The series opens on a high note for Ravencroft, but a fall is coming. She is about to accept a prestigious award for documentary producing and she finally convinced her awkward, under-achieving son to move out of the house. After the awards ceremony, she returns home, where she starts reading a book mailed to her, The Perfect Stranger. It is not the prose the causes her to start violently retching, but the content, because she easily recognizes herself in those pages.
To be honest, Brigstocke did not even write the book himself. His late wife Nancy did. Sadly, she slowly imploded after their college-aged son Jonathan died while on an Italian holiday, under murky circumstances that somehow involve Ravenscroft. His grieving mother wrote the book based on police reports and the revealing undeveloped photos he left behind. Many of them were sexually explicit pictures of Ravencroft. Those same pictures will eventually find their way to Robert Ravencroft, along with his own copy of The Perfect Stranger. However, Brigstocke fully understands his target’s weakest point: her son Nicholas.
In terms of style and tone, Disclaimer is closely akin to the “unreliable narrator” genre exemplified by Gone Girl, except in this case, the narrator, the omniscient voice of Indira Varma, is quite credible. Instead, the author and readers are unreliable.
To be perfectly clear, this series is only intended for mature adults. The early episodes are highly charged sexually, whereas the final two are extremely difficult to watch. However, there is a point to the horrifying acts they depict. In some ways, Disclaimer could be a companion piece to Tar, which also starred Cate Blanchett. Both directly address the excesses of cancel culture, which Brigstocke shrewdly weaponizes against Ravenscroft.
Indeed, Cuaron viscerally reminds us how much context is missing from supposedly damning photos and cell phone videos. Frankly, Disclaimer shames us all for being at least complacent and more likely complicit in this toxic practice of personal destruction via cancellation and online dehumanization—and shame is indeed the only fitting word for it.
Blanchett is perfectly cast as Ravenscroft, showing how her elegant reserve slowly cracks into a million pieces. She perfectly executes the dramatic jiu jitsu the eventually lays the audience out flat. However, Leila George’s performance as the young Catherine Ravenscroft is arguably even braver, given the demanding physical nature of her work.
For those accustomed to seeing Kevin Kline in light middle-aged rom-coms, it will be shocking to see him decrepitly aged-up to play the sort of role we might expect of Tom Wilkinson or Jim Broadbent. Yet, he deftly lures viewers in, openly inviting us to identify with Brigstocke’s righteous fury.
Since Cuaron fits all these parts so assuredly, Disclaimer hits hard and it will continue to haunt you. If you are easily “triggered,” both Ravenscroft and Brigstocke might dismiss you as a fool, in rare instance of agreement. You will also be deeply troubled by the series they appear in, but that would probably be good for you. Unusually smart and accomplished, Disclaimer is recommended for the emotionally mature, who appreciate drama for grown-ups. It is now streaming on Apple TV+.
