Summary
Kleo shifts the tone a little in Season 2, leaning into humour for a more personal and introspective examination of its protagonist.
Kleo snuck onto Netflix on the back of successes like Salt and Atomic Blonde; female-driven espionage thrillers with a quirky sensibility and a stylized aesthetic. But it felt like a complete story, so Season 2 comes a little out of the blue. Despite having to undermine the first season’s fairly neat ending to kick-start a new follow-on plot, doubling down on the titular character’s interiority is a smart decision.
The first season was a Cold War thriller that introduced Kleo as a vengeful assassin in a period of intense political flux; the second season is a Cold War thriller in which Kleo is undergoing a period of intense personal flux. This is a crucial distinction. Season 2 is funnier, more introspective, and a bit less plotty, though some threads such as the mysterious red suitcase are recurring elements.
This means that despite its similarities and relatively arch underlying formula, Kleo does a decent job of justifying itself as a follow-up. The shifts in focus and tone lend something new to the show, which like Season 1 runs for six breezy episodes before checking out just as it’s threatening to become wearing.
A neat thing here is that Kleo’s arc in this season is an outgrowth of the setting’s political arc in Season 1. The fall of the Berlin Wall and the collapse of the socialist state changed Germany drastically, and Kleo, formerly an agent of that state, has to navigate a new and changing world that has shattered her most fundamental beliefs and ideas. She is no longer a cog in a much larger machine; she is, herself, the machine, a completely autonomous individual who has to discover not just who she is on a personal level but who she can become in the transition from socialism to capitalism.
The first season ended with Kleo tracking down her mother and being rejected by her, but the second begins by walking back this decision. Introducing Kleo’s mother gives her an excuse to trace a trigger finger over the roadmap of her childhood.
Kleo Season 2 | Image via Netflix
This introspective soul-searching journey is, of course, intertwined with a new mission that plays out in the toing and froing between two global superpowers. But the espionage plot is deliberately formulaic and sometimes outright silly – a major plot point literally comes to Kleo in a dream – seemingly by design. The joy of Kleo is in the stylish presentation of its well-worn ideas and the knowing self-awareness that undercuts them, with Kleo’s constant against-the-odds escapes becoming almost slapstick in their contrivance.
This makes Kleo Season 2 much funnier than the first. But it also saps some of the intrigue, and the adherence to an already-established formula can make this sophomore effort feel, in places, repetitive and predictable.
The characters help. Kleo remains stoic for large stretches, but the glimmers of emotion – and an almost childlike yearning for the affection and connection she has never had – add some contours, and her relationship with Sven, who she teams up with again, provides a fun dynamic. Supporting players like Thilo have less bearing on the main plot but function as important lenses through which to view the shifting setting as reunification begins.
Mileage will vary. The shift in tone to more overtly humorous won’t sit right with some, and the similarities between the first and second seasons in terms of structure and pacing will have some tapping out before the end. But anyone who bought into the characters in Season 1 will feel well served by Season 2, and Kleo’s zippy energy remains a treat for genre fans.
It’s worth a look, at least.
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