In The Girlfriend, Robin Wright steps in front of and behind the camera, shaping a drama that begins as polished domestic perfection and unravels into psychological warfare. She plays Laura Sanderson, a woman who appears to have everything—a thriving career, a loyal husband, and a son she adores. But when that son introduces his new girlfriend, Cherry, the balance of Laura’s carefully arranged world begins to tilt.
What follows is a masterclass in tension built on perception and control. The story shifts perspectives, keeping viewers unsure of whom to trust. One moment we share Laura’s unease, watching the newcomer with suspicion; the next we see Cherry’s vulnerability, her frustration at being judged and underestimated. Every exchange between the two women is both a conversation and a duel.
Wright delivers a performance of quiet authority—every movement measured, every word calibrated. Olivia Cooke, as Cherry, is her perfect foil: impulsive, magnetic, and unwilling to be dismissed. Their scenes together crackle with the electricity of two women who recognize something dangerous in each other. Laurie Davidson, as the son caught in the crossfire, offers the fragile hope that love might somehow survive the wreckage.
Visually, the series is stunning. The elegant homes and sleek London settings reflect the illusion of control that Laura fights to maintain. But beneath the luxury lies rot: deceit, envy, and the claustrophobia of privilege. The tone is elegant yet menacing, with a score that whispers menace where the dialogue stays polite.
While some twists arrive with more inevitability than shock, the story’s strength lies not in surprise but in observation. It’s a study in how love and fear can blur, how a mother’s protectiveness can become possession, and how intimacy can turn adversarial when truth is in short supply.
The Girlfriend is less a thriller about murder than about motive—about how the people we love most can mirror the sides of ourselves we least want to see. Wright directs with precision and empathy, crafting a series that lingers like the aftertaste of a confession whispered too late.
