At the height of the #MeToo movement in 2018, something I read seared itself into my brain. “Men should be grateful that women are asking for equality. Not revenge.” For all the patronising tone at home, casual sexism at the workplace, catcalling on the street, groping in public transport, full-blown sexual assaults/attempts in most known/unknown corners of the city, the isolation and gaslighting that takes root after – I’ve often wondered why women still speak to men. In fact, why don’t they start their day by attacking the first man they meet? It’s an urge buried deep within Elizabeth Merriweather’s Furious – a first-rate serial killer mystery, which reveals itself as a reckoning of female rage at its most unvarnished, unbridled and intricate.

For a serial killer show, Furious isn’t too pricey about revealing its killer. In fact, after seeing a drugged man crawling from the bathroom and tumbling down the stairs in the first scene, we’re introduced to a masked face sitting on the stoop of one of those brownstone apartments in New York City. It’s Halloween, the night when boundaries between the living and dead become most porous (or that’s what is believed). We see a girl in her 20s (Lola Petticrew) baby-talking to the drugged man moments before injecting him with a lethal dose of fentanyl. It’s a confounding choice at first, but one that begins to make sense as the show goes on. It’s not the who that is important here, as much as the why, how, and when.

Hollywood has responded to the #MeToo movement, by serving up a........

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