At Peacock's polite request, I can't reveal much about their new thriller Teacup.
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| Yvonne Strahovski in 'Teacup.' Courtesy Peacock |
I can't disclose the plot, though it's based on Robert McCammon’s novel Stinger, so the details are out there if you're curious. I also can't share what happens to most of the main characters, though I doubt I would have felt compelled to spoil that anyway. I can't even talk about the cheesy special effects that inspired the colorful title treatment—though when viewers see it, it's unlikely they'll find it exciting.
However, I can tell you the final line of the eighth and last episode is: “We’re not going anywhere until you tell us what the fuck is going on.” By that point, 99% of viewers will have likely muttered the same thing, as the show deliberately stalls and withholds crucial narrative details for most of the season. While this choice is frustrating, it also makes sense, because Teacup only gets sillier as it drops more hints.
Most of the reveals happen in the 51-minute fifth episode, a flashback-heavy detour that disrupts the previously decent pacing, marking the point where Teacup shifts from intriguing, though emotionally detached, to downright monotonous.
So, what can I say about Teacup? Adapted by Ian McCulloch (Yellowstone), it starts with a woman desperately stumbling through a forest, her hands zip-tied, muttering phrases like “Murder Marker.”
On a nearby farm, we meet the Chenoweth family. Maggie, a veterinarian known for staying calm under pressure, teaches her son Arlo (Caleb Dolden) a lesson in foreshadowing using a literal teacup to trap a wasp, warning him, “It’s a tempest in a teacup.” This teacup, along with other teacup references, becomes a recurring symbol until the writers lose interest.
Maggie’s family includes her daughter Meryl (Émilie Bierre), who can quote Romeo & Juliet and knows about cow stomachs, and her husband James (Scott Speedman), who is predictably in the doghouse. James’ mother Ellen (Kathy Baker), who has MS, also lives with them. Something strange is happening with their animals.
Their neighbors, the Shanleys—Ruben (Chaske Spencer), Valeria (Diany Rodriguez), and their son Nicholas (Luciano Leroux)—are experiencing similar oddities with their livestock. The Shanleys, each with one distinct personality trait (Ruben is intense, Valeria is in trouble for predictable reasons, and Nicholas tells bad jokes), are joined by Don (Boris McGiver), another neighbor who seems to be the “conservative” one based on his sarcastic COVID comment. Presumably, his animals are acting strange too.
Before long, everyone is trapped on the Chenoweth property. Phones are down, cars won't start, and venturing too far results in dire consequences. A malevolent force is at play, capable of taking any form or inhabiting any body.
In the first few episodes, directed by Evan Katz and Chloe Acuno (James Wan executive produces but doesn't direct), Teacup manages to be somewhat eerie and atmospheric. Though it’s set near Atlanta, the rural environment feels like a stand-in for Anywhere, USA—a place where neighbors are familiar but not close, and can unite when strange events occur. It hints at something allegorical but doesn’t offer any meaningful commentary on contemporary community life, aside from a vague COVID reference.
The show has the outline of a parable without substance—characters who seem like stock figures, and a plot that echoes countless other horror and sci-fi series, never becoming distinctive. (The Thing comes to mind as an inspiration, saving me the trouble of listing others that might be spoiler-y.) Instead of characters trying to piece things together, the creators obscure the truth, hoping the audience will follow along.
The performances aren’t bad—Strahovski, Spencer, Dolden, and Bierre make the most of the thin material—but the mystery overshadows any emotional depth. By the time two characters tally the body count in a later episode, I had to pause, unable to recall a single significant death. You don’t root for or against anyone, only for someone to finally demand, “We’re not going anywhere until you tell us what the fuck is going on.”
Much of Teacup’s shortcomings could be overlooked if it were simply scary. It isn’t. The figure in a vintage gas mask is initially unsettling, but as more characters wear the same mask, it loses its impact. While the show hints at COVID undertones, the practicality of the masks is another unexplained detail the audience is expected to accept—just as they’re expected to settle for the vague explanations in the fifth episode, when the writers seem to throw up their hands and say, “We gave you a few answers and some cool-sounding nicknames for stuff, isn’t that enough?”
There is one unsettling event tied to the central conflict that I can’t spoil. The first time it happens, it’s gross and entertaining, but feels like a cheat. The second time, it looks disturbing, but the shock value is gone. By the third time, the scene feels so repetitive it sets a new standard for audience desensitization.
If the last line of the season weren’t the most damning thing one could say about Teacup, I’d point to its use of Linda Ronstadt’s cover of Tom Petty’s “The Waiting” in the finale. The problem isn’t that “the waiting is the hardest part.”
It’s that, over eight mostly half-hour episodes, waiting is the only part. Whether you take the show on faith or let it into your heart as the creators expect, my interest ran out long before the final reveal.
