By Angelina, Entertainment Writer with a Passion for Thoughtful Storytelling
When a TV series sets out to tackle the political chaos of our times, it needs to dive in fearlessly—confronting the messy, divisive reality we live in. Netflix’s Zero Day, marking Robert De Niro’s first starring role on television, swings for that ambition but lands somewhere short. The result? A political thriller that’s packed with talent and tension but feels frustratingly detached from the moment it’s trying to capture.
As someone who’s spent years dissecting shows that resonate—or fail to—with their cultural context, I went into Zero Day with high hopes. De Niro, Angela Bassett, Lizzy Caplan, and Jesse Plemons headline a cast that screams prestige, backed by creators Eric Newman (Narcos) and Noah Oppenheim (Jackie). De Niro even pulls double duty as an executive producer. Yet, despite this powerhouse lineup, Zero Day struggles to find its footing, leaving me—and likely many viewers—wanting more substance beneath its sleek surface.
What’s Zero Day About?
Picture this: a massive cyberattack plunges the United States into chaos. For one terrifying minute, the power grid fails, transportation grinds to a halt, and communication systems collapse. Thousands die, and a chilling message blankets every citizen’s screen: “This will happen again.” Panic sets in, and President Evelyn Mitchell (Bassett) is desperate to uncover who’s behind it and how to stop round two.
Enter George Mullen (De Niro), a former president beloved across party lines—until he stepped down after his son’s death shattered his world. Mitchell taps him to lead the Zero Day Commission, a task force with sweeping surveillance powers that could easily tip into civil liberties quicksand. Mullen takes the gig partly to keep it out of more dangerous hands, racing against time to unmask the attackers. Is it Russia, as many suspect? Or is the threat closer to home?
The stakes climb higher as Mullen battles misinformation, conspiracy theories, and slick power players like tech moguls and hedge fund tycoons. His own daughter, Congresswoman Alexandra Mullen (Caplan), clashes with him over the commission’s ethics, while whispers about his mental fitness—punctuated by bizarre, Sex Pistols-fueled dream sequences—threaten to derail his mission. It’s a premise dripping with potential, especially with a few jaw-dropping twists in the back half. So why does it feel like Zero Day is holding back?
A Political Thriller That Dodges Politics
Here’s where Zero Day stumbles: it wants to dissect America’s deep divisions—misinformation, conspiracy culture, distrust—but it tiptoes around the why and how. The show deliberately avoids pinning its characters to political parties. Is Mullen a progressive idealist? A conservative pragmatist? What about President Mitchell or Speaker Richard Dreyer (Matthew Modine)? We’re left guessing, and not in a clever, ambiguous way. It’s a choice that creator Noah Oppenheim and team defend—Jesse Plemons told The Times it prevents viewers from picking sides too quickly. But I’d argue it does the opposite: it disengages us by stripping away vital context.
Think about The West Wing or House of Cards. Knowing where characters stood politically didn’t alienate me—it grounded their actions and made their stakes feel real. In Zero Day, the lack of ideological clarity turns heavy-hitters like Mitchell and Dreyer into cardboard cutouts delivering vague speeches about “fixing America.” One character laments, “Half the country’s lost in a fever dream of lies, the other half’s obsessed with pronouns and grievances.” It’s a line that’s meant to sound profound but flattens complex issues into a caricature—and worse, equates them in a way that feels tone-deaf post-2024 election.
Missing the Mark in the Trump Era
Filmed before the 2024 election, Zero Day can’t lean on that excuse entirely. We’re living in an era where political figures—love them or hate them—thrive on division, amplify conspiracies, and shape their bases through bold, often polarizing moves. Yet Zero Day shies away from pointing fingers. Who’s fueling the misinformation Mullen’s chasing? The show shrugs, blaming the American people instead of the leaders or influencers—like tech titan Monica Kidder (Gaby Hoffmann), a fleeting Elon Musk-esque figure who barely gets screen time to matter.
Even when it dips into specifics, Zero Day trips over itself. A “radical leftist” terrorist network emerges as a key player, but they’re inexplicably tied to Evan Green (Dan Stevens), a right-wing, Alex Jones-style provocateur. It’s a head-scratcher that yanks you out of the story, undermining the show’s claim to reflect our fractured reality. In a time when political accountability feels more urgent than ever, Zero Day’s refusal to get specific doesn’t just feel cautious—it feels like a cop-out.
The Verdict: Talent Can’t Save a Shaky Vision
Don’t get me wrong—there’s plenty to enjoy here. De Niro brings gravitas and quiet intensity to Mullen, and the late-season twists deliver genuine gasps. The production values are top-tier, and the supporting cast shines when given room (though Bassett’s criminally underused). But for a series that wants to hold a mirror to our divided society, Zero Day keeps that mirror fogged up. It’s a thriller that thrills on the surface but lacks the depth to stick with you—or to truly speak to 2025’s political wildfire.
Zero Day is streaming now on Netflix. Worth a watch for De Niro fans, but don’t expect it to unpack the chaos it promises to confront.
