Vladimir is one of those shows where there’s something quirky and ambitious going on, and I’m not entirely sure it all works. For me at least, I actually think this limited series would have worked even better if it had been even more limited. Stay with me here, because I promise I’ll explain.
The plot revolves around the Professor, played by Rachel Weisz, who is clearly sexually unfulfilled, even if she’d very much like not to be. When a younger professor named Vladimir, played by Leo Woodall, joins the faculty at her liberal arts college, she quickly becomes consumed by fantasies about the attractive new arrival and all the things she wishes he might do to her. In another story, that wouldn’t necessarily be much of a problem if the relationship actually happened and was consensual, especially because she’s in an open marriage with her husband, John, played by Jon Slattery. He’s fully embraced that arrangement, sleeping around frequently, while it’s never entirely clear whether she’s taken advantage of it herself. Eventually, we learn that the marriage wasn’t really opened out of mutual exploration so much as practicality. John was already cheating, and formalizing the arrangement simply acknowledged what was already happening.
John’s infidelities become a major storyline, as he repeatedly sleeps with his students, eventually drawing the attention of the college’s ethics board when former students begin questioning whether those relationships could ever truly be consensual given the imbalance of power between professor and student. But despite all of that, this isn’t really John’s story. It’s the Professor’s story. And yes, that’s actually what she’s called throughout the entire series. She never receives a name, which ended up being one of the most fascinating creative decisions in the show. The audio description track confirms this as well, referring to her only as “the Professor.” It’s clearly intentional, and while I sometimes get frustrated when audio description can’t use a character’s name because nobody has spoken it aloud yet, that’s not what’s happening here. Everyone else’s name is known. Hers simply never exists.
She’s a professor. She’s also a writer. Yet somehow the series avoids ever revealing her name in conversation, in print, or even on the work she’s published. It’s an impressively committed bit of narrative sleight of hand. I’m still not entirely convinced what purpose it ultimately serves beyond being a stylistic flourish. Maybe the writers hoped that by leaving her unnamed, more women could project themselves into the character. That’s certainly possible, although I’m not convinced that giving her a name would have prevented anyone from identifying with her. Still, it’s an unusual creative choice, and one that kept me thinking about it long after the episodes ended.
In terms of sexual content, Vladimir manages the strange trick of being both tawdry and surprisingly restrained. The series isn’t interested in explicit sexuality nearly as much as it’s interested in anticipation. Most of what happens exists inside the Professor’s imagination as vivid fantasies about Vladimir, leaving the audience wondering whether any of it will ever become reality. For a show that initially feels like it might head into Fifty Shades of Grey territory, it spends remarkably little time actually going there. Instead, it becomes a commentary on generational attitudes toward sex, gender politics, consent, and the growing disconnect between older professors and the students they teach. It argues that modern women should have the confidence to pursue what they want while simultaneously telling a story about women who felt powerless in relationships because of the influence men like John held over them. It’s an interesting contradiction, but one that never completely settled into a satisfying whole for me.
I honestly found myself wishing the entire series had focused exclusively on the Professor’s growing obsession with Vladimir. John’s misconduct is certainly relevant to the themes the series wants to explore, but his storyline frequently pulls focus away from what I found to be the far more compelling emotional journey. Every time the show cuts back to the ethics investigation or another chapter in John’s increasingly messy personal life, it diffuses the tension surrounding the Professor’s fantasies instead of sharpening them. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a leaner, more psychologically focused series hiding inside this one, and that’s the version I ultimately wanted to watch.
I know it feels like she has to have a husband, and that he has to have an on-screen presence. And I love Jon Slattery. I really do. But in a show that has already decided to be ambiguous by never naming the Professor, I almost wonder what the series would have looked like if she had a husband who was constantly referenced but never actually seen. If you streamline the story, I think you uncover what Vladimir is really about: a middle-aged woman longing for something that’s missing from her life. Whether that’s connection, romance, lust, desire, or simply feeling wanted again, Rachel Weisz has complete control of that emotional journey. Strip away some of the excess surrounding her, and I think the series becomes stronger because of it.
Even the introduction of the couple’s adult daughter feels like a storyline the show doesn’t quite have time to develop. She has a few good moments, particularly when she confronts a student who believes the Professor retaliated against her academically after discovering she’d slept with John. That incident ends up dragging the Professor into ethics hearings of her own, reinforcing the idea that every faculty member is operating somewhere inside a moral gray area, hoping their own mistakes stay buried long enough to avoid becoming the next person sitting before the ethics committee. There are definitely interesting conversations here about modern students, power dynamics, and generational expectations, similar to what HBO Max’s Rooster has been exploring alongside its comedy. The difference is that Rooster is building toward multiple seasons, while Vladimir has only eight episodes to juggle everything. It has to establish the growing relationship between the Professor and Vladimir, who is married himself, while also showing that he genuinely respects both her writing and her teaching. There’s a smarter, more focused version of Vladimir hiding inside this series, but the eight-episode run feels just a little overcrowded.
Rachel Weisz is ultimately the reason to watch. She’s exceptional from beginning to end, carrying almost every scene through sheer confidence and vulnerability. Leo Woodall continues what has been a terrific year for him, following Tuner with another performance that should keep his career moving upward. I’ve always enjoyed Jon Slattery, and the fact that I’d minimize his role has nothing to do with anything he does wrong as an actor. It’s simply about trying to locate the heart of Vladimir and making the strongest possible version of the story.
The audio description here was delicious. I know that’s probably a strange word to use when talking about audio description, but it honestly fits. Those brief two- or three-second fantasy sequences where the Professor imagines Vladimir doing something erotic allow the describer to have a surprising amount of fun before snapping us right back into reality and capturing her often hilarious reactions. The series also frequently breaks the fourth wall through the Professor’s narration, making it feel as though she’s confessing her thoughts directly to us. Vladimir isn’t perfect, and I do think it could have benefited from trimming away a few storylines to sharpen its focus. But if you’re looking for something a little frisky that’s anchored by one outstanding lead performance, Vladimir might be exactly your kind of kink for your next Netflix and chill.
Fresh: 6.9/10
