‘In the Mud’ Review: Chaos, Loyalty, and Violence Behind Bars (Netflix)
A women’s prison ruled by shifting power, secret deals, and violence pushes its inmates deeper into chaos, desire, and survival. Streaming on Netflix from February 13.
Just six months after its first season, Netflix releases the follow-up to En el barro, the series focused on the prison misadventures of a group of women. Some of the original protagonists return, while several new characters are introduced—or gain much more narrative weight than before. Nothing has changed in terms of format or style: the formula worked extremely well—In the Mud was Argentina’s most-watched series in the second half of 2025—and when something works, it’s left largely untouched. It gets shifted slightly, repainted, tweaked here and there, and that’s it.
The main “tweak” this time around is the arrival of Eugenia “La China” Suárez as a co-lead. She plays Nicole, a recent arrival at the prison known as La Quebrada. Along with several other inmates, Nicole is allowed out on supervised excursions to clubs, bars, and parties, where they operate as so-called “black widows,” seducing, sleeping with, and robbing unsuspecting men. All of this is controlled by the new boss of the prison, the fearsome Gringa Casares, played by Verónica Llinás with convincing authority. Gringa also keeps Nicole as her lover—or something close to that. She’s hers, basically, and there’s very little Nicole can do or say to resist. Nicole also has a parallel relationship with Solita (Camila Peralta), which must remain strictly secret.
The season kicks off with the return of Gladys Guerra (Ana Garibaldi), who falls into a trap during a robbery and ends up back in prison, now ruled by Gringa while La Zurda (Lorena Vega) continues to run her own operations. One of the first major conflicts is the murder of an inmate who saw something she shouldn’t have and is brutally stabbed to death. The killing shakes the prison, triggering shifting alliances. At the same time, Gladys uses two of the women for a personal errand: kidnapping a race car driver, the son of a mafia family, in order to negotiate with enemies on the outside. Their not-so-brilliant idea is to hide the hostage inside La Quebrada itself.
The new prison warden, Beatriz (Inés Estévez), conducts her own business dealings and internal alliances, while carrying on a relationship with the sinister Antín (Gerardo Romano). Among the new faces is also Julieta Ortega as Helena, a schoolteacher arrested for having had a romantic relationship with one of her underage students. Amid all this come the familiar fights, betrayals, battles over drug trafficking, parties, some sex, and a growing mix of chaos and tension that intensifies episode by episode.
The formula works, even if En el barro is always on the verge of glamorizing prison chaos—a life portrayed as unruly but oddly appealing, set to music like a suburban party, with a rhythm and set of relationships that reproduce familiar television clichés of this kind of setting. The series is blunt and raw—it’s clearly not for children—and includes the nudity and sex scenes one assumes the production hopes will go viral, drawing in viewers eager to follow whatever La China Suárez does or doesn’t do on screen.
Beyond that, En el barro—much like El marginal before it—has little interest left in offering any real critique of the prison system. Chaos reigns inside and out alike, and while some characters may inspire sympathy, their behavior becomes repetitive, shifting from self-defense to revenge and from there to cruelty for its own sake. The format chosen for the original series proved successful, and given how well the first season performed, it was obvious no one intended to change it.
Llinás shines, sharing with Estévez the kind of roles once played by Cecilia Rosetto or Rita Cortese (Juana Molina, notably, is missed). Suárez takes over the role of the prison’s designated “pretty girl,” previously filled by Valentina Zenere. There are also cameos and small roles—and a few returns—from other well-known figures best left unspoiled. One of the series’ strongest assets remains the solidity of its supporting cast, both among familiar faces (Camila Peralta, Lola Berthet, Carolina Kopelioff, among others) and the many lesser-known actresses (or ones I’ll admit I don’t recognize) who flesh out the prison ensemble. As a whole, the cast does a great deal to sustain the televisual credibility that In the Mud continues to project.
