The Breaker Times

Every second of The Penguin should be eye-roll-inducing. The series is, on paper at least, an exercise in pure franchise expansion. Coming two years after Matt Reeves’ The Batman hit theaters, the new HBO drama picks up almost exactly where that film leaves off. It follows Colin Farrell’s smooth-talking gangster, Oswald “Oz” Cobb, as he attempts to fill the kingpin-sized hole left in Gotham City’s criminal underworld by the murder of his longtime boss, Carmine Falcone (played in The Batman by John Turturro and here, in flashbacks, by Mark Strong). Its story is one that could have easily been told offscreen in the gap between The Batman and its 2026 sequel, The Batman Part II.

The Penguin did not, therefore, need to be made. The choice to go forward with it reeks — whether justifiably or not — of the very same IP-driven way of thinking that has come to dominate Hollywood decision-making. It is a testament then to The Penguin‘s quality that it rarely provokes annoyance or frustration. Anchored by two opposing, fierce lead performances, it’s an immensely entertaining, occasionally preposterous crime drama that falls short of its influences, but still emerges as something distinct, surprisingly demented, and worthwhile. It reaches, in other words, for the heights of The Sopranos and Boardwalk Empire and ends up landing closer to Marvel’s Daredevil.

In its opening moments, The Penguin seamlessly pulls viewers back into the world of The Batman. Not only does it begin with a newscast that effectively recaps the climax of that 2022 film, but it also follows Farrell’s Oz as he walks first through his now-flooded former place of business, the Iceberg Lounge, and then down to its hidden club, The 44 Below. This sequence gives The Penguin the chance to return to some of its parent film’s most recognizable locations and, in one instance, even reprise a memorable shot from The Batman when The 44 Below’s elevator doors open to show Oz standing in the center of it. At times, The Penguin struggles to truly match the immersive power of The Batman, but its prologue leaves no room for questions about when or where the HBO series is set.

Oz’s pilfering of his dead boss’ office is interrupted by a chance encounter with Carmine’s son and heir apparent, Alberto Falcone (played with easy sleaze by Michael Zegen). The conversation they share elegantly sets the stage for The Penguin‘s story, as well as establishes the presence of more than a few other criminal figures who stand between him and his goal of becoming Gotham’s preeminent crime lord. His rivals include, among others, Alberto; his sister, Sofia (a sensational Cristin Milioti), who has just been released from a multiyear stay in Arkham Asylum when The Penguin begins; Johnny Vitti (Michael Kelly), the slimy underboss of the Falcone family; and Salvatore Maroni (Clancy Brown), the gruff, imprisoned head of the Falcones’ biggest competitors. Oz quickly gets to work undermining and pitting Gotham’s crime bosses against each other, but as is the case in every mob show like The Penguin, not all of his moves result in the exact outcomes that he expects.

There is something that separates Oz from all of his enemies and temporary allies, though. As The Penguin makes clear early on, he doesn’t come from money the same way that Alberto and Sofia do. He’s a poor kid from Gotham’s underrepresented East Side who has had to fight and scrape for every criminal promotion he’s received. This gives Oz a scrappiness that seems contradictory to his waddling, stout form and which is only betrayed by the constant squinting of Farrell’s eyes and the scars that mar the right side of his balding head. Unlike all of The Penguin‘s other criminals, Oz doesn’t want to rule through fear, either. As he explains in the series’ first episode, he’d rather be a gangster who is loved and treasured by his community.

The Penguin uses Oz’s desire to be loved to explore how insecurity and neediness can result in a different kind of monstrousness than we typically see in the crime genre. It does this primarily through Oz’s strained, codependent relationship with his prickly, proud mother, Francis (a fiery Deirdre O’Connell). In one of its more obvious homages to The Sopranos, The Penguin reveals that Oz is, among other things, a mama’s boy whose lifelong search for his mother’s attention and approval turns out to be one of the key sources of his darkness. His battle with Milioti’s Sofia for control of the Falcone empire only brings that darkness closer to the surface of Oz’s purposefully harmless facade. Unfortunately for him, Sofia’s wrathful nature and bitter relationship with her now-dead father make her a particularly dangerous, unpredictable opponent.

The Penguin‘s characterization of Sofia, who takes pride in dressing in luxurious furs and fancy dresses even when she’s making violent power moves, isn’t subtle. Like all of The Penguin‘s characters, she’s a pulpy figure whose comic book origins are never in doubt. Despite that, Milioti manages to ground Sofia in recognizable shades of anger, betrayal, and frustration. As a performer, she also isn’t afraid to have fun or lean into the more absurd corners of The Penguin‘s comic book world and oversized style of storytelling. She very nearly steals the series from Farrell, who is — like he was in The Batman — unrecognizable under his layers of prosthetic makeup and Oz’s thick, New York-inspired Italian accent. Just when it looks like Milioti might walk away with The Penguin, though, the series’ final installments begin to delve deeper into Oz’s heart of darkness than ever before and, in turn, give Farrell the chance to sink his teeth even further into a villain who might have been rendered as little more than a caricature in a less vulnerable or more vain actor’s hands.

With the help of Farrell, The Penguin creator Lauren LeFranc and her fellow collaborators find the right line between humanizing their protagonist and making him a genuinely sympathetic figure. The series doesn’t shy away from the pitch-black emotional abyss at the center of its story, and its commitment to really showcasing the full depravity of Sofia and Oz’s rivalry is admirable. It is, in fact, the thing that makes The Penguin leave more of a lasting mark.

Throughout its eight episodes, The Penguin does fail to recapture the scale and visual richness of The Batman. Its Gotham frequently looks a whole lot like New York, rather than a striking, original creation, and the show’s aesthetic pales in comparison to what Reeves and Dune cinematographer Greig Fraser achieved in The Batman. While it lacks the cinematic power of The Batman, though, The Penguin is held together by a similarly cohesive vision.

This is a show made by a team of artists who were clearly on the same page from the very beginning about what they were setting out to do. The result is a comic book-adjacent crime drama that not only stands on its own, but also — like The Batman — offers a vision of a world that is even grimier and dirtier than it seems.

The Penguin premieres Thursday, September 19 on HBO. New episodes release weekly on Thursdays. Digital Trends was given early access to its entire eight-episode season.