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Rating: Berlin, Tokyo, Nairobi, Rio, Helsinki. The Professor. It's not a geography lesson; these are the main characters of this beautiful Spanish TV series. The heist of the century, one might say. But La casa de papel is much more and more beyond that. Drawing liberally from some of the highest examples of "evil genius" seen on TV, like Breaking Bad and Death Note, combining it with the trench-like setup of Inside Man and some purely original ideas, it manages to create an extremely captivating work, blatantly emphasized and maximalist in every way. Upon careful examination, it reveals some questionable aspects, episodes not entirely realistic, miraculous coincidences, and timing that might leave one puzzled. But these are the necessary flaws to bring to life a colossal endeavor, a fifteen-episode tour de force that on Netflix has become twenty-two.
[From here onwards, there will be some minor spoilers]
The Professor. An autistic genius who cannot help but remind one of Walter White or the maniacal Kira: the same intelligence that can foresee, the same finesse in constructing a complex, tentacular, hypertrophic plan. With one significant difference. The Professor does not accept violence as an extreme remedy for difficult situations. Or rather, he uses it as a deterrent but does not accept anyone losing their life. His character, with different methods, is akin to Light Yagami because, while building his cathedral of pure crime, he fraternizes with law enforcement, penetrates the command base. Penetrates, above all.
Meanwhile, his team works in the Spanish mint. Many hostages and the need to buy time to print as much money as possible. In the meantime, the criminals' lives inexorably intertwine with those of the victims. The dynamics are diverse and varied, like in an almost sentimental subplot within a crime fiction. The emotional mechanisms intersect—with punctual sagacity from the screenwriters—with those of the heist. Similarly, outside the mint, the actions of Inspector Raquel Murillo, her right-hand man Angel, her ex-husband and head of forensics, the mother who answers the phone and takes notes, always echo in their personal relationships. And then there’s Colonel Prieto with his blackmailing ways, public opinion, the journalists.
The sensation that emerges after a few episodes is that anything can happen, but more or less our characters always manage. There is little ruthlessness perceived towards the characters, perhaps because the screenwriters are too attached to them. And one can understand them; the gallery is indeed rich, the figures well-rounded, with some very high peaks represented by characters like Berlin (the best without a doubt), the Professor himself, or Raquel. Over time, this excessive affection is overcome, but only partially. Those who end badly do so with great display of honors, albeit vastly different from each other.
The last four or five episodes are tightly connected and even spread over three factions, with some not entirely believable but decidedly enjoyable, fresh, original overturns. Because never like in this case are the thief villains the good guys, according to what the Professor explains: "We are not stealing, we are making a liquidity injection. Like the one done to the banks." A somewhat superficial thesis, but undeniably amusing. The partisans, the resistance, with their red jumpsuits, print new money, they don’t steal from anyone, and they don’t kill.
Narratively, flashbacks dominate, both to tell the preparation of the heist and to clarify the relationships between the various characters. Over time, and especially in certain parts, they become a bit cloying and didactic. However, the flow of the story is never compromised, only sometimes slightly burdened. Remarkable nonetheless is the character refinement of the main figures; very few remain two-dimensional. No one will exit the mint the same as they entered it, the kidnappers as well as a few hostages.
And if sometimes it descends into celebrating strong women, it is Berlin and the Professor who offer the most interesting cultural and social perspective. A cynical, caustic, termed a "rapist," insulted, threatened with death multiple times by his comrades, Andrés de Fonollosa—Berlin is a narratively gigantic figure, a mosaic of hardness and bittersweet irony, a man without a future who strictly adheres to the rules dictated by the Professor and will rise in the finale almost as a guru, the true philosophical guide of the heist.
The Professor is a pure gentleman, impeccable in constructing his labyrinthine plan yet very simple on a human level. A boy with his first love and a genius of crime, but with his own philosophy that is somehow coherent.
I really liked the actors, who well embody "strong women" like Tokyo and Nairobi, or sly and cunning women, like Mónica Gaztambide and Alison Parker. Raquel Murillo, in addition to being an incredibly three-dimensional character, is also portrayed with deep conviction by actress Itziar Ituño. A woman from whom one almost perceives the sweat dripping from the tension of the heist or from the passion in front of an incredibly gentle man.
Something is missing to compare with top-tier serial works. It lacks that more refined touch in the direction, music, and editing. From these points of view, La casa di papel is a simple work, almost too simple. Just some sequences amplified with booming music while the rest is all dialogue, diegetic construction with little aesthetic filigree. No big deal, it definitely deserves a watch.
7/10
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