Alfonso Cuarón’s Disclaimer is a visually arresting and intellectually demanding piece of television, anchored by an impressive ensemble cast that includes Cate Blanchett, Kevin Kline, and Sacha Baron Cohen.

 

The premiere episode opens as Jonathan (Louis Partridge) and Sasha (Liv Hill) are interrupted mid-coitus by a ticket taker on a train traveling across Italy. They laugh off the intrusion and get back to lovemaking, as an iris wipe cuts to Catherine (Blanchett) receiving a Royal Television Society award for her documentary journalism. Catherine kisses her husband, Robert (an unrecognizable Cohen), and walks to the stage. 

 

Cut again to a grimly frowning Stephen Brigstocke (Kline) getting sacked from a long-term teaching position at a private school. The episode keeps moving in a circle around the three arcs, until it’s linked together by a series of photographs and a mysterious book called "The Perfect Stranger".

 

In a nutshell, Jonathan runs into a young Catherine on a beach and takes her photo. Stephen, Jonathan’s father, is startled to find the photos decades later, along with the manuscript written by his late wife. He gets the book published and sends a copy to Catherine, ostensibly as a form of punishment for whatever happened decades earlier between her and his son.

 

Kline is in rare form as an utterly broken aging British man. He is at once devastatingly sad, but also vaguely funny in a droll sort of deadpan way, a dryer version of his Nick Bottom from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. 

 

Blanchett, already a generational talent, is typically wonderful as a frazzled, upper-crust woman who is haunted by the contents of the enigmatic book. In one scene, she’s so upset that she bolts to the bathroom to vomit, as a lithe, purring gray cat paces curiously behind her. 

 

It’s all very twisty and complex, full of Spielbergian levels of lens flares, numerous iris wipes, and an overarching sense of Federico Fellini. 

 

The amount of talent in the show is absurd, and that includes a masterful Cuarón, already a five-time Oscar winner. Disclaimer is gorgeous, full of lush colors, impeccable lighting, butter-smooth movements and painterly framing. It’s also classic “show, don’t tell”storytelling. It’s minimal, briskly paced and sharply edited, and decidedly nonlinear. 

 

This is a show for people who are judgy about slightly different shades of black clothing, who drink their espresso straight, read Finnegan’s Wake unironically, and can give an off-the-cuff dissertation on the political implications of Picasso’s Guernica. Is it a little stuffy? Sure? Vaguely pretentious? Obviously. 

 

It’s also a visual feast for the eyes, and an engrossing and twisty narrative that promises to deepen as it develops. For viewers willing to engage with its complexities, Disclaimer is a rewarding, thought-provoking experience, and a welcome addition to Cuarón’s already impressive oeuvre.