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This remake of the Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner classic comes in confident and polished, and on paper the casting of Benedict Cumberbatch and Olivia Colman sounds like a sure thing, two sharp actors with a gift for acerbic delivery who know exactly how to land a line so it cuts just enough, and to be fair they both do exactly that. Still, from the opening stretch there is a quiet problem you cannot quite shake, because despite being close in age they never fully click as a believable couple, Cumberbatch's boyish face throwing the rhythm off just enough that Colman, brilliant as she always is, sometimes reads less like a romantic partner and more like someone who has already seen all of this nonsense before, which is not a knock on her talent so much as an honest observation you feel guilty for noticing and then cannot unsee.

What keeps the film afloat is its sense of humor and timing, the story constantly peppered with genuinely funny moments, from the snarky kids who seem far too aware of the adults' failings to Kate McKinnon stealing scenes with awkward, intentionally cringey beats that land harder the longer she stays in them. By the time it all wraps up, you realize the movie knows exactly what it is and never pretends to be more, a comfortable, entertaining watch that leans on sweeping views, sharp dialogue, and the impressive architecture of the house itself, which looms and lingers like a silent witness and ends up feeling just as important as any of the people wandering through its rooms.

It's Christmas day, and a brand-new movie pops up for free on Paramount+, which already feels a little suspicious in the best possible way. I don't know much about it, barely anything really, but then I see Channing Tatum and Kirsten Dunst in the cast, and I read that it's based on an extraordinary true story, and suddenly I'm in, because those are the kinds of details that tend to lead somewhere interesting. The Christmas angle sneaks in naturally, mostly because so much of the story unfolds inside a Toys R Us, that brightly lit cathedral of childhood where December decides the fate of the entire year, and it works without forcing the holiday spirit down your throat. What surprises me most is how well the movie holds together, how smooth the pacing feels, how quickly you start caring about people you probably shouldn't, especially the central character who, on principle alone, ought to repel you, but Tatum leans into every ounce of his charm and somehow flips the equation so you find yourself rooting for him despite yourself. By the time it's over, you realize you've watched something oddly warm, tightly constructed, and genuinely entertaining, and it's almost absurd to say it out loud, but here it is, a Christmas movie inspired by a real criminal, and somehow it works.

"Pluribus" arrives with the kind of expectation that only comes from the guy who once gave us "Breaking Bad" and later doubled down with "Better Call Saul," and you feel that weight immediately, starting with the cryptic title and a first episode that pulls you in through sheer mood and confidence, all gorgeous cinematography and promise, the sort of opening that makes you sit forward and think, okay, this could be something. And for a moment, it really is exciting.

The problem creeps in slowly, with a core character who should be easy to latch onto but never quite gets there, someone you are supposed to care about and root for yet somehow remains just out of reach, and whether that disconnect comes from the writing or from Rhea Seehorn's clipped, staccato line delivery, the end result is the same, because she feels miscast and the emotional buy-in never fully happens. Meanwhile, the most compelling figure in the entire story shows up far too late, the mysterious guy at the end who instantly carries more intrigue, more gravity, and more narrative pull than what came before, the kind of character who makes you genuinely want to know what happens next.

By then, though, you have already sat through too many episodes that feel like placeholders, long stretches where atmosphere replaces momentum and very little of real consequence occurs, which makes that late arrival sting all the more. Still, there is enough craft on display and enough lingering curiosity to keep hope alive, and despite its missteps, I find myself willing to stick around and see what they manage to cook up when the second season rolls around.