There’s something deliciously unhinged about the way Kristen Bell‘s Anna Whitaker stares out her window, wineglass perpetually in hand, watching life unfold across the street. It’s a premise that drips with potential—part noir, part farce—and The Woman in the House Across the Street from the Girl in the Window (2022) leans into its absurdity with gusto. The series, created by Hugh Davidson, Larry Dorf, and Rachel Ramras, is a sharp-witted parody of psychological thrillers, but it’s also something messier: a tonal rollercoaster that never quite decides if it wants to be funny, chilling, or heartbreaking.

At its core, the show follows Anna (Bell), a grieving mother whose life has stalled after the murder of her daughter. When a handsome neighbor, Neil (Tom Riley), moves in across the street, she begins to see a glimmer of hope—until she witnesses what she believes is a murder. The setup is pure Hitchcockian suspense, but the series revels in subverting expectations. Anna’s paranoia and alcohol-fueled hallucinations are played for laughs, particularly when she forgets her daughter is dead with the same casual disregard as forgetting to pick up laundry. Bell’s performance is a standout, balancing pathos and absurdity with effortless charm. She’s at her best in moments of quiet despair, like when she confesses to her sister (Mary Holland) that she’s terrified of rain—a detail that feels painfully human amid the satire.

The supporting cast adds layers of dark comedy. Cameron Britton’s Buell, a dim-witted handyman with a heart of gold, delivers lines with deadpan sincerity, while Shelley Hennig’s dual role as Lisa and Chastity—the woman Anna thinks was murdered—is a delightful bit of meta-commentary on genre tropes. Even the cameos, like Glenn Close’s brief but memorable appearance in the finale, add to the series’ playful tone.

Yet for all its wit, the show stumbles when it tries to juggle its tonal whiplash. The mystery at its center—did Anna witness a murder or not?—feels underdeveloped, culminating in an ending that’s more eyeroll-inducing than satisfying. The satire sharpens its teeth when it mocks the clichés of psychological thrillers (the overbearing ex-husband, the nosy neighbor), but it struggles to sustain emotional weight alongside its humor. Some episodes lean too heavily into farce, like a scene where Anna hallucinates a cannibalistic serial killer (Brendan Jennings) in her kitchen, which feels more like a misfire than a clever jab.

The series also squanders opportunities for deeper commentary on grief and trauma. Anna’s pain is real, but the show often undercuts it with jokes, leaving her character feeling more like a caricature than a fully realized person. The finale, while visually striking (a Hitchcockian stunner), doesn’t quite land emotionally because we’ve spent so much time laughing at Anna rather than empathizing with her.

In the end, The Woman in the House Across the Street from the Girl in the Window is a flawed but entertaining ride. It’s funniest when it commits to its absurdity—like the moment Anna asks herself how she keeps forgetting her daughter is dead—and smart enough to poke holes in the genre it parodies.