Why Netflix's 'His & Hers' feels like a thriller that's secretly rewriting the genre

When the first episode of Netflix's limited series arrives, it greets viewers with the familiar cadence of a domestic murder mystery: a quiet house, a couple whose lives are suddenly upended by a body, and a handful of secrets that promise to unravel. Yet the moment the story slips beyond the obvious, the series begins to shed its conventional skin. William Oldroyd's direction leans into the intimacy of the setting, letting the camera linger on ordinary rooms as if they were confessionals, while the script, faithful to Alice Feeney's novel, layers each revelation with a new, unsettling angle that feels less like a clue and more like a deliberate misdirection. The performances are calibrated to the point where a glance or a sigh carries the weight of an unspoken pact, and the pacing refuses the usual rush of plot twists, opting instead for a slow, almost tactile build that pulls the audience into a psychological maze. By the time the final episode closes, the show has transformed from a standard whodunit into something that questions the very notion of truth in a partnership, leaving viewers with the lingering sense that the mystery never truly ends-it simply changes shape. In the streaming landscape, it's a rare example of a thriller that uses its limited format to turn domestic routine into a relentless, eerie playground for suspense.