It’s rather appropriate that for a review of a series called Rabbit Hole, I have no idea where to begin. I suppose the first thing I’d say is that I never expected to see Kiefer Sutherland play a corporate spy who abhors violence. Given that his most iconic role was both quite similar and wildly different, that’s probably reason enough for some of you to check this out. That said, for those of you who are indifferent toward Jack Bauer, there’s another compelling reason for you to watch Rabbit Hole: Charles frickin’ Dance. Oh yeah, and the fact that it’s batshit crazy in the best, and worst, possible ways.

Sutherland plays John Weir, a corporate spymaster who leads a small team that specializes in big money subterfuge. When asked to do a job by his best friend and confidant, Miles Valence (Jason Butler Harner), Weir quickly accepts. Soon after, like the opening of Mission: Impossible (1996) yet somehow more convoluted, everything goes terribly pear-shaped. Wanted dead or alive by the law and the secretive cabal that set him up, Weir endeavors to discover what the hell is happening and who’s behind it. But when he joins up with an important figure from his past, Dr. Ben Wilson (Charles Dance), things spiral even more out of control, and Weir starts to question everything, including his own sanity.

A mystery-thriller like Rabbit Hole succeeds or fails on the strengths of two elements: its plotting and its lead character/actor. Comparable attempts include the aforementioned Mission: Impossible with Tom Cruise or The Fugitive with Harrison Ford, both of which succeeded because they nailed those elements, and because their plots only had to fill out roughly two hours. So, how does Rabbit Hole compare, with its story stretched out to approximately three times that duration? The answer is difficult to explain without spoiling anything, which I badly want to do for the sake of clarity, so I’ll start with this: it’s a thoroughly mixed bag.

Created and (mostly) written by Glenn Ficarra & John Requa (Focus, Jungle Cruise), the plot of Rabbit Hole is always engaging in the moment. This show is a whodunit on steroids, with its reveals and twists satisfyingly and frustratingly dispersed over eight propulsive episodes. And the paths the story takes to said reveals and twists are often more exciting than the payoffs themselves. I specifically enjoyed a mission in which Weir and one of his new allies, Hailey (Meta Golding), had to steal a suitcase from a cutting-edge safe deposit box facility. By the end of it, I had so much fun that I barely cared what was in the suitcase. At the same time, there are sequences in Rabbit Hole that had the opposite effect on me, like one that saw Weir sneak into an NYPD precinct in order to purloin something from its evidence locker. What are the odds a swag stand would be set up right outside that specific precinct that sells everything he needs to impersonate a detective? They’re probably not high. It’s contrived, lazy writing like this that ruins my immersion and makes me reassess what I’m viewing.

It’s in these instances of reassessment that Rabbit Hole’s weaknesses revealed themselves to me. You see, this show is a techno-thriller at its core, with one of its main themes being how a person’s behavior is predictable based on what they do and say on the internet. Unfettered access to that kind of data is exactly what the villains are after, and even Weir uses it to gain an advantage on occasion. While this is certainly an intriguing plot point, it’s also repeatedly used to almost comically magical levels. If the good guys or bad guys want to maneuver someone to be at a certain location at a set time, or anticipate someone’s behavior or reactions, they basically always do without fail. The first few times this happened, I chalked it up to being part of the genre. But as more and more moments hinged on fantasy-like perfection, I found myself less and less impressed. While it’s certainly amusing to watch people being manipulated and moved around like chess pieces, this style of plotting ignores the fact that humans are often messy and inconsistent, kind of like this show’s writing. Again, it’s engaging in the moment, but it falters too much under scrutiny.*

Okay, so its plotting is notably haphazard, but what about its leading man? Well, my primary critique of the plot also applies to Kiefer Sutherland, and therefore, John Weir. Look, in no way is Sutherland outright awful in Rabbit Hole; he’s simply miscast. At the end of the day, Sutherland is more of a hammer than a scalpel. So, if he’s intense and leader-like, he works. If he’s soft, mentally ill, or god forbid, debonaire, he really doesn’t. And since Weir runs the spectrum of these characteristics, Sutherland’s performance is only intermittently effective. He’s least successful during the sections that have him demonstrating signs of deep paranoia. Part of this is due to his limited range as an actor, but another part, perhaps even a bigger one, is that the writers really only touch on this mental health aspect when it most benefits the drama. The end result is that Weir’s paranoia mostly feels like a superficial plot device, and there’s only so much that any actor can do with slapdash material like that.

All of this means that Rabbit Hole fails to deliver the two elements a thriller like this has to get right (i.e. plot & lead actor). Despite this, two things keep this show eminently watchable. First, there’s its clever connection to current events, which keeps its entire storyline feeling vital and prescient. The notion that some villainous cabal could control and abuse politicians, news media outlets, AI, and eventually everyone’s data, and then use all of that to dismantle American democracy, is a terrifyingly believable one. It doesn’t feel like something that ­might happen; it feels like something that will happen, or worse, is happening. Does this kind of plotting exploit many of our deepest fears about the world today? Sure, but a little exploitation does wonders in this kind of story.

The second thing that keeps this show watchable is its liberal use of Charles Dance, a choice that has literally never backfired. Even at 76 years of age, Dance is still believable as a crafty and dangerous operator, which is exactly what his character (Ben) is in Rabbit Hole. Unlike Sutherland, Dance is perfectly cast as a man seeking to destroy his longstanding rival, not matter what it costs. This makes Ben vicious and untrustworthy, two traits Dance has mastered over the course of his prolific career. It’s no surprise, then, that Dance fits seamlessly into his role, which only further illuminates how poorly Sutherland fits into his. Because of this, when they share the screen, it often seems like Dance and Sutherland are doing their own thing, with an apparent absence of chemistry between them. I know I’m making it sound like Dance hurts the show in the some ways, but in truth, he’s the best thing about it. Ultimately, he elevates the entire program without even breaking a sweat.

Before I conclude, I have to point out how underwhelmed I was by Rabbit Hole’s action, comedy, and romance (if you can call it that). In terms of action, this show features quite a bit of it, but it never moves the needle. Sure, there’s some blood – even a bit of gore – that gets your attention, but the violence still comes off as toothless, mostly because it’s staged so poorly.** Then there’s the comedy, which mostly comes from Ed (Rob Yang), a character who starts off as likeable buts ends up gratingly irritating. For every one jokes that hits in Rabbit Hole, there are probably four that miss. Lastly, there’s the burgeoning romance between Weir and Hailey. Similar to Ed’s humor, it works a bit in the early stages, but as the episodes wear on, there’s simply too little time afforded to it for it to be convincing. I would’ve preferred something platonic between them, but at least their relationship wasn’t distractingly shoddy, like the action scenes.

Whether or not Rabbit Hole will appeal to you boils down to your ability to enjoy something in the moment, before moving on to the next one. In other words, if you just looking for twisty-turny entertainment, then this series has something to offer you. However, if you’re at all like me, meaning you tend to reflect and nitpick, then Rabbit Hole will drive you up the proverbial wall. Nonetheless, I’ll readily admit that this show always kept me on my toes with its bonkers reveals, and that Charles Dance is still the man. I’m just not sure if those two things justify watching eight episodes of this. But maybe you don’t care about any of that. Maybe you’re someone who’s simply curious to see what Kiefer Sutherland is up to these days. In that case, let me save you some time: John Weir is not Jack Bauer, and that’s not a good thing.

If I had to score it, I’d give season one of Rabbit Hole a 5/10.

Notes:

* [SPOILER] Speaking of not holding up to scrutiny, Valence’s big moment was a downright dud for me. He did it to give Weir a chance? If anything, it sent Weir down a more dangerous path, one that diverted him away from finding the big bad and clearing his name. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that having Weir try to figure out why Valence did it was just a way for the writers to pad the first three episodes or so. Needless to say, I found this entire subplot highly unconvincing.

** [Minor Spoiler] There are at least two moments that I can remember in which Weir and his team should’ve been killed by the main villain’s mercenaries. In both of these scenes, Weir and Co. are out in the open and barely running, so you’d think that highly trained gunmen would be able to land shots with relative ease. And yet, they somehow miss. I have to reiterate: this some of the worst action I’ve ever seen on TV.