The Premise is Strong, the Execution Less So
The hook is sharp: UK Prime Minister Abigail Dalton (played by the great Suranne Jones) juggles a national security nightmare when her husband is abducted in French Guiana. On paper, this is the stuff of political-thriller gold. In practice, I almost switched the channel to watch "Hell's Kitchen" for the 100th time.
Scenes that should have been crackling with urgency stretched into long meetings, long speeches, long silences, long face expressions, and pauses. The pacing is technically fine, At five episodes, it's leaner than most Netflix dramas, but "limited" doesn't always mean "tight." For a show that should feel like a ticking time bomb, Hostage often feels like it's stuck in traffic.
The Big Questions Hostage Doesn't Answer
Part of my frustration with Hostage is how it dangles deeper themes without ever really grasping them. You can sense the writers gesturing at bigger questions, but they never commit.
Is it a Brexit metaphor? With the husband kidnapped abroad, is this secretly a Brexit-era critique of Britain's messy relationship with Europe - especially France? The tension is there, but the series doesn't press on it.
Is it a critique of government itself? Abigail's cabinet is a nest of egos and backstabbers. Is Hostage saying the real terrorists are the politicians in the room? Possibly. But again, it's half-baked.
Is it about the price of leadership? Abigail's core dilemma is simple: country or family? This should be the beating heart of the story. But by the middle episodes, the emotional stakes wobble. If I stopped caring whether her husband came back, that's not just me being cold; that's the writing failing to sustain the drama.
The result is a lot of smoke and mirrors without a clear thematic fire.
Not Bad, Just Not Interesting
Let me be clear: Hostage isn't terrible. Suranne Jones is excellent; she plays Abigail Dalton with just the right balance of steel and vulnerability. The series also benefits from not being bloated. Five episodes are a blessing compared to the usual Netflix "10 hours of filler with one good cliffhanger" approach.
But while I admire the format, I can't shake the feeling that Hostage proves a simple truth: "limited series" doesn't automatically mean "better."
At its worst, Hostage feels like it wants to be The West Wing meets 24 - but it ends up somewhere closer to Designated Survivor Lite. Watchable, sure. Unforgettable? Not really.
The Netflix Limited-Series Dilemma
Here's the thing: I love the limited-series format. I'd rather have five intense episodes with a clear arc than five seasons of nothing stretched into oblivion.
The UK, in particular, has nailed this format:
Bodyguard (BBC/Netflix, 2018) was a masterclass in tension. Six episodes that had audiences sweating through every twist.
Broadchurch managed to tell a haunting, complete story in its first series before milking sequels.
Even Luther thrived in shorter, punchier seasons that kept the tension alive.
Compare that to American shows, which will drag a single storyline out for 60 hours (Designated Survivor, House of Cards, even Scandal at its worst).
Netflix knows the audience loves "compact, bingeable" dramas, the kind you finish in a weekend. But Hostage proves that trimming the runtime isn't enough. You still need characters worth caring about and stakes that resonate. Otherwise, "limited" just means "limited patience."
The Real Hostage Situation: Netflix's Strategy
Here's the irony: Netflix keeps commissioning "event" limited series like Hostage because audiences are tired of endless franchises. But in chasing that prestige drama vibe, they risk turning these series into forgettable Netflix filler - glossy enough to trend for a week, forgettable enough to vanish the next.
The real hostage situation? Great actors and smart concepts are trapped in shows that feel designed to be binged and forgotten, not remembered.
Final Thought
Hostage had the chance to be sharp, timely, and unforgettable. Instead, it's fine. It's okay. It's the kind of show you half-watch while scrolling your phone and then forget existed a week later.
And that's the problem. A limited series shouldn't feel long. It shouldn't feel padded. It shouldn't feel disposable.
When I was halfway through Hostage, I realized the only real question on my mind wasn't "Will the Prime Minister save her husband?" but "Why should I care?"
And that's the one question Hostage never answered.
