The opening shot of Anthracite lingers on the snow-dusted peaks of Lévionna, a French Alpine village where secrets fester like rot beneath the pristine surface. It’s an effective hook—a place that feels isolated enough to hide bodies and old enough to bury them deep. Created by Fanny Robert and Maxime Berthemy, this six-part Netflix mystery dives into the aftermath of a cult’s reign of terror, thirty years after its supposed dissolution. The premise is ripe: journalist Solal Heilman (Jean-Marc Barr) vanishes, dragging his web-sleuth daughter Ida (Noémie Schmidt) back to the town that swallowed her father whole.

What works here is the atmosphere. Director Julius Berg leans into the claustrophobic beauty of the Alps, where every shadowed alley and creaky cabin feels like it’s whispering secrets. The series benefits from a strong cast, led by the charismatic Hatik as ex-con Jaro Gatsi. Hatik, known primarily as a rapper, brings an unexpected gravitas to the role, grounding Jaro in a way that makes his redemption arc feel earned rather than forced. Schmidt, meanwhile, nails Ida’s relentless curiosity, balancing vulnerability with sharp investigative instincts. Her performance is the series’ emotional anchor, and it’s a shame the writing doesn’t always give her enough to work with.

The series also earns points for its ecological consciousness—Netflix’s first “eco-sensitive” production, complete with carbon offsetting—a detail that feels refreshingly modern. It’s a small but meaningful nod to contemporary concerns, even if the narrative itself doesn’t fully integrate this theme beyond surface-level nods.

Yet Anthracite stumbles where it should soar. The central mystery, tied to the fictional cult Arcacia, never fully coalesces into something compelling. Instead of peeling back layers of a cohesive conspiracy, the plot lurches between subplots—Ida’s investigation, Jaro’s redemption arc, Giovanna Deluca’s (Camille Lou) police procedural grind—and none of them click together satisfactorily. The pacing is choppy, with episodes juggling too many threads without enough payoff. Even the real-life inspiration—the Order of the Solar Temple—feels underutilized, reduced to a vague backdrop rather than a driving force.

The tone wobbles, too. One moment, it’s a grim drama about intergenerational trauma; the next, it’s a quirky small-town whodunit with awkward humor that falls flat. The series struggles to commit, and the result is a narrative that never quite finds its footing. Even the performances, while individually strong, suffer from this instability. Hatik’s Jaro, for instance, oscillates between brooding intensity and forced levity, as if unsure whether he’s the protagonist of a neo-noir or a buddy-cop flick.

Visually, Berg’s direction is often striking—long takes of the snowy landscape, tight close-ups during interrogations—but these moments feel like isolated highlights rather than part of a cohesive vision. The sound design, however, deserves praise: the eerie silence of the Alps punctuated by sudden, jarring noises (a slammed door, a whispered threat) creates an unsettling tension that lingers.

The series also suffers from a lack of originality in its genre fit. While it borrows heavily from established tropes—think Twin Peaks meets True Detective—it fails to carve out a distinct identity. The mystery at its core feels derivative, and the twists, when they arrive, lack the impact of truly subversive storytelling. Even the cult’s backstory, loosely inspired by real-life events, is handled with a timidity that robs it of genuine chills.

That said, Anthracite isn’t without merit. The supporting cast delivers strong performances across the board. Camille Lou as Giovanna Deluca brings a quiet intensity to her role as a police officer navigating both professional and personal demons. Nicolas Godart, as her brother Romeo, adds a layer of complexity with his portrayal of a man grappling with identity and love. The chemistry between the ensemble is one of the series’ few redeeming qualities, making even its weakest moments watchable.

The series also attempts to explore themes of secrecy and the lingering effects of trauma, which are timely and relevant. However, these themes are often surface-level, tacked onto the narrative rather than woven into it. The exploration of cult mentality, for example, is intriguing but ultimately shallow, lacking the depth needed to make a real impact.

Anthracite is a series that wants to be profound, chilling, and original all at once—but in chasing too many ideas, it winds up feeling like a patchwork of half-formed mysteries. It’s a shame, because with tighter writing and a clearer vision, it could have been something special.