Summary
Time Flies is an interesting, unconventional crime series, but it’s lacking a certain special quality that would help it really resonate.
There’s something quite compelling about Time Flies, an Argentine Netflix series based on two fused novels by Claudia Piñeiro (the author also behind Elena Knows and The Kingdom). It’s hard to put a finger on what that “something” is, though. At first blush, the crime comedy is merely okay, serviceable in just about every aspect without meaningfully standing out anywhere. It’s only when you settle into the show’s slightly off-kilter rhythm that you realise there was probably a better story to be told here than the one we got.
Avoiding the scuzzy, clichéd vibe Netflix usually employs for its Latin American crime shows, Time Flies instead has a sort of middle-class feel to it. It’s set primarily – for plot reasons – in relatively posh neighbourhoods, and allows its put-upon characters to nosy in the lifestyles their ex-con status denies them true access to. Fittingly, since it’s about two women trapped between worlds, it itself seems to exist in the liminal space between soapy telenovela and premium cable content; between crime thriller and comedy; between intellectual “prestige” television and knockabout one-and-done streaming binge. It’s just, sadly, not all that good.
Inés (Carla Peterson) is fresh out of prison after having served 15 years for murder (a third episode devotes itself entirely to flashbacks contextualising this, cribbing much of the plot from one of its source novels, while the remaining five episodes adapt the other). Together with another ex-con nicknamed “La Manca” (Nancy Dupláa), Inés works as a fumigator. The two of them rattle around between jobs in a truck that looks a bit like the Mystery Machine from Scooby-Doo, trying to make good on their supposed rehabilitation.
Trouble arrives in the form of a wealthy client, Susana Bonar (Valeria Lois), who knows enough about Inés’s past to blackmail her into a criminal endeavour. Inés is reluctant, but given Manca has a health issue that’ll cost more to fix than they have between them, she’s compelled to play along with securing a rare poison that’ll be put to no doubt nefarious purposes. Manca and her brother and business partner, Roby (Osqui Guzmán), try to sleuth their way around Bonar’s true motivations, which connect to Inés’s pre-prison personal life, while Inés tries to weigh up what she’s willing to risk to protect the people she loves, which includes not just Manca but an estranged adult daughter.
It’s an intriguing premise, since it’s fairly low stakes and unusually low intensity. It’s obvious that Bonar intends to kill someone, but the stress of the season isn’t predicated on whether she will – not until the end, anyway – but on whether Inés will risk her newfound freedom to assist her. This narrative only works if we buy into Inés and Manca’s relationship, but also the social context that they exist within as ex-cons trying to navigate a world they’re suddenly unused to – one that, crucially, wants to repel them at every turn.
This is all atypically personal for a crime series. Time Flies relies heavily on the interiority of its leading pair, which is perhaps why the third episode, set entirely in the past, stands out as the best one. Plonked in the middle of the season and not immediately revealing its importance beyond adding texture to Inés’s character, it’s an effective episode largely because it avoids a lot of the weaker storytelling choices that infest the remainder. A voice-over that continually equates the lives of flies to humans is the most egregious, a disappointingly on-the-nose look-at-me flourish belonging in a different show.
If the point is to make us reconsider how a relatively conventional crime story can unfold, though, then mission firmly accomplished. The focused perspective and avoidance of more sensationalised turns help Time Flies to feel grounded and specific, but it also undermines some of its pacing and sense of momentum. A sacrifice had to be made somewhere, and ultimately it was in the suspense department. As it turns out, most crime dramas are structured in a similar way for a good reason – because it works.
But I’m always happy that shows like Time Flies exist, because they’re well-intentioned and a bit weird and play with the expectations of what a show like this can and should be. It’s always a good thing to keep audiences on their toes, because as their expectations shift and evolve, filmmakers have to be more inventive and less risk-averse to accommodate. So, no, Time Flies isn’t great, but be glad it exists. It’s making the TV landscape better in its own way.
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