The original post: /r/television by /u/BRLaw2016 on 2025-04-06 21:29:04.
Dante in Wonderland
Devil May Cry stands as an iconic pillar in video game history. Even if you’ve never played a single entry in the series, as a gamer, you’re likely familiar with Dante’s signature white hair, red overcoat, and dashing looks. Netflix, fresh off the success of their acclaimed Castlevania adaptation, has placed their bets on bringing another beloved gaming franchise to the small screen. But does it work?
A Tale of Two Protagonists
Devil May Cry follows the current trend in television production with eight thirty-minute episodes to weave what should be a complete (or at least cohesive) narrative for its debut season. This runtime constraint proves crucial in understanding the show’s most significant flaws that prevent it from achieving greatness.
Dante, the main character throughout most of the game series, returns as the titular lead—or does he? After watching all eight episodes, I couldn’t escape the impression that this series wasn’t originally meant to centre on Dante at all, but rather on Lady (a.k.a. Mary). One can hypothesize that the original concept pitched was for a series about Lady, but this idea was likely not greenlit by Netflix executives who insisted the series focus on the more recognizable Dante, resulting in Lady being awkwardly shoehorned into a narrative not initially designed for her.
While the show bears Dante’s iconic tagline and positions him as the protagonist, he’s quickly sidelined to give Mary the spotlight during the series’ major beats. Unfortunately, the limited runtime doesn’t allow for proper development of two lead characters while simultaneously building the main antagonist and the overarching plot.
The result is a protagonist with wildly inconsistent power levels that fluctuate whenever the plot needs to position Mary as the “main character.” The show awkwardly contrives situations where Dante is simply absent from the action because integrating both characters organically doesn’t work within the season’s narrative framework. When Mary takes center stage, there isn’t enough time to develop her into a believable, likable character. Instead, the script attempts to compensate for inadequate character building by giving her typical Mary Sue (pun intended) “Girl Boss” qualities—powers she needs to exist at the same level as Dante and the demons. These abilities feel unearned, making her less relatable as her accomplishments seem to function purely through plot armor.
Adi Shankar tried to have his cake and eat it too, and the result is half-baked.
Through the Hellish Glass
Dante embodies everything one would expect from an adaptation of this iconic character. He’s funny, witty, handsome, insane, powerful, and full of bad jokes. The series’ first episode is one of the strongest, delivering what the show does best: unpretentious fun. However, episode six stands as the true highlight of the season. It’s commendable how the creators took a bold risk with this episode, telling its story almost entirely through visuals and music with barely any dialogue. This artistic choice demonstrates what the series could achieve when not constrained by its competing narrative agendas.
Problems emerge when the show begins taking itself too seriously, tackling themes without the time or narrative skill to develop them properly. The attempt to add nuance to Hell/Makai and its inhabitants through forced parallels to real-world oppressed refugees falls flat. This concept is “revealed” midway through the season but lacks proper foundation and crumbles under scrutiny.
The script wants viewers to sympathize with the Demons/Makains as misunderstood creatures living under an oppressive autocracy, seeking only to better their lives—a clear attempt to portray demons as more than simply “evil monsters” driven by chaos and destruction. The plot goes so far as to explain their existence as an alternative DNA for humanity now inhabiting a different dimension. It’s a crude attempt at relatability through heavy-handed means, somewhat understandable given the limited eight-episode run. However, one could argue this approach was unnecessary for a first season that should have focused on establishing core story elements before expanding into complex thematics.
The result is a superficial nuance that never penetrates beyond surface level. Every demon shown outside the oppressed class remains violent, cruel, and quick to take lives—not dissimilar from the “demon oppressors” themselves. This half-baked attempt at drawing geopolitical and societal parallels comes across as amateurish, revealing the writers’ limited understanding of the subject matter they reference.
It’s reminiscent of Jacques Audiard’s comment about “Emilia Perez”—that he “didn’t need to research Mexico” because he already knew everything necessary to make the film. Clearly, both he and the Devil May Cry writers would have benefited from deeper research, as evidenced by cringe-worthy artistic choices like the invasion of hell accompanied by “American Idiot” or the construction of a “Guantanamo Bay”-esque prison for demons. These heavy-handed approaches lack subtlety, with any meaningful criticism lost amid ham-fisted execution.
Where Angels Fear to Tread
Visually, the series delivers the stylish action fans expect from the Devil May Cry brand. The animation quality, while inconsistent at times, captures the kinetic energy and over-the-top combat that made the games so beloved. Dante’s signature moves translate well to the screen, though the best sequences are unfortunately front-loaded in the earlier episodes.
The voice acting deserves praise, particularly for Dante, whose charismatic delivery brings the character to life. The soundtrack, blending orchestral themes with rock elements, effectively enhances the action sequences, though the aforementioned musical choices during certain “statement” scenes feel misplaced and on-the-nose.
The Devil’s in the Details
Ultimately, Devil May Cry’s Netflix adaptation finds itself caught between conflicting visions—a fun, stylish action romp celebrating its video game roots versus an ambitious commentary on discrimination and power structures. Neither approach receives adequate development, resulting in a series that, while entertaining in bursts, fails to form a cohesive whole.
Fans of the games will find moments to enjoy, particularly when Dante is allowed to shine without the burden of forced social commentary. Newcomers may struggle to connect with characters whose development is sacrificed in service of too many competing narrative goals.
With tighter focus, either on pure entertainment value or on developing its themes with greater care and nuance, Devil May Cry could have been another Netflix gaming adaptation triumph. Instead, it stands as a flawed but occasionally engaging series that demonstrates the challenges of adapting beloved properties while attempting to inject new perspectives. Like its protagonist’s uneven presence, the show’s quality oscillates between promising highs and frustrating lows, never quite finding its true form.
Should Netflix greenlight a second season, one hopes the creative team will make firmer decisions about what kind of show they want to make, rather than attempting to please everyone at once. As it stands, Devil May Cry makes me cry not for its demons’ plight, but for its untapped potential.