Roar

Most of reviews here seem to want to hate on this for being women-centric, and in doing so, they miss that this really has serious issues. Like, each episode has a good idea, but not enough of a good idea to make up a full episode, so each episode has long scenes that serve no purpose, where character is looking confused while looking at what's going on around them. Like, it would be much more entertaining if they made one movie, or maybe two, maybe cramming all these allegories into one movie, and that movie would appear weird, like something Lynch would make, but would be more meaningful than Lynch movie, precisely because of metaphors. That way it could all be entertaining instead of being spread to thin.

You could put none-allegorical stories into another movie. Like story with Alison Brie, that one had 0 metaphors and was pretty much exactly what it was. It is also the only episode (out of those 5 I've seen so far) that didn't need fast forwarding. It might even be good enough to be a standalone movie

Another big problem is that it's anthology series, which, I don't know why they keep making these, like, as soon as you get used to a character, that character is gone for good. Just make movies ffs, no one likes anthologies

Anywho, might have been better if episodes were shorter, cause with exception of Brie episode which could have been longer, 4 other episodes I've seen were all dragging, some could have easily been no longer than 20 minutes to be completely entertaining.

I was expecting more from this series. The stories felt a bit off, some confusing and like the writers couldn't think of a coherent ending so they just left it like that. Had some good actors, some funny moments, some horrific moments and over all, a lot of sadness. That's all I got from this. Like I said, underwhelmed.

Each episode ends abruptly; and on parts that simply need to be explained more. It's left me feeling agitated and dissatisfied. It's like they are trying to be mysterious by being obscure and I think most people are tired of the genre of "It's open to interpretation." Messages are vague, and there should be sufficient endings, because I just feel like I'm being teased.

On the positive side, the cinematography is great, and the women in this show are excellent!

You have to tune in just to see Nicole Kidman and Judy Davis going head-to-head, but there's a lot more to enjoy in this poignant yet whimsical anthology series from GLOW creators Liz Flahive and Carly Mensch.

The series is based on a collection of short stories by Irish writer Cecelia Ahern, and each of the eight half-hour episodes brings its own splash of magical realism or Black Mirror-style sci-fi as it illuminates a different facet of female experience. Common themes wend throughout, but the tone of each individual episode is different.

There's a layered melancholy to Kidman's and Davis's episode, The Woman Who Ate Photographs, which is made all the more resonant by the nostalgic ordinariness of its Australian setting. Kidman plays a woman nearing the end of her tether as she sets off in a moving van to bring her Alzheimer's-afflicted mother (Davis) to live with her and her husband and son (Simon Baker and Kai Lewins), who aren't giving her quite the support that she needs.

It's fun to see Kidman slapping the steering wheel while singing along to Midnight Oil and Dexys Midnight Runners, but Australian director Kim Gehrig, who has made music videos for Chaka Khan and Brittany Howard, among others, extracts a real ache from the NSW scenery, not least the rural brick veneer in which Davis' character has been rattling around on her own.

Davis, who was so devastatingly brilliant recently in Nitram (Stan), produces another emotionally piercing performance as a woman who is by turns hostile, vulnerable, disapprovingly distant, mischievous and scared. The gulf between mother and daughter yawns like the Burragorang Valley in what is a memorable little piece of work.

GLOW fans, meanwhile, will particularly enjoy other episodes involving Alison Brie as a ghost investigating her own murder, and Betty Gilpin as a woman whose husband keeps her, quite literally, on a shelf - at least until she busts out into an old-timey dance number, whirling through a thoroughly modern and thoroughly bemused Los Angeles.

Issa Rae (Insecure) delivers a particularly strong performance in what is paradoxically one of the series' weaker episodes, about a successful black writer feeling increasingly invisible to the white showbiz world that's courting her; and Merritt Wever is typically amazing as a woman whose dead-end dating life takes a strange turn when she meets a charming male-feminist duck.

Streaming services are glutted with anthology series, but we still needed this one. Truthful, validating and sometimes just plain magical.

I'm a huge fan of female-centric stories. All of the messages contained within this anthology series is an opportunity to take something away from each. The performers brought the high quality that we've come to expect. The cinematography was first-rate.

I did struggle with the overtly allegorical narrative style, as each subject matter tends to be delivered somewhat on the nose, which is kind of the point I guess. However this style of using the metaphor to blur the lines between realism and symbolic carries with it a distinct air of an ambitious student art film project.

All forms of self-expression are valid and this is no exception. It just takes some open-mindedness and adjustment as an audience member to participate in this experience.