David Lynch’s Twin Peaks remains one of the most unique series in television history, inspiring decades of imitators eager to capture even a fraction of its surreal sci-fi horror magic. While some, like Alan Wake II, come close, others fall short — many others.
A few never should’ve been compared in the first place. Netflix’s new horror show Wayward lands squarely in that camp.
Wayward is an eight-episode limited series from first-time creator Mae Martin exploring the shadowy realities of the U.S. “troubled teen industry.” Set in 2003, the show follows Alex Dempsey (Martin), a trans cop, and his pregnant wife Laura (Gabrielle Creevy) as they move to Laura’s hometown of Tall Pines, Vermont — home to the sinister Tall Pines Academy, a rehabilitation facility for so-called “difficult” teens. Toni Collette (Hereditary) delivers a standout performance as Evelyn Wade, the academy’s manipulative leader, whose control over staff and students is eerily cult-like. As Alex investigates a runaway boy from the academy, he uncovers its abusive practices and Evelyn’s disturbing hold over Laura, a former inmate. In parallel, two Toronto teens, Leila (Amelia Sargisson) and Abbie (Carlyn Burchell), are sent to the academy, exposing its brutal methods and manipulative tactics.
Since its trailers earlier this year, and now its debut this week, culture critics have earmarked Wayward as Netflix’s own version of Twin Peaks, and… it’s just not true. Lynch fused Twin Peaks into a singular vision, blending multiple genres through his trademark surrealism. The town’s off-kilter, dreamlike setting provided the series with a built-in atmosphere that allowed shifting tones to coexist seamlessly. Few directors could make that balance work — many have tried and failed — which is why Showtime’s Twin Peaks: The Return, a series following up a decades-old network series, only reinforced that Lynch may be the only one capable of pulling it off. As such, despite being anchored by Collette’s chilling performance, Wayward never lives up to its Lynchian comparisons. I am not sure it had to?
Now, throughout the eight episodes, Martin and their writing team experiment with several genres within the mystery setting but never fully commit to one, resulting in a thematically uneven package. Leila and Abby’s narrative feels like a teen drama thriller, while Alex and Laura’s story feels saturated in science fiction horror. And although it doesn’t take long for both stories to converge, the shifting of genres never seems to settle and gel together like it does in Twin Peaks. There are moments of fleeting surrealism, but it doesn’t saturate and anchor the series the way it does in Lynch’s seminal work.
Even when Twin Peaks leaned into teen melodrama, it maintained an eerie atmosphere, bolstered by its haunting score that kept unease simmering beneath every scene. In Wayward, however, a chilling revelation can abruptly shift into a montage backed by contemporary pop songs straight out of a CW drama, undercutting the tension. Aside from both series being set in a small, wooded town and balancing a high school and police investigation plot, the similarities end there. Riverdale might be a more apt comparison.
That doesn’t mean Wayward is without merit. It has an intriguing mystery that is worth unraveling (even if it’s not as otherworldly as you’d expect), and has the legs for a second season, given its open-ended conclusion. Beyond Collette, the series boasts excellent performances from Martin and Burchell, whose arcs were the beating heart of the series.
Comparing the two shows ultimately does Wayward a disservice. It risks setting up false expectations while distracting from the series’ own valuable social critique about society’s attempts to “solve the problem of adolescence.” It also invites the idea that Twin Peaks is just some teen drama with creepy moments for the sake of it, and that couldn’t be farther from the truth.
At its heart, Wayward is about refusing to let family abuse define you. The series explores self-acceptance, the messy freedom of youth, and how friendships can both guide and hinder your path, while also scrutinizing the troubling practices of the “troubled teen” industry — a world Martin knows personally through a friend. At times, the teen drama feels somewhat separate from the small-town cop narrative, but the threads are tied together through the characters’ identities as trans and bi, which also highlights how society labels them as “troubled.” This is very much the story they wanted to tell, shaped by their own experiences. In the end, the shifting genres feel more like a means to get Wayward made than a fully cohesive vision, which is why they never quite click.
Wayward is available to stream on Netflix
