‘Vladimir’ Review: Rachel Weisz Stars in Netflix’s Sex-Charged Campus Comedy

Throughout its history, the audiovisual industry has always been prone to certain trends. I’m not talking about the obvious ones—like when a particular genre becomes a hit and suddenly everyone wants in—but the more oddly specific waves, like when multiple studios release movies about erupting volcanoes, the end of the world, or 19th-century British criminals. Now it seems to be the turn of the “campus comedy,” a genre that isn’t usually all that popular—either in film or on television—but that offers a convenient setting for debating contemporary issues. Or at least issues that were contemporary a couple of years ago.

In the same week, just four days apart, two such series premiere. On Sunday the 8th, HBO Max releases Rooster (see review here), and on Wednesday the 4th Netflix debuted Vladimir, which shares not only the academic setting but a surprising number of specific elements: the age of its protagonists, several of their particular family conflicts (infidelity and other messy relationships), their relationship with their children (who are adults rather than students), the department they work in (literature, in every case), and the thorny generational clash between professors and students when it comes to how people relate to one another. Vladimir differs mainly in two respects: it has a female lead and places sex much more squarely at the center of the story.

As the title already suggests, Vladimir indirectly invokes Lolita and its author, Vladimir Nabokov. Calling the show a response to that controversial literary classic may sound like a stretch at first, but gradually it becomes clear that the connection runs through the story as subtext. Based on the novel of the same name written by Julia May Jonas, the series begins with a somewhat misleading premise that slowly gives way to the themes it actually wants to explore. In fact, the rather sluggish and repetitive first half—during which, I admit, I was tempted several times to give up on it—eventually opens the door to a more layered second half that moves past the most obvious hook and develops a more complex view of these characters, their relationships, and the world they inhabit.

What Vladimir presents is a kind of culture war—but a very different one from the version circulating since Donald Trump returned to power, which has pushed the conversation into far more extreme territory than anything depicted here. The series is based on a 2022 novel, likely written in the heat of earlier debates. The apparent conflict revolves around the supposed excesses of political correctness, discussions about consent, and competing views about romantic relationships—including those between professors and students, even when the students are adults (no, nothing here reaches Lolita territory). The story is triggered by the fascination a fifty-something professor develops for a younger faculty member who has just arrived at the university.

M (Rachel Weisz) narrates directly to the camera—using a device clearly inspired by Fleabag, though it never works quite as well—the chain of events that leads to the opening scene, in which we see the titular Vladimir (Leo Woodall) tied up in what appears to be a sexually charged S&M situation. Everything goes back to the moment Vladimir arrives on campus with his wife Cynthia (Jessica Henwick) and their newborn baby, instantly throwing M’s world off balance. She becomes fascinated with the young, charming, muscular professor and begins fantasizing—repeatedly, and the series makes sure we know it—about doing just about everything sexually imaginable with him. Technically, she could: she and her husband John (John Slattery, still forever remembered by many as Roger Sterling from Mad Men) maintain a sort of “open marriage.” But M never quite dares to make a move, and Vlad—despite the obvious mutual attraction—doesn’t exactly take the initiative either.

There’s an additional complication: John is under investigation for having had relationships with several students. They’re all adults, but the power dynamics and potential for abuse muddy the waters. M initially accepts this as part of the agreement they’ve made—an arrangement that the students themselves struggle to understand—and doesn’t openly complain, though it gradually becomes clear that she’s not entirely comfortable with the situation. While her husband prepares for a university hearing (he’ll be defended by their daughter Sid, a lawyer who also happens to be a lesbian), M ends up in trouble herself because of the way she deals with her students and with certain canonical literary authors whose ideas don’t sit well with her politically vigilant class.

Despite all this, Vladimir is presented primarily as a comedy. Not as broad or punchy as Rooster, but still a show that treats most of its conflicts—romantic, generational, and institutional—with a light touch. For a good stretch the series seems to spin its wheels, repeating M’s fantasies, her often unreliable narration of events, and John’s ongoing sexual escapades, which he pursues as if nothing were happening. Gradually, however, things begin to shift. The change isn’t radical, but certain circumstances force M to reconsider the life plan she and her husband devised decades earlier—back when open marriages were considered the height of cool—and to question whether it was ever as fair, sensible, or harmless as it seemed.

At that point the series starts playing with more explicitly literary ideas and loosens its somewhat obsessive focus on M’s physical fixation on Vladimir—whom the show films taking off his shirt in slow motion at least twenty times. It’s admittedly a bit hard to buy that Weisz—arguably one of the most striking actresses of the past few decades—would see herself as undesirable. But then again, self-image rarely matches how others see us. Another minor issue is Woodall himself, who never quite convinces as a brooding intellectual literature professor. If someone told me he teaches P.E., I might find that easier to believe.

For all the internal contradictions in the series’ premise (and there are several others best left unspoiled, starting with how M ends up using Vladimir both as a sexual object and as a way to break through her creative block), the show eventually does venture into the thorny terrain of political correctness without preaching or offering easy answers. It raises many of the same questions that divide the two generations on screen—about how to navigate awkward or unconventional relationships and uncomfortable situations. This comes to a head in a somewhat on-the-nose but effective scene in which M holds an open discussion with her students and invites them to voice their criticisms. The show doesn’t take sides; instead, it allows each perspective to be heard without judgment—something that has become rather rare lately, both in fiction and in real life.

Vladimir ends up being better than it initially appears, partly for those reasons and partly thanks to a charismatic cast that manages to make its rather problematic characters—especially the central couple—surprisingly likable. Comedy may not be Weisz’s strongest suit, but her chemistry with Slattery works very well, driven by the acidic wit they display both in public and in private. Still, the series shares one unexpected problem with Rooster: by the time the scripts were written, the show produced, and the episodes finally released, the conversation it depicts already feels slightly dated. In today’s climate, chances are many of those professors would have been fired or suspended—and the students might not even dare to complain anymore, for fear of retaliation or, worse, outright persecution.