Vladimir review: Rachel Weisz goes full Fleabag
Netflix's Vladimir is too cheeky for its own good.
The limited series, based on creator Julia May Jonas' 2022 novel of the same name, combines a heady tale of desire with a #MeToo controversy on a small college campus. In theory, it's a hotbed of lust and controversy ripe for discourse. In practice, Vladimir's flippancy dulls its sharpness.
What's Vladimir about?
Rachel Weisz stars as the unnamed fiftysomething creative writing professor at the heart of Vladimir. After 30 years of teaching at the same liberal arts college, she's come to a terrifying realization: She has "lost the ability to captivate." (Weisz, on the other hand, is captivating as ever.) Her students consider her out-of-touch. Her husband John (John Slattery), a fellow professor, is constantly seeing other women as part of an open-marriage arrangement that only he takes advantage of. He's also under investigation for prior affairs with students, putting his marriage under a microscope. (As part of the arrangement, Vladimir's protagonist was aware of these dalliances, and she doesn't understand how a consensual affair could be wrong.)
Enter Vladimir Vladinski (Leo Woodall), the English department's hotshot new professor. Young, gorgeous, and considerate enough to give up his chair for Weisz's professor at a faculty meeting, he becomes the object of all of her fantasies. His marriage to new adjunct professor Cynthia (Jessica Henwick) doesn't stop her lust. Nor does it seem to stop Vladimir from being interested. Soon, Vladimir's lead's life is in a double downward spiral as she reckons with both the fallout from John's actions and her newfound erotic obsession.
Are Vladimir's fourth-wall breaks irritating or enlightening?
Vladimir offers viewers a front-row seat to its protagonist's frantic inner monologue by having her deliver her thoughts straight to camera. Look, Phoebe Waller-Bridge's Fleabag doesn't own the art of fourth-wall breaking, but it's impossible not to see its influence in the professor's asides. If you're going to use a technique that's almost synonymous with another TV show about a spiraling, complicated, unnamed woman, you'd better bring something new to it.
To its credit, Vladimir tries, but doesn't quite pull it off.
Where Fleabag's fourth-wall breaks stem from her intense self-awareness, the protagonist's fourth-wall breaks are all about self-delusion. For the most part, she treats the viewers like students who need hand-holding. She lectures us on why her husband's affairs were actually OK, blaming the victims' anguish on their spending too much time on the internet. She sings her own praises and points out when she's made a pun, ensuring we don't miss a drop of her apparent brilliance.
Of course, viewers are able to tell that she is often lying. Sometimes the camera even gets in on the fun of proving her wrong. In Vladimir's first episode, she boasts that her fellow faculty members devoured the "fuck-you salad" that she brought to a department meeting. As she exits, the camera pans down to reveal the salad, untouched. It's a clever technique, one that allows us to inhabit the role of the many skeptical students the professor will cross paths with. Yet Vladimir rarely returns to it. Instead, as the series progresses, the protagonist's asides stray from professorial monologue to panicked, mid-conversation interjections about her talks with Vladimir. Here, the Fleabag similarities become overbearing, and the lighter tone chafes oddly against the show's more intense subject matter.
Vladimir struggles with both sex and substance.
While the brunt of Vladimir's focus is on its protagonist's obsession with her colleague, the series is still set against the backdrop of a college sex scandal. Since the show is so rooted in her perspective (and since she fails to see an issue with the affairs), there is little examination of the victims themselves.
Looking at every facet of the scandal isn't truly Vladimir's project, yet this one-sidedness is another example of a more aggravating trend in how film and TV portray stories of skewed power dynamics and sexual politics on college campuses. Like 2025's After the Hunt, Vladimir primarily centers how people in proximity to the accused are impacted and how they have to learn to adjust their expectations because they came up during "a different time." Even HBO's new comedy Rooster, also debuting this week, flirts with these dynamics thanks to a professor-grad student relationship. (It dodges several bullets because the professor never taught this particular student.) It's tiring to see these stories be used repeatedly as learning moments for people who are unwilling to learn. In Vladimir's case, it's especially tiring to see them packaged with a slew of winking fourth-wall breaks and lightly ironic girlboss needle drops.
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Heavier subject matter aside, even as a study of a woman's desire, Vladimir is oddly sexless. The show finds some humor in its lead's infatuation. Lingering shots on Vladimir's neck and arms are accompanied by the sound of sparkles and heavy breathing, while her panic over an emoji's meaning turns her from professor to middle schooler in the blink of an eye. Yet her fantasies play out in underwhelming fashion: clichéd sexual encounters, rendered in quick, flashing dream sequences.
It's still tough not to get swept up in Weisz and Woodall's game of cat-and-mouse, especially as the professor makes a series of moves that will have you cringing for dear life. Yet as an erotic thriller and a portrait of the ripple effects of sexual misconduct allegations, Vladimir is just like its protagonist's worst nightmare: It fails to captivate.