Remember that Netflix documentary last year called The Program: Cons, Cults, And Kidnapping? It exposed the horrors young people endure through parent-sanctioned abductions to so-called academies designed to “fix” wayward kids. That documentary left many of us shaken with its raw look into an industry that preys on fear and promises false solutions.
While Netflix’s latest limited series isn’t directly based on that story, Wayward is loosely inspired by the broader troubled-teen industry — an industry that is itself steeped in cruelty and exploitation. What unfolds behind closed doors of this fictional academy might churn your stomach just as much as any real-world documentary.
This project marks a significant shift for actor and filmmaker Mae Martin, previously known for their sharp comedy and the semi-autobiographical Netflix drama Feel Good (2020). With Wayward, Martin moves into the realm of psychological thriller, writing and creating the entire series. The result is ominous, suspenseful and at times deeply unsettling. While the show’s premise is undeniably absorbing, the execution is not without flaws. Still, it demonstrates Martin’s ability to flex a different side of creative talent.
The series is set in the picture-perfect town of Tall Pines, Vermont, where sinister secrets linger beneath the town’s postcard exterior. Shortly after LGBTI couple Alex Dempsey (played by Martin), a police officer and their pregnant wife Laura Redman (Sarah Gadon) move into their new home, Alex crosses paths with two desperate students from the local Tall Pines Academy — Abbie (Sydney Topliffe) and Leila (Alyvia Alyn Lind).
Their yearning to escape hints at something rotten at the core of both the school and the town. As Alex investigates a string of troubling incidents, suspicion naturally turns towards Evelyn Wade (Toni Collette), the school’s enigmatic leader.
Alex is the classic outsider figure — a cop new to town, trying to establish roots in a community that appears wholesome yet radiates an unnerving energy. Tall Pines itself is never fully fleshed out, but from the outset we sense that this is a place bound by shared secrets, where everyone’s smiles conceal something unsettling.
The residents are overly warm, bordering on invasive, their friendliness ringing false to the point of menace. The show uses this atmosphere effectively, conjuring echoes of cult dramas or stories where idyllic communities conceal monstrous truths.
I personally would have loved to see the town’s history and lore explored more deeply, but I understand why Martin keeps the focus tight on the academy itself. To wander too far into world-building might have distracted from the claustrophobic terror of the school.
The narrative is split between two main perspectives. On one side, we follow Alex and Laura as they settle into Tall Pines and slowly confront the town’s strangeness. On the other, we witness the daily lives of the academy’s students. Inside, the academy is portrayed less as a school and more as a regimented asylum or prison. The discipline is suffocating, the routines cruel and the supposed lessons serve only to break down the kids’ sense of self.
The so-called “circle therapy” sessions are particularly chilling, recalling elements of One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest (1975) crossed with A Clockwork Orange (1971). The emphasis is on psychological torment and manipulation, masquerading as treatment. These sequences are disturbing but crucial — they force us to reckon with the irreparable damage such places inflict.
At times, Wayward becomes genuinely difficult to watch, but that discomfort underscores why we root for the kids. Even when they lash out with aggression or defiance, they are victims first, fighting for survival in a system designed to crush them.
I was especially drawn to the dynamic between Alex and Laura. Their marriage is not presented as flawless or simplistic. As Alex struggles with her outsider status in Tall Pines, Laura reconnects with old acquaintances — and with her own past as a former academy student. This creates fissures in their relationship, moments of strength tested by lingering shadows of trauma. I appreciated how the show avoided painting their partnership as either idealised or doomed; instead, it felt lived-in and layered.
Then there’s Toni Collette, who delivers yet another commanding performance as Evelyn Wade. Collette is at once magnetic and chilling — her charm barely disguising the manipulative, opportunistic leader beneath. She plays Evelyn as less of a maternal figure and more of a cult leader wielding both soft persuasion and brute force. Her presence electrifies every scene and she’s a major reason why the show remains compelling even when the narrative falters. Unfortunately, for all its tension and intrigue, the series stumbles towards its conclusion. As the final episodes unfold, Wayward begins to resemble a teen adventure story more than an adult psychological thriller. The ending is especially unsatisfying. While one storyline finds clear resolution, most others are left hanging. Ambiguity can work when it deepens a narrative’s themes, but here it feels more like the writers abandoned threads they didn’t know how to resolve. Given that Wayward is intended as a self-contained limited series, this lack of closure is frustrating.
The buildup — schemes, betrayals and escalating risks — promises payoff that never fully arrives. When the credits roll on the final episode, I felt that little had actually been accomplished. I don’t demand a neat bow on every storyline, but I do want the sense that the journey meant something. Here, too much is left floating unresolved, leaving me more annoyed than haunted.
Still, for all its missteps, Wayward remains both provocative and thought-provoking. As a filmmaker, Martin explores the tension between critical thinking and the societal pressures to conform, especially in how authority preys on vulnerability. When the show works, it is unsettling, gripping and deeply resonant. The problem is that it doesn’t sustain that momentum consistently.
In the end, it’s watchable, often intriguing series with flashes of brilliance, but one that never quite coheres into something essential.