In the chaos of our modern political landscape, where one can barely distinguish fact from fiction, Zero Day arrives like a splash of cold water to the face.
A show about a cyberattack so devastating it cripples the nation for a minute, killing thousands, feels eerily timely, yet its take on American politics and technology is muddled at best.
It’s a series that raises the question of how far one man can go to solve an international crisis while grappling with the personal demons of his past – and whether anyone can really trust the systems meant to protect them.
But as gripping as that sounds, Zero Day turns out to be less of a taut political thriller and more of a slow, uneven trek through uncharted territory, where even the grandest performances get lost in a sea of half-baked plots and overblown ideas.
The series opens with a bang, quite literally: A catastrophic cyberattack causes a nationwide communication blackout lasting just one minute, and in that time, 3,402 lives are lost. It’s a perfect metaphor for how precariously society teeters on the edge of disaster, and the government, desperate for answers, scrambles to respond.
The President, Evelyn Mitchell (played with quiet authority by Angela Bassett), calls on former President George Mullen (Robert De Niro) to head up a commission investigating the event.
Mullen, a former leader hailed for his bipartisan support and revered by the public, has been living a quiet retirement after the tragic death of his son. But the personal and the professional collide as he is thrust back into the heart of the chaos, forced to face not only a nation on the brink but his own unresolved grief.
Mullen’s commission is granted sweeping powers to uncover the truth, though these powers quickly blur the lines of legality. As the investigation deepens, Mullen becomes tangled in a web of conspiracies, with tech giants, political power players, and his own troubled past standing in his way.
At the heart of Zero Day lies a series of increasingly bizarre twists and turns. The show casts a wide net, drawing in various characters – from Mullen’s estranged daughter Alex (Lizzy Caplan), a political firebrand who works for the opposition party, to a cadre of shady figures like Jesse Plemons’ calculating aide, Roger Carlson, and Connie Britton’s morally ambiguous chief of staff, Valerie Whitesell.
The ensemble cast is undoubtedly one of the series’ stronger points, featuring a wealth of talent, but it feels as if even the finest actors are given little more than shallow sketches of characters to work with.
De Niro’s portrayal of Mullen, though compelling in his quiet dignity and internal struggle, ultimately lacks the emotional depth required to carry the weight of the series’ lofty ambitions. His performance feels restrained, sometimes bordering on half-hearted, as if the material simply couldn’t rise to meet his legendary stature.
The plot itself is where Zero Day starts to fall apart. There’s no shortage of ambition here, but the storytelling feels disjointed and overly reliant on contrived drama.
The narrative flirts with timely, significant issues – from government surveillance and tech oligarchs to political polarisation and misinformation – but never quite takes the plunge into meaningful exploration.
Instead, it bounces from one unconvincing plot twist to the next, leaving the viewer with more questions than answers. The show makes several stabs at pointing fingers at the culprits behind the attack – is it Russia, a rogue hacktivist group, or something much darker? But none of these theories feel satisfying and the narrative ultimately fails to deliver a coherent or satisfying resolution.
A lot of the tension comes from Zero Day‘s constant shifting of focus, from geopolitical issues to the personal turmoil of Mullen, to the growing corruption of the political machine. Unfortunately, this sprawling nature leads to a lack of focus, leaving much of the thematic potential unexplored.
Adding to the problem is the heavy-handed writing, which often slips into cliche. Mullen is repeatedly portrayed as the quintessential American hero, trying to do the right thing in a world that seems increasingly bent on chaos. However, the script fails to do justice to this ideal.
Lines like “history’s watching” and “just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you” feel forced, stripping the characters of any real complexity. Similarly, the show’s attempts to balance political factions and commentary on the state of modern America feel like half-hearted attempts at relevance. The characters seem less like real people and more like vehicles for the writers’ political messages, making it difficult to invest in their individual arcs or motivations.
Despite these missteps, Zero Day manages to entertain on some level. There’s a popcorn-movie quality to the series – it’s easy enough to watch, even if you’re not entirely sure why. The premise, despite its flaws, is a compelling one, and the series is filled with enough plot twists and intrigue to keep you engaged, if only superficially. But it’s hard to shake the feeling that the show could have been something much more.
The foundations are there: a strong cast, a timely premise, and a host of intriguing political and technological ideas. But none of these elements are fully realised, leaving Zero Day as a series that promises much but ultimately delivers little beyond a few fleeting moments of excitement.
In the end, Zero Day is a missed opportunity – a show that could have capitalised on the current zeitgeist of uncertainty, power struggles, and misinformation, but instead falls into the trap of shallow political drama.
With its star-studded cast and high stakes, it had the potential to be a sharp, incisive commentary on modern America. But its unfocused plot, cliched dialogue and lack of emotional depth prevent it from becoming the political thriller it aspires to be. Despite its well-meaning intentions, it’s a series that ultimately fades into the background, lost amid the noise of much more compelling shows.
