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'Bad Sisters' creator Sharon Horgan on Season 2's finale: 'What if it happened again?'

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'Bad Sisters' creator Sharon Horgan on Season 2's finale: 'What if it happened again?'

This story contains spoilers about the Season 2 finale of Apple TV+’s“Bad Sisters.”

When Season 1 of “Bad Sisters” ended in 2022, the story of the Garvey sisters seemed to have reached a tidy conclusion. The evil John Paul was dead, killed not by one of his four sisters-in-law — each of whom had a compelling motive to commit murder — but by his seemingly meek wife, Grace, fed up by years of abusive behavior. With help from her friend Roger (Michael Smiley), she made it look like J.P. had died in an accident, with the rest of the sisters — Eva (Sharon Horgan), Becka (Eve Hewson), Bibi (Sarah Greene) and Ursula (Eva Birthistle) — facilitating the cover-up.

But Season 2 has slowly unraveled that neat — perhaps too neat — Hollywood ending. Two years after J.P.’s death, Grace has fallen in love with a seemingly kind new man named Ian (Owen McDonnell), but she starts behaving strangely and then dies in a car crash while fleeing home in a state of distress. The grieving sisters try to uncover the truth about what happened to Grace, and increasingly suspect Roger’s pious, overbearing sister Angelica (Fiona Shaw) of wrongdoing — but turn out to be (mostly) wrong about her intentions. Adding to the Garveys’ panic is an idealistic detective named Una Houlihan (Thaddea Graham), who started to ask questions about J.P.’s death.

It all comes to a head in the Season 2 finale, appropriately titled “Cliff Hanger.” It turns out that Ian is not the nice guy he appears to be, but a disgraced former cop named Cormac who has a wife and family in the North and has tricked Eva into handing over money that was intended for Grace’s daughter Blánaid (Saise Quinn). In a heated confrontation with the Garvey sisters at Eva’s house, he threatens to tell police about their role in covering up J.P.’s murder when — whack! — Angelica turns up and hits him on the head with Blánaid’s camogie stick. Believing that Ian is dead, the sisters plan to dispose of his body — only to discover that he is alive. In the end, Houlihan helps silence Ian and protect the sisters. In the final scene, the Garveys set Grace’s ashes adrift in the sea and finally seem to put their sister’s trauma behind them.

Series creator Sharon Horgan spoke to The Times about Season 2 and the twist-filled finale. This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.

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Series creator Sharon Horgan in the finale of Season 2 of “Bad Sisters.”

(Apple)

Season 1 seemed to wrap things up rather neatly. What made you want to go back for more?

I didn’t think I was going to go back for more, but everyone responded to those characters. That’s not always the case and Apple wanted to do more. I thought, if I can think of a story that feels important to tell, then I’ll do it.

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People found the ending perfect — it was, kind of, but I was much more interested in the real life of it all. Even though it was heightened, it was always supposed to feel that these were ordinary women who experienced something extraordinary but terrible. In the real world, it isn’t neat and triumphant like that. I wanted to explore the aftermath of something like that and what would really happen to a woman like Grace who had been isolated and full of shame for so many years.

In researching those relationships, and what happens when someone comes out the other side — if they manage to — they don’t necessarily fall into a healthy relationship. They’re so vulnerable, they can be targeted easily.

My original idea was what if it happened again? Would she be believed? What would her sisters’ reaction be? Could she go to them? Then the story started coming into the light. I knew it would be more brutal, but I also felt like I wanted to dig into that. I wanted to really feel the aftermath of what it’s like to have an abuser in your life. I wanted to dig into the institutions that are there to protect us and what happens when they don’t. There was still a lot of stuff I was angry about, and I wanted to tell it through these sisters, who people like watching,

Did you do research into domestic abuse and con artists?

I did a lot of work around the “Dirty John“-type relationships, the kind of women who end up in those situations and the psychopaths behind them.

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Ian is a different kind of villain from J.P. He presents as a nice, sensitive guy, but then it turns out he’s this serial abuser and con man. Were you trying to explore another kind of toxic male?

I was more interested in exploring how difficult it is to move on when you’ve been in Grace’s situation and how open and vulnerable women like that are, and [people] who can find their way in through the cracks. I was interested in all of the sisters and where they are two years on, how what happened in Season 1 impacted all of them. For Eva, she finally got to offload to her sisters that terrible thing that had happened to her [getting raped by J.P.] and had arrested her life. She’s now starting over. There was a lot of me in there — like, let’s try and fix my life. Let’s go out and run, let’s stop drinking, let’s sort my hormones, all that. When she suffers bereavement, she’s vulnerable and just wants something to fill that grief hole.

It’s interesting because not only does Grace fall for Ian, the sisters do too — Eva literally.

That’s what happens — whole families are taken in and they feel so much shame around having been duped. These guys are incredibly good at what they do. The idea that he met Grace at her bereavement group — I listened to so many podcasts and read so many articles with stories like that.

A man with dark hair and a beard standing with a window in the background.

Ian (Owen McDonnell) turns out not to be the nice guy he seems. “That’s what happens — whole families are taken in and they feel so much shame around having been duped,” Horgan says.

(Apple)

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Are you a true crime podcast listener?

Audio books, too. I heavily deep dove into true crime — for too long, actually, I’ve cut it out. It was getting to an unhealthy place. I know women are drawn to it. But you don’t want to stay in there for too long. It becomes like an addiction. I was listening to them at night and then waking up in the morning having forgotten to switch it off, and it was onto the next one.

Do you have a theory about why women are so into true crime?

So they know what to expect and can do their best to avoid it. So they’re aware. A lot of the stories I was reading were about narcissistic men and psychopaths, and how they operate. I’m not saying I’m hyper-vigilant now, but I certainly know the signs.

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At a screening in New York, you alluded to the appeal of “Bad Sisters” in the present political climate because it’s a story about women refusing to have the bad decisions of men deciding their destiny. How much were you consciously channeling female rage when you were writing this show?

Certainly when I was making Season 1, I was like, “This could be very cathartic, this could help everyone feel angry together.” As I was making it, there was stuff that was really upsetting me. It was what happened with Sarah Everard and the fact that her murder was perpetrated by a cop and her having done all the right things, yet still it happened. I found it so terrifying. There were several [similar] stories about cops who’d been allowed to perpetrate [crimes] and get away with it, and they continued to work because it is so institutionally sexist. This is why I wanted the character of Houlihan to feel like a potential light. I was really angry about all that, and I wanted to use the show to have a group catharsis again, where the baddies get done, and the good people come out on top.

Angelica is interesting because the sisters really misjudge her. Why is that?

Sometimes we’re so angry about what’s going on in the world, we misplace our anger. Angelica was such an amazing character for me because she was really just a decoy baddie. She’s a very flawed person, and she’s a bigot in her own way. But she is a product of her environment and that generation, especially in Northern Ireland at that time. A certain life was expected for you, and woe betide you if you went outside of that. Suddenly she sees this new generation of modern Irish women, and she’s like, “What is that?”

There’s so much that we forgive people for that is generational, all sorts of bigotry. I think she rattled the sisters. She represents everything that they stand against. They’re a very liberal, free group of women. It’s also their grief, their paranoia and the panic that leads them to get it so wrong. But at the same time, Angelica is a wagon. [Irish slang for an ornery woman.]

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A woman with a bruised face sitting on a couch.

Sharon Horgan on Angelica (Fiona Shaw): “She’s a very flawed person, and she’s a bigot in her own way. But she is a product of her environment and that generation, especially in Northern Ireland at that time.”

(Apple)

So how did you decide that Angelica would be the one to (almost) kill Ian? She’s like an honorary bad sister now.

Fiona Shaw always said, “I’m the heroine of the piece.” There were all sorts of routes we were going to take — it was Blánaid, it was one of the sisters. I felt like I’d seen “it was the kid,” and I didn’t want it to be one of the sisters because it didn’t feel as unexpected. I wanted it to be this woman who, against all odds, makes you cheer. I wanted that moment when the camera pans up and you would be like, “F— well done!” And I wanted them to choose to look after her and it felt like the sisterhood expanded at that point. There was some beautiful, f— up solidarity there that I liked. Angelica was like Rambo with the camogie stick. It’s weird, the way that story comes together. Sometimes you have the visuals first. I kept thinking about what new Irish thing I wanted to introduce to the audience. My sisters and I used to play camogie [an Irish sport similar to lacrosse] when we were little, and my sister got her front teeth knocked out. I wanted to see the next generation of young women playing this sport that’s so brutal. I had that idea before I had the idea that it would would [nearly] kill Ian.

There has been some conversation lately about the Irish moment that seems to be happening in pop culture. I wonder if you have thoughts about it?

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We don’t have the baggage [of imperialism] and we’re really good storytellers because that’s all we had for so long. We had nothing. We just had the craic and someone to be angry with. There’s an amazing tradition of storytelling and also this great darkness and ability to harness tragedy and make a great song or a story about it. For a small island, we’ve always had enormous talent come out of it and hugely influential impact on culture. The “why now” — that I don’t know. There’s probably some very practical reason for it, like funding, but it’s really lovely.

So are you done telling the story of the Garvey sisters?

I know that when I wrote the ending for this season it felt like the end. I guess an idea could come to mind that feels viable for the world we’ve created, but for now I think we have a finale that gives fans what they wanted and allowed me to say what I needed to say.

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Movie Reviews

Movie review: Reverence to source material drains life from ‘Nosferatu’

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Movie review: Reverence to source material drains life from ‘Nosferatu’

Passion projects are often lauded simply for their passion, for the sheer effort that it took to bring a dream to life. Sometimes, that celebration of energy expended can obfuscate the artistic merits of a film, as the blinkered vision of a dedicated auteur can be a film’s saving grace, or its death knell. This is one of the hazards of the passion project, which is satirically explored in the 2000 film “Shadow of the Vampire,” a fictionalized depiction of the making of F.W. Murnau’s 1922 silent horror film “Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror,” in which John Malkovich plays the filmmaker obsessed with “authentic” horror.

This meta approach is a clever twist on the iconic early horror movie that looms large in our cultural memory. Inspired by Bram Stoker’s 1897 novel “Dracula” (with names and details changed in order to skirt the lack of rights to the book), “Nosferatu” is a landmark example of German Expressionism, and Max Schreck’s performance as the vampire is one of the genre’s unforgettable villains.

“Nosferatu” has inspired many filmmakers over a century — Werner Herzog made his own bleak and lonely version with Klaus Kinski in 1979; Francis Ford Coppola went directly to the source material for his lushly Gothic “Bram Stoker’s Dracula” in 1992. Now, Robert Eggers, who gained auteur status with his colonial horror film “The Witch,” the Edgar Allen Poe-inspired two-hander “The Lighthouse,” and a Viking epic “The Northman,” delivers his ultimate passion project: a direct remake of Murnau’s film.

His first non-original screenplay, Eggers’ version isn’t a “take” on “Nosferatu,” so much as it is an overly faithful retelling, so indebted to its inspiration that it’s utterly hamstrung by its own reverence. If “Shadow of the Vampire” is a playful spin, Eggers’ “Nosferatu” is an utterly straight-faced and interminably dull retread of the 1922 film. It’s the exact same movie, just with more explicit violence and sex. And while Eggers loves to pay tribute to the style and form of cinema history in his work, the sexual politics of his “Nosferatu” feel at least 100 years old.

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“Nosferatu” is a story about real estate and sexual obsession. A young newlywed, Thomas Hutter (Nicholas Hoult) is dispatched from his small German city to the Carpathian Mountains in order to execute the paperwork on the purchase of a rundown manor for a mysterious Count Orlok (an unrecognizable Bill Skarsgård), a tall, pale wraith with a rumbling voice that sounds like a beehive.

Thomas has a generally bad time with the terrifying Count Orlok, while his young bride at home, the seemingly clairvoyant Ellen (Lily-Rose Depp) is taken with terrifying nightmares and bouts of sleepwalking, consumed by psychic messages from the Count, who has become obsessed with her. He makes his way to his new home in a rat-infested ship, unleashing a plague; Ellen weighs whether she should sacrifice herself to the Count in order to save the town, which consists of essentially three men: her husband, a doctor (Ralph Ineson) and an occultist scientist (Willem Dafoe).

There’s a moment in the first hour of “Nosferatu” where it seems like Eggers’ film is going to be something new, imbued with anthropological folklore, rather than the expressionist interpretation of Murnau. Thomas arrives in a Romanian village, where he encounters a group of jolly gypsies who laugh at him, warn him, and whose blood rituals he encounters in the night. It’s fascinating, fresh, culturally specific, and a new entry point to this familiar tale. Orlok’s mustachioed visage could be seen as a nod to the real Vlad the Impaler, who likely inspired Stoker.

But Eggers abandons this tack and steers back toward leaden homage. The film is a feat of maximalist and moody production design and cinematography, but the tedious and overwrought script renders every character two-dimensional, despite the effortful acting, teary pronunciations and emphatically delivered declarations.

Depp whimpers and writhes with aplomb, but her enthusiastically physical performance never reaches her eyes — unless they’re rolling into the back of her head. Regardless of their energetic ministrations, she and Hoult are unconvincing. Dafoe, as well as Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Emma Corrin, as family friends who take in Ellen, bring a winking campiness, breathing life into the proceedings, while Simon McBurney devilishly goes for broke as the Count’s familiar. However, every actor seems to be in a different movie.

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Despite the sex, nudity and declarations of desire, there’s no eroticism or sensuality; despite the blood and guts, there’s nothing scary about it either. This film is a whole lot of style in search of a better story, and without any metaphor or subtext, it’s a bore. Despite his passion for the project, or perhaps because of it, Eggers’ overwrought “Nosferatu” is dead on arrival, drained of all life and choked to death on its own worship.

‘Nosferatu’

GRADE: C

Rated R: for bloody violent content, graphic nudity and some sexual content

Running time: 135 minutes

In theaters Dec. 25

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Review: Entombed in irrelevance, a new 'Nosferatu' forgets to be timely — or scary

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Review: Entombed in irrelevance, a new 'Nosferatu' forgets to be timely — or scary

Passion projects often are lauded simply for their passion, for the sheer effort it takes to bring a dream to life. Sometimes, that celebration of energy can obfuscate the real artistic merits of a film, a director’s blinkered vision becoming a death knell.

In the 2000 movie “Shadow of the Vampire” (a fictionalized depiction of the making of the 1922 silent “Nosferatu”), John Malkovich plays Germany’s F.W. Murnau, obsessed with “authentic” horror. Even within the clever meta-ness of a millennial indie, though, “Shadow of the Vampire” managed to channel the undying appeal of the original movie, one that still looms large in our cultural memory. Inspired by Bram Stoker’s 1897 novel “Dracula” (with names and details changed in order to skirt Murnau’s lack of rights to the book), “Nosferatu” is a landmark example of German Expressionism, and Max Schreck’s performance as the vampire is one of the genre’s unforgettable villains.

“Nosferatu” has since inspired many filmmakers over a century: Werner Herzog made his own bleak and lonely version with Klaus Kinski in 1979; Francis Ford Coppola went directly to the source material for his lushly gothic “Bram Stoker’s Dracula” in 1992. Now, Robert Eggers, who gained auteur status with his 2015 colonial horror film “The Witch,” delivers a direct remake of Murnau’s film, apparently a project he’s been fantasizing about for decades.

Eggers’ version isn’t a “take” on “Nosferatu” so much as it is an overly faithful retelling, so indebted to its inspiration that it’s utterly hamstrung by its own reverence. If “Shadow of the Vampire” was a playful spin, Eggers’ “Nosferatu” is an utterly straight-faced and interminably dull retread of the 1922 original. It’s the exact same movie, just with more explicit violence and sex. And while Eggers loves to pay tribute to styles and forms of cinema history in his work, the sexual politics of his remake feel at least 100 years old.

At root, “Nosferatu” is a story about real estate and sexual obsession: A young newlywed, Thomas Hutter (Nicholas Hoult), is dispatched from his small German city to the Carpathian Mountains in order to execute the paperwork on the purchase of a rundown manor for a mysterious Count Orlok (an unrecognizable Bill Skarsgård), a tall, pale wraith with a rumbling voice that sounds like a beehive.

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Thomas has a generally bad time with the terrifying Orlok, while his young bride at home, the seemingly clairvoyant Ellen (Lily-Rose Depp), is taken with terrifying nightmares and bouts of sleepwalking, consumed by psychic messages from the count, who has become smitten with her, even from a distance. He makes his way to his new home in a rat-infested ship, unleashing a plague; Ellen weighs whether she should sacrifice herself to the count in order to save the town, which consists of essentially two men besides her husband — a doctor (Ralph Ineson) and an occult-leaning scientist (Willem Dafoe).

There’s a moment in the first hour of “Nosferatu” where it seems like Eggers’ film is going to be something new, imbued with real-world anthropological folklore rather than the starker interpretation of Murnau. Thomas arrives in a Romanian village, where he encounters a group of jolly gypsies who laugh at him and warn him and whose blood rituals he witnesses in the night. It’s fascinating, fresh, culturally specific and a new entry point into this familiar tale. Orlok’s mustachioed visage could be seen as a nod to the real Vlad the Impaler, who inspired Stoker.

But Eggers abandons this tack and steers back toward leaden homage. The film is a feat of maximalist and moody production design and cinematography, but the tedious and overwrought script renders every character two-dimensional, despite the effortful acting and teary pronunciations.

Depp whimpers and writhes with aplomb, but her enthusiastically physical performance never reaches her eyes — unless they’re rolling back in her head. Regardless of their energetic ministrations, both she and Hoult are unconvincing. Dafoe, as well as Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Emma Corrin as family friends who take in Ellen, bring a winking campiness to the movie, breathing life into the proceedings, while Simon McBurney devilishly goes for broke as the count’s fixer. However, every actor seems to be in a different movie.

Despite the sex, nudity and declarations of desire, there’s no eroticism or sensuality here; despite the blood and guts, there’s nothing scary either. The film is a whole lot of style in search of a better story and, without any metaphor or subtext (nothing about immigrants or foreigners?), it’s a bore. Eggers’ overwrought “Nosferatu” is dead on arrival, drained of all life and choked to death on its own worship.

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Katie Walsh is a Tribune News Service film critic.

‘Nosferatu’

Rated: R, for bloody violent content, graphic nudity and some sexual content

Running time: 2 hours, 12 minutes

Playing: In wide release Wednesday, Dec. 25

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Movie Reviews

Movie Review: Nicole Kidman commands the erotic office drama Babygirl

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Movie Review: Nicole Kidman commands the erotic office drama Babygirl

The demands of achieving both one-day shipping and a satisfying orgasm collide in Halina Reijn’s “Babygirl,” a kinky and darkly comic erotic thriller about sex in the Amazon era.

Nicole Kidman stars as Romy Mathis, the chief executive of Tensile, a robotics business that pioneered automotive warehouses. In the movie’s opening credits, a maze of conveyor belts and bots shuttle boxes this way and that without a human in sight.

Romy, too, is a little robotic. She intensely presides over the company. Her eyes are glued to her phone. She gets Botox injections, practices corporate-speak presentations (“Look up, smile and never show your weakness”) and maintains a floor-through New York apartment, along with a mansion in the suburbs that she shares with her theater-director husband ( Antonio Banderas ) and two teenage daughters (Esther McGregor and Vaughan Reilly).

But the veneer of control is only that in “Babygirl,” a sometimes campy, frequently entertaining modern update to the erotically charged movies of the 1990s, like “Basic Instinct” and “9 ½ Weeks.” Reijn, the Danish director of “Bodies Bodies Bodies” has critically made her film from a more female point of view, resulting in ever-shifting gender and power dynamics that make “Babygirl” seldom predictable — even if the film is never quite as daring as it seems to thinks it is.

The opening moments of “Babygirl,” which A24 releases Wednesday, are of Kidman in close-up and apparent climax. But moments after she and her husband finish and say “I love you,” she retreats down the hall to writhe on the floor while watching cheap, transgressive internet pornography. The breathy soundtrack, by the composer Cristobal Tapia de Veer, heaves and puffs along with the film’s main character.

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One day while walking into the office, Romy is taken by a scene on the street. A violent dog gets loose but a young man, with remarkable calmness, calls to the dog and settles it. She seems infatuated. The young man turns out to be Samuel (Harris Dickinson), one of the interns just starting at Tensile. When they meet inside the building, his manner with her is disarmingly frank. Samuel arranges for a brief meeting with Romy, during which he tells her, point blank, “I think you like to be told what to do.” She doesn’t disagree.

Some of the same dynamic seen on the sidewalk, of animalistic urges and submission to them, ensues between Samuel and Romy. A great deal of the pleasure in “Babygirl” comes in watching Kidman, who so indelibly depicted uncompromised female desire in Stanley Kubrick’s “Eyes Wide Shut,” again wade into the mysteries of sexual hunger.

“Babygirl,” which Reijn also wrote, is sometimes a bit much. (In one scene, Samuel feeds Romy saucers of milk while George Michael’s “Father Figure” blares.) But its two lead actors are never anything but completely magnetic. Kidman deftly portrays Romy as a woman falling helplessly into an affair; she both knows what she’s doing and doesn’t.

Dickinson exudes a disarming intensity; his chemistry with Kidman, despite their quickly forgotten age gap, is visceral. As their affair evolves, Samuel’s sense of control expands and he begins to threaten a call to HR. That he could destroy her doesn’t necessarily make Romy any less interested in seeing him, though there are some delicious post-#MeToo ironies in their clandestine CEO-intern relationship. Also in the mix is Romy’s executive assistant, Esme (Sophie Wilde, also very good), who’s eager for her own promotion.

Where “Babygirl” heads from here, I won’t say. But the movie is less interested in workplace politics than it is in acknowledging authentic desires, even if they’re a little ludicrous. There’s genuine tenderness in their meetings, no matter the games that are played. Late in the film, Samuel describes it as “two children playing.”

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As a kind of erotic parable of control, “Babygirl” is also, either fittingly or ironically, shot in the very New York headquarters of its distributor, A24. For a studio that’s sometimes been accused of having a “house style,” here’s a movie that goes one step further by literally moving in.

What about that automation stuff earlier? Well, our collective submission to digital overloads might have been a compelling jumping-off point for the film, but along the way, not every thread gets unraveled in the easily distracted “Babygirl.” Saucers of milk will do that.

“Babygirl,” an A24 release, is rated R by the Motion Picture Association for “strong sexual content, nudity and language.” Running time: 114 minutes. Three stars out of four.

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