After retiring, a doctor who has always been able to see the dead finds herself forced to confront her own niece's supernatural abilities as ghosts, family wounds, and the violence surrounding her Buenos Aires neighborhood begin to converge.
There is something wonderfully strange about *My Sad Dead*. It is a ghost story, yet it rarely behaves like one. The dead do not lurk behind doors waiting to deliver a jump scare. They sit around the house. They complain. They wander the streets. They carry the emotional residue of the lives they left behind. Sometimes they are frightening. Sometimes they are sad. At times, they are so absurd that the series becomes unexpectedly funny. And beneath it all lies a deeply human story about grief, family resentment, violence, and the things people would prefer to keep buried. That is what makes the series so interesting... and frustrating.
Stars: Mercedes Morán, Dolores Fonzi, Alejandra Flechner
Pablo Larraín’s adaptation of Mariana Enríquez’s work bears an unmistakable auteur’s stamp. It neither looks nor feels like conventional Netflix horror. The four episodes are atmospheric, unsettling, and often uncomfortable, featuring a visual language determined to make everyday spaces seem vaguely tainted. The supernatural is not presented as an alternate reality; it simply exists alongside daily life. Ema has lived with the dead for so long that she treats them with the weary familiarity of someone dealing with particularly annoying neighbors. Mercedes Morán is exceptional in the role.
Ema could easily have been written as the mystical protagonist who gradually discovers the extent of her powers. Fortunately, that is not the case. She is a weary, newly retired doctor who has spent decades learning not to worry too much about the dead. Her gift holds no thrill for her; it is a burden, an inconvenience, and sometimes a responsibility she would rather avoid. Morán plays the role with a wonderfully dry blend of resignation and irritation. There is very little theatricality in her performance, which makes the supernatural elements surrounding her feel even stranger.
Her relationship with her deceased mother is particularly effective because the series refuses to sentimentalize it. Death has not magically transformed their bond into something beautiful. If anything, unresolved issues become more uncomfortable precisely because the mother is still there. The ghost is not merely a symbol of grief; she remains a person, carrying all the emotional baggage that existed when she was alive.
Dolores Fonzi is equally impressive as Carolina, Ema’s daughter. Their relationship provides the series with its emotional anchor; beneath the ghosts and violence lies a very recognizable family issue: two people who love each other but have harbored so much resentment that neither knows how to speak openly anymore. Fonzi gives Carolina a prickly nature that could easily have come across as unlikable, yet there is enough vulnerability beneath the surface to make the character work.
Then there is Julie, played by Carolina Álvarez, whose supernatural connection to the dead is far more unsettling than Ema’s. Her abilities are tied to sexuality, alienation, and a sense of not quite knowing how to exist in the world of the living. Julie could easily have been reduced to the "troubled youth" stereotype, but the series manages to make her both disturbing and worthy of empathy. She is not just the source of the supernatural escalation; she is another person who doesn't know what to do with something she cannot explain.
What I found particularly effective is how *My Sad Dead* gradually expands its definition of what constitutes a ghostly apparition. At first, the ghosts belong to Ema’s private world. Then, the supernatural begins to spread to the neighborhood, and the series starts linking individual grief with collective trauma. The setting is crucial. Violence, poverty, institutional failures, and a pervasive sense of abandonment are not merely atmospheric trappings for horror; they are integral to what the ghosts represent.
In this regard, the series is most compelling when it suggests that the dead are not necessarily what is truly frightening. People are capable of inflicting plenty of horror while still alive.
This social dimension lends the series far greater weight than its premise might initially suggest. The supernatural becomes a means of addressing memories that refuse to fade and wounds that remain unhealed simply because they are no longer spoken of. The dead remember what the living would prefer to forget.
*My Sad Dead* can feel painfully slow. There are sequences where the atmosphere does far more heavy lifting than the story itself. Larraín is clearly interested in mood, sound, framing, and the uncomfortable experience of simply inhabiting those spaces. At times, this is hypnotic. At other times, I found myself sitting there thinking, "Yes, Pablo, I get it—the street is depressing." The series sometimes mistakes length for depth, allowing certain encounters or visual motifs to drag on longer than necessary to convey their point.
As a miniseries, the episodic format works best, though the seams are still visible. There are moments when a plotline seems to be heading toward something substantial, only for the series to abruptly shift its focus elsewhere. Some of the subplots are fascinating in their own right but don't always integrate seamlessly into the overarching narrative.
The humor is another risky choice, and I actually enjoyed it more than I expected. *My Sad Dead* isn't a comedy, yet it possesses a very dry—and at times absurd—sensibility. Family conversations, social tensions, and certain characters are handled with such deadpan irony that the series manages to be genuinely funny right after deeply disturbing scenes. That tonal instability could easily have ruined the work; instead, it contributes to the peculiar sensation of watching something that doesn't quite fit into any specific genre. And that is, ultimately, my main takeaway.
I don't think *My Sad Dead* hits the mark every time, but it certainly holds one's interest throughout. There are plenty of horror series that are scarier. There are dramas that are more emotionally devastating. There are supernatural mysteries with more polished plots. Yet very few streaming series tackle death, family, and social violence through this particular blend of melancholy, absurdity, and grotesque intimacy.
Most importantly, the series understands that grief is neither clean nor orderly. People do not process loss in neat stages. Families do not resolve decades of resentment simply because a supernatural event gives them a chance to talk. The dead do not always offer answers; sometimes, they simply make it impossible to keep pretending that nothing has happened. I wouldn’t recommend *My Sad Dead* to anyone looking for a conventional horror binge-watch. It requires patience, and at times, it ventures into territory where the three-hour runtime feels heavy as you sit on the couch. However, if you enjoy atmospheric horror that prioritizes psychological and social unease over jump scares, you will find much to appreciate here.
The ghosts are memorable. The performances are excellent. The ideas carry far more weight than the plot itself. And Mercedes Morán provides a center of gravity that keeps the stranger elements from drifting completely apart. *My Sad Dead* isn't really about being tormented by the dead; it’s about what happens when the dead refuse to let the living forget.
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