In the grand tradition of “The Godfather” and “Scarface,” similarly modernistic versions influenced by the same works like James Gray’s early New York crime films and augmented by the dilapidated layer of grimy bleakness derived from “The Batman” franchise, Matt Reeves’ “The Penguin,” is a bruising dramatic crime tragedy about the myth of the American dream and its modern decay. At least when it’s at its best and not just a plot-driven tale about the battle for control of Gotham’s criminal underworld. While slightly flawed and a little too baggy in the middle, it would have made a better, tighter, five-episode series instead of eight—though all protracted prestige TV is guilty of this charge—“The Penguin” is still largely compelling thanks to the committed performances of Colin Farrell and the surprisingly scene-stealing turn by co-star Cristin Milioti (“How I Met Your Mother”).
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Set in the aftermath of “The Batman” film, and specifically, the aftershocks felt by the death of Gotham crime boss Carmine Falcone (John Turturro), killed by the Riddler (Paul Dano), “The Penguin,” begins in the vacuum created by the mob boss’ demise. With the body barely cold, Oswald “Oz” Cobb (Farrell)— referred to disdainfully by his peers as The Penguin because of his waddling limp— attempts to pillage Falcone’s office for all its possessions, extortion insurance included.
He is quickly, however, discovered by Carmine’s son, Alberto Falcone (Michael Zegen). But as the series illustrates continuously, Oz is a snake-oil salesman. Despite his ill-repute as a sleazy lowlife who will flip on anyone for a buck, he always has a way of weaseling his way out of any situation using flattery, manipulation, and quick-of-his-feet survival strategies. It doesn’t help that Alberto is a “drop head” (Gotham lingo for drug addict), and soon, Oz wins him over, briefly. While generally regarded as a distrustful failure by all, Oz is still sensitive, prideful, and hot-headed when demeaned to his face, and Alberto soon catches a bullet. But not before Oz learns about a new psychotropic street drug named “Bliss” that will put “Drops” to shame and is ready to hit the market.

Setting the plot in motion, this murder introduces Sofia Falcone (Milioti), arguably the second lead, just as crucial to the overall story. The daughter of Carmine and the brother of the just-deceased Alberto, she and Oz have a history; he was her former driver before he rose in the ranks to be a valuable scumbag for Falcone. Sofia’s backstory is burdened with past trauma and heaping servings of emotional wounds, both physical and psychic, from her ten-year Arkham Asylum incarcerations and psychological lacerations given to her by her betraying father.
As the Falcone family looks to consolidate their power in the wake of Carmine’s death, sitting at the head of the Falcone crime syndicate family table is now former Capo Luca Falcone (Scott Cohen), Carmine’s brother and underboss Johnny Viti (Michael Kelly), also a related family member. Once known as a serial killer, The Hangman, Sofia has been exonerated—though still lost a decade rotting in Arkham regardless— as this new chapter begins, she reenters society, trying to fold back into a family who still believes she’s an unpredictable nutjob.  
Playing a dangerous game of 5D chess, Oz puts several spinning plates in the air in hopes of a long-play game of taking over the Bliss drug market in Gotham, which is essentially a series of patient, intricate, and underhanded betrayals upon betrayals. The unpleasant criminal hits up the Maroni family to set up a deal and double cross the Falcone’s—imprisoned mob boss Salvatore Maroni (Clancy Brown) and his wife Nadia (Shohreh Aghdashloo)—the Chinese mafia (led by François Chau), and plays everyone against each other. Everyone knows Cobb is a conniving trickster and expects treachery. Yet, the gangster’s reputation as a useful mean-to-an-end scumbag works in his favor, as does their underestimation of his savvy abilities.
Meanwhile, Sofia suspects Oz killed her missing brother, who still hasn’t turned up, and this soon puts them on a collision course for power. Oz is the type of contemptible type regarded as someone who would sell out his own mother for a nickel, the irony being he’s secretly a resolute mama’s boy, and his dementia-suffering mother, Francis (Deirdre O’Connell) is the one person he cares about more than himself (Theo Rossi and Carmen Ejogo also feature into the plot).

Oz also shows an unlikely sense of empathy with the story of Victor Aguilar (Rhenzy Feliz), an orphaned street kid that he takes under his wing (at gunpoint at first) to be his driver and gopher lieutenant. This storyline initially feels unnecessary (and Feliz seems shaky amidst all these heavyweights initially), but eventually goes a long way in service of underscoring the story of the misbegotten and marginalized people of Gotham that Oz belongs to and feels an affinity for (not to mention the heartbreaking ending that wraps it all up).  
Created by writer Lauren LeFranc, it’s this element of “The Penguin”—the discarded, the have-nots, the rejects scrambling for survival in the corrupt sewer that is Gotham City—that’s the true heart of the series that’s not unlike something such as “City Of God.” Oz is born and bred vermin of this ilk with a tragic family backstory. But ambitious and aggrieved for all that he never had, his wanting resent calcifies into a covetous rancor of entitlement with no moral code other than the self-deceiving delusion that he is a man of the people helping other poor forgotten souls and criminals to gain what is rightfully theirs.
It’s the warped version of the American Dream myth taken to the extreme, amplified by an experience of hunger, invisibility, and cruel indifference. Yes, the ideas of class and the American dream fallacy have been narratively exposed for years (not so coincidentally something the aforementioned James Gray always plays with, including in past collaborations with Matt Reeves)—an unattainable, outmoded carrot dangling to keep the cogs in the machine struggling for their supposed slice of the diminishing pie—but in “The Penguin,” Oz’s disdain for privilege and affluence of is just a mask for a brutally self-serving nature that may have been toxic out of the womb. In this sense, “The Penguin” is a tragedy for many reasons, but chiefly because Cobb’s dire, downtrodden circumstances meant he never stood a chance from day one.
“The Penguin” looks like a million dollars—or at least, a million dollars of convincing, cinematic gutter trash. Shot in New York, the production values of grime go a long way to accentuate the notion of a city and a people beyond repair. And to be fair, your mileage with the series may vary. Fans of “The Batman” series and darker HBO crime dramas will likely be satisfied, but there’s an argument to be made that the dour, darkly-lit despair of it all becomes a little oppressive and repetitive after a while.

Directed by Craig Zobel, Helen Shaver, and more, while the supporting filmmakers do solid work, Zobel’s episodes (he directed the excellent “Mare Of Easttown”) are exemplary. His first three episodes have that grimy cinematic sheen worthy of “The Batman” movie and Greig Fraser’s astounding cinematography. Featuring many working-class “Sopranos” vibes, only heightened and exaggerated for Gotham, “The Penguin,” in many ways, will feel at home as an HBO prestige crime drama.
Farrell is once again fantastic as the slippery Cobb, given more humanistic contours, thanks to the character’s personal exploration, and Milioti has arguably never convinced quite like this before. Some of the Arkham scenes begin to push the series arguably somewhere near the cartoonishly arch, yet it thankfully never crosses over the line. In the end, “The Penguin” is solid stuff, but episodes five through seven, where Oz and Sofia try and outwit each other, begin to feel a little repetitive (flashbacks that recast Turturro’s Carmine into Mark Strong also feel like an unfortunate choice).
Those looking for primary connective tissue to “The Batman” movie will likely be disappointed. The cape crusader doesn’t appear, there’s nary a mention of him, and all comic book devotees receive is the complete transformation into the Penguin character—the tuxedo and top hat, which is honestly a little disappointing, given how grounded and realistic the character initially was, free of corny, outdated comic book accuracy. Yes, Arkham Asylum is represented in moments, including flashbacks to Sofia’s prison sentence there, and there’s a brief final episode mention of Selina Kyle (Zoe Kravitz), which could potentially pay off in 2026’s “The Batman Part II.” But otherwise, the series thankfully does little to set up the next sequel other than the context of the Penguin as the new mob lord running Gotham.  
“The Penguin” is scuzzy, brutal, and fierce in all the right ways, a resonant allegory for the unforgiving grind of capitalism and the way American glory and exceptionalism have faded, leaving the bottom dwellers to fend for themselves—the entire Republic as a corporation, man. But a limited series should be such and TV economy is still somehow undervalued. “The Penguin” doesn’t overplay its hand enough to go broke, mind you, but it does undercut itself slightly with just a few too many meandering moments. Still, in terms of superhero-centric franchise TV, it’s arguably among some of the best viewers have been offered to date. [B/B+]