completely, but viewers accustomed to more conventional thriller pacing will find the long stretches of minimal dialogue and deliberate movement challenging. This is a show that makes you wait for everything.
The absence of Ripley’s interiority means certain viewers feel held at arm’s length for the entire run. Previous versions gave the audience access to Ripley’s desires, insecurities, and rationalizations. Zaillian’s version keeps him opaque, which creates psychological unease but also limits emotional investment. Some viewers reported admiring the show more than they enjoyed it.
The black-and-white photography, while stunning, has been criticized by some for stripping away part of what makes the setting compelling. Italy’s color is so central to the story’s appeal in other versions that its removal, while artistically justified, fundamentally changes the experience. A few viewers felt the visual choice served the filmmaker’s vision more than the audience’s engagement.
The supporting cast, while competent, operates in the shadow of Scott’s overwhelming presence. Dakota Fanning as Marge Sherwood and Johnny Flynn as Dickie Greenleaf deliver solid performances, but the show is so focused on Ripley’s perspective that their characters function more as pieces on his chessboard than as fully independent people.
The Monster Without a Mask
Where previous adaptations invited you to identify with Ripley or at least understand his longing, Zaillian’s version presents him as something closer to an alien wearing human skin. This Ripley doesn’t want to be Dickie Greenleaf because he’s envious of Dickie’s life. He wants to be Dickie because identity is just another tool, and Dickie’s happens to be useful. The show suggests that the most frightening kind of predator isn’t the one driven by passion or desire but the one operating on pure, cold utility.
Should You Watch Ripley?
If you appreciate formally ambitious television, noir aesthetics, and psychological character studies that prioritize atmosphere over action, this is one of the most remarkable shows of 2024. Andrew Scott’s performance rewards close attention, and the visual craft is extraordinary.
Skip it if you need propulsive pacing from your thrillers or if the deliberate removal of warmth, color, and emotional accessibility sounds more punishing than appealing.
The Verdict on Ripley
Ripley is a masterclass in visual storytelling and a bold reimagination of one of literature’s most enduring characters. Zaillian’s black-and-white Italy is hauntingly beautiful, and Scott’s performance is a study in controlled menace that lingers long after viewing. The show demands patience that not every viewer will want to extend, and its emotional temperature runs so cold that admiration sometimes substitutes for engagement. But as a demonstration of what television can look like when every creative choice serves a unified vision, it’s breathtaking, in the most literal sense of the word.