Every Batman villain represents a specific vice (or, if you want to be less generous, a specific gimmick). The Joker is chaos. Two-Face is the corruption of justice. Catwoman is greed. Riddler is... puzzles. And the Penguin, traditionally, has represented the wealthy face of organized crime.
Often sporting a top hat, cane, and morning suit, the Penguin looks like an evil Monopoly Man and often acts like it too, exploiting the loopholes of capitalism to build his criminal empire. He’s a character who works well on a comic book page or in more fantastical screen adaptations of Batman. But in Matt Reeves’ grounded, noir-inspired 2022 film The Batman, the Penguin required a bit of a makeover.
Enter Colin Farrell’s grasping, low-level mob enforcer, Oswald Cobb, a crass, rowdy, and low-class slimeball — basically, everything the comic book version of the Penguin was not. His signature “penguin waddle” came from a genetic disability, his beak-like facial features from brutal scars earned over a lifetime of hard mobster living. Introduced as crime boss Carmine Falcone’s (John Turturro) lieutenant, Oz was looked down on by everyone around him, including Robert Pattinson’s Batman. But that’s where The Penguin, the HBO spinoff from Lauren LeFranc that bridges the gap between The Batman and its upcoming sequel, finds its dramatic heft: in the psyche of a dangerously ambitious loser who is tired of his status as the perpetual No. 2.
The Penguin isn’t charting any new territory in this post-antihero era. Its prestige TV influences are as clear as day: a little Sopranos, a dash of Better Call Saul, a whisper of Vincent D'Onofrio’s complex Wilson Fisk in the Netflix Daredevil series. But, as in The Batman, Farrell’s wild, go-for-broke performance makes the series a must-watch, even as it goes down more brutal, dark avenues than you’d ever expect from a Batman spinoff. Yes, The Penguin takes advantage of its HBO home to push the envelope on gore and the number of f-bombs, but it also transcends its “edgy” premise to tell a compelling story about the destructive cycle of power.
The Penguin begins with a broken city. Gotham is reeling from the floods brought on by the Riddler’s scheme, while the crime world scrambles to fill the power vacuum left by the demise of Carmine Falcone. One person vying to take that coveted spot at the top is Oswald Cobb, who finds immediate resistance from Falcone’s chosen successor: his degenerate son Alberto (Michael Zegen). But after an attempt to cozy up to Alberto goes horribly wrong (thanks in large part to Oz’s hair-trigger temper), our anti-hero accelerates his plan to destabilize the reigning Falcone and Maroni crime families. However, he finds a fearsome foe in Alberto’s devoted sister Sofia (Cristin Milioti), recently released from Arkham Asylum where she was serving time for her crimes as “The Hangman.”
In its pursuit of prestige TV status, The Penguin sheds some of the layers of pulp that helped The Batman rise above its grim-dark interpretation. LeFranc’s more straightforward approach both helps and hinders the show. The Penguin is smaller and more intimate, but by taking away that pulpiness, the show kind of robs Farrell of the opportunity to go whole-hog crazy. Instead, The Penguin is more interested in exploring why Oz is the way he is, casting him as a more morally dubious Saul Goodman. LeFranc repeatedly introduces moments where Oz proves himself to be the most self-serving, cowardly parasite, only to undercut them with his unexpected crises of conscience. But despite the notes of sympathy that both the show and Farrell’s performance affords Oz, the boldest revelation The Penguin makes is that its title character is unforgivably terrible — even his mother Francis (a fantastically fragile and prickly Deirdre O'Connell) calls him “the devil.”
Farrell walks a fine line between sympathetic and reprehensible, making you believe in his affection for his mother and his troubled teenage sidekick Vic (Rhenzy Feliz, the sweet but awkward weak link in the show), before turning around and doing the worst thing you’ve ever seen. He’s a little more subdued in The Penguin, no longer given the allowance of a scene-stealing supporting player, but manages to convey an astounding amount of emotion through layers of prosthetics and a flashy, blowhard persona.
The job of scene stealer instead goes to Milioti, whose Sofia Falcone is a terrifying, mercurial foil to Farrell’s Oz. Her naturally large eyes seem to be permanently gigantic and quivering throughout the eight-episode series as if they can barely contain her long-simmering rage and resentment against her family (who locked her up) and Oz (who betrayed her). Milioti gives a firebrand of a performance: slinky, sinister, and explosive all at once. A strong ensemble including Clancy Brown, Shohreh Aghdashloo, Carmen Ejogo, Theo Rossi, and Mark Strong help carry the show through some of its dips in momentum, but it’s the scenes between Farrell and Milioti that make The Penguin worth watching.
The Penguin fits neatly into the universe created by Reeves’ The Batman, dutifully filling in the lore of the world — we see how Gotham rebuilds, and the various political factions moving to clean up the city. But it’s in the show’s various exposition dumps where you can feel the greatest loss of The Batman’s pulpy flairs. Mare of Easttown director Craig Zobel helps the series match the grimy look of The Penguin’s prestige TV influences like The Sopranos, even if he can’t quite capture the striking photography that Greig Fraser accomplished on Reeves’ 2022 feature.
But any of The Penguin’s deficiencies can be easily forgiven thanks to its fantastic cast and the lead performances by Farrell and Milioti. The Penguin proves intensely watchable, moreso than just homework for those anxiously waiting for The Batman 2.
