The Beauty

The Anatomy of a Perfect Sickness

A sequence just minutes into *The Beauty* makes it very clear what kind of experience this is going to be. Bella Hadid, playing a frantic supermodel, struts down a Paris runway in heavy red leather, but the camera catches the sweat at her temples and a raw, animal terror in her eyes. She overheats, snaps, attacks a bystander for water, and guns a stolen motorcycle through the city. By the time she literally detonates into bloody chunks to the beat of The Prodigy’s "Firestarter," the show’s grotesque, absurd energy is undeniable. It’s impossible to look away.



This is the nightmare scenario Ryan Murphy and co-creator Matthew Hodgson have crafted for their 2026 FX adaptation of the comic by Jeremy Haun and Jason A. Hurley. It’s built on a mean-spirited sci-fi hook: an STI that functions like the ultimate vanity drug, erasing body fat and clearing skin until you're the most 'perfect' version of yourself. The catch is that you spontaneously combust a few years later. In our current culture of Ozempic and filters, the satirical target is massive, and Murphy attacks it with his usual lack of subtlety.

Writing for RogerEbert.com, Cristina Escobar pointed out that Murphy’s "tendency toward maximalism is on full display," calling it a chaotic, stylized mirror of our own world. She isn't wrong; the series often stumbles over its own ambition, getting lost in messy conspiracy plots and unnecessary detours. However, when the show stops over-complicating things and focuses on the visceral, tactile mechanics of these physical transformations, it really finds its rhythm.



We get a front-row seat to Jeremy Pope’s character going through an agonizing metamorphosis early in the season. The sound design is what really sells it—a sickening mix of wet tearing and crunching bone that made me flinch in my seat. His face essentially sloughs off as he retreats into a fleshy cocoon, only to emerge as a literal chiseled god. Pope plays the aftermath with a strange, brittle vulnerability, moving like a man who hasn't quite figured out how to pilot his new, flawless body yet.

Evan Peters and Rebecca Hall provide some much-needed stability as FBI agents Cooper Madsen and Jordan Bennett. Seeing Peters play a relatively normal guy is a relief after his years of Murphy-branded weirdness; he carries a tired, slumped posture that contrasts with the hyper-attractive mutants he’s hunting. Hall is excellent as usual, grounding the absurdity with tiny details like a tightening jaw or a brief flash of panic in her eyes. Their chemistry feels real, even when the dialogue they’re given starts to clunk.



Ashton Kutcher shows up as Byron Forst, the tech-billionaire peddling the drug to the elite. It’s a very pointed casting choice, especially given the context of Kutcher appearing in a show about the obsession with youth right after his ex-wife Demi Moore dealt with similar themes in *The Substance*. Kutcher plays Forst as a rigid caricature with a hollow smile and permanent Matrix sunglasses. It’s a bit cartoonish, maybe too much so, but that synthetic arrogance fits the world perfectly. (Isabella Rossellini is also there as his wife, and while she's underused, she looks fabulous).

As a coherent narrative, *The Beauty* doesn't really hold together. Across 11 episodes, it gets cluttered with side characters and a shadowy assassin subplot that feels like a rejected 90s action flick. But even with all those flaws, it stuck with me. It manages to tap into that very human fear regarding the value of physical beauty and the terrifying lengths people will go to keep it. It doesn't offer deep answers, but the bloody, over-the-top way it asks its questions definitely gets under your skin.