Crew Girl Season 1, Episode 2 Review: A Louis Vuitton Internship Buys A Stroke Seat

Episode two of Crew Girl is about the price of everything at Easton Prep — and the one obstacle nobody’s father can pay to move.

Okay so if the premiere was about what a father’s disappearance does to two women, episode two is about what other people’s fathers do to everybody else. And I mean that structurally, not as a vibe. Nearly every plot beat in this hour is an adult purchasing an outcome for a child, and the episode’s argument is that a rope wall is the only thing at Easton Prep that money cannot reach.

This is the episode where the show tells you what kind of show it actually is, and it’s more interested in class than in the love triangle everyone previewed it for.

THE RECEIPT JOKE TELLS YOU EVERYTHING

Teagan’s first day as coxswain, and Josh’s opening move is: we still have the receipt, we can send her back.

Josh needs to be sent back. He is a misogynist narcissist privledged pig.

But that line is doing something more specific than being mean, and it’s worth naming because the whole episode runs on it. Framing her as merchandise removes her from the category of person with authority. If she’s a thing the coach acquired, she can be returned, exchanged, deemed defective — and none of that requires Josh to engage with a single thing she says. It also happens to be exactly how his family operates, which is the part I keep coming back to. The Regises acquire outcomes. So Josh isn’t reaching for a random insult — he’s describing the world as he understands it, in which people and positions are procured. He’s not being creative. He’s being literal. That’s the vocabulary he was raised in.

The episode is a catalogue of prices

Watch what this hour actually spends its time on.

Seven thousand a month is the price of Teagan’s tuition, offered to Ella as a payment plan by a principal who has to know she can’t cover it. A few hundred bucks is what her boss Jim can advance her against it. A hundred thousand dollars is the budget for Josh’s Casino Royale birthday party, of which Ella takes fifteen percent. Baloo and Britney are functionally twins born from two different surrogates around the same time — designer babies, which is apparently a thing I’m hearing about now.

And the stroke seat, the thing three boys break their bodies over, costs one internship at Louis Vuitton for the principal’s niece.

That last one is the episode’s masterstroke, and it’s masterful because of how small it is. Richard Regis doesn’t write a check — a check leaves a record. He extends a favor to a relative of the principal, through a channel nobody can audit. Two adults who both understand exactly what happened, neither of whom says a single incriminating word. it’s reciprocity, and the elegance of it is that the principal is now invested rather than merely bought. She has something to protect too.

An hour of screen time establishes that at Easton, a boathouse, a seat, a scholarship, a mother’s silence, and apparently a sibling can all be priced. Then it puts a wall in front of four teenagers and asks who can climb.

THE SABOTAGE IS DENIABLE, WHICH IS THE POINT

Teagan loses her microphone and the boys won’t help her find it.

I want to give the show real credit for choosing that object, because the microphone is the coxswain’s entire instrument. Her job is her voice reaching eight people simultaneously. They didn’t hide her shoes or her seat. They removed her ability to be heard.

Nobody actually did anything. They just didn’t help her find anything or give her clues to solve the problem. That’s how exclusion functions inside an institution — not through an act but through the collective withholding of a small courtesy, so that everyone’s hands stay clean. This makes the outcome is precisely what they wanted.

The changing room is the same logic and it made me genuinely angry. They’ve put her in the janitor’s closet. Not as a punishment — as a practicality. Easton admitted girls two years ago and never built a girls’ changing room, because there was never a girl on a team, and so the solution is a supply closet and nobody has to call it an insult. Technically she’s accommodated.

She’s allowed in. She’s just not allowed anything that would make being in bearable.

THE SHOWER VOTE IS THE BEST-WRITTEN SCENE IN THE EPISODE

Josh tries to stage a mutiny while the boys are showering, they start taking votes, and nobody will vote against him — because they’re all afraid of him. Teagan busts in when she hears them about to hand the stroke seat to Josh, and you have never seen so many boys cover themselves up so fast.

Underneath the comedy is a genuinely sharp piece of social observation. Not one of those boys wants Josh in stroke. They row behind him. They know exactly how bad he is. But each of them assumes everyone else will vote for him, so voting honestly means being the only one exposed. So they all vote for the thing none of them wants.

That’s how a person with no actual authority ends up controlling a room, and it’s why Teagan bursting in matters more than the gag. The vote was only safe for Josh while it stayed private. She made it something that happened in front of a witness.

Crew Girl S1. Sam Braun as Josh Regis in Crew Girl S1. Cr. Courtesy of Craig Minielly/Netflix © 2026

MUTINY

And here’s the detail I can’t get past: Josh is staging a mutiny to secure a seat his father is already quietly buying back for him. He doesn’t know that yet. He’s out here spending social capital, threatening teammates, and manufacturing a vote for something that was never actually in play. He keeps competing in a contest whose result was settled by a phone call he wasn’t on.

I did not expect to be writing this much about Josh Regis, because he spends the hour being genuinely awful. He ignores Teagan’s race plan and blames her for the loss. Josh insults Ryder’s mother. He dumps a bucket of seaweed on a girl who tried to break up a fight he started.

The episode hands you three pieces of information about his father and reorganizes him completely.

ONE: “NO. I WILL.”

Josh tells Richard he’ll earn the stroke seat back, and his father corrects him. No, I will.

That’s the line of the episode and it’s chilling for how casual it is. In four words, in front of his cousin, Richard informs his son that his performance is irrelevant, because acquisition is a parental function. Josh offers effort. His father declines the offer as inefficient.

Richard isn’t going for parent of the year.

Sit with what that does to a sixteen-year-old. There is no version of Josh’s life in which he ever finds out whether he’s good, because the question keeps getting answered before he can ask it.

That’s also why he cannot tolerate being evaluated. People assume arrogance comes from believing you’re excellent. Josh’s comes from having no idea, and being unable to find out, and needing everyone else to behave as though the matter is settled. If nobody ever measures him, the ambiguity holds. The moment someone measures him — say, a coxswain suggesting a different seat order — the whole thing is exposed as unresolved.

TWO: THE LAKE.

After the alumni loss, Josh is throwing rocks in the water and his dad comes over with what is supposed to be comfort. He tells him, “My first race I lost. Your grandfather won his second by a boat length.”

I want to break that down because it’s a small masterpiece of paternal damage. It opens with I lost too, which reads as empathy for approximately half a second, and then immediately produces a superior ancestor to be measured against. Even the consolation is a ranking. The kid cannot receive a single sentence from his father that doesn’t place him in a hierarchy.

What Richard never says: that he was there, that he saw his son try, that losing a race is survivable. He offers lineage instead of presence.The Regis family’s relationship to rowing isn’t athletic, it’s generational. The boathouse has their name on it. Six generations have gone to that school. Josh isn’t a rower who happens to be a Regis. He’s a Regis performing rowing, and the performance is being graded against the dead.

Losing the striker seat – it doesn’t mean Josh is slow, it means Josh is the generation that broke the line.

THREE: THE PANIC ATTACK.

Josh gets over the crucible wall while having a panic attack (I assume). Nobody knows. Not his teammates, and specifically not his father.

That single fact recontextualizes everything, and I’d argue it’s the most generous thing the show does for any character in this episode. He isn’t confident, he’s terrified — permanently, structurally — of exactly one thing, and it isn’t losing. It’s being seen not being enough.

And then he climbs down, having done something genuinely hard while falling apart, and Richard says congratulations, too bad your cousin finished first.

Again, father of the year.

His father has no idea what just happened on that wall, because Josh would never tell him. The person Josh is most afraid of being seen by is him. That’s the whole relationship: a kid who cannot be honest with the one person whose approval organizes his entire life, receiving a ranking in place of a hug.

Richard’s line lands in the exact window where his son is most vulnerable and most deserving — post-crucible, adrenaline gone, having accomplished something four teams in six years couldn’t. That’s the moment available for a father to say anything at all. And he uses it to compare him to Ryder. Richard is cruel.

WHAT IT MAKES OF RYDER.

Ryder and Josh.. Same surname, same lineage, same six generations, same face in the crowd — and he’s the one who isn’t supposed to count. When he says to Josh that maybe the coach is trying somebody else for stroke, maybe me, and Josh is upset, that’s not a joke between cousins. That’s Josh policing a boundary he needs to exist, because if Ryder can hold the seat then the seat isn’t about being a Regis, it’s about being good, and Josh has no idea if he is.

Ryder tells him his catches are shit after the alumni race, which is the single most useful sentence anyone says to Josh all episode. Josh is incapable of receiving accurate information about himself from anyone, ever.

And Richard using Ryder as the measuring stick at the wall is the final turn of the screw, because it confirms Josh’s worst fear in public. What is that? Well his father has noticed that Josh isn’t the son he wants him to be. He’s not measuring up.

Which is why Josh’s meanest moment of the hour — the thing he says about Ryder’s mom at the clam bake. He goes after Ryder’s mother because family standing is the only battlefield where he still has an advantage. It’s affairs and gossip and rich people shit, and it’s the one weapon Josh has that isn’t about rowing, because rowing has stopped being safe for him.

SEAWEED

And the person who gets the bucket.

Watch who he actually retaliates against at the clam bake. Ryder insulted his rowing and Ryder swung at him. The person who ends up with seaweed dumped on her is Teagan, who tried to break it up.

She’s the safe target. No father in the parking lot, no name on a building, no ability to make him pay for it. Bullies are excellent at threat assessment — it’s their one real skill — and Josh has correctly identified the only person in that group with no protection.

WHERE IT LEAVES HIM.

I still don’t like Josh. He is the epitome of evil in this episode and he earns every bit of the loathing.

But he stopped being a trope in this hour, and that’s a genuine accomplishment for a show two episodes in. A kid whose worth has always been positional will treat every other person as a threat to his position, because that’s the only model of a person he’s ever been handed. Sam Braun plays the panic under the volume well enough that you can see it before the script confirms it, and I’m now actively interested in a character I would have written off on Thursday.

CREW GIRL SEASON 1 REVIEW LINKS

And I want to flag the structural threat Richard poses going forward, because it isn’t Josh. Josh is a sixteen-year-old with an anxiety disorder and a bad attitude. And yet, I do think we are missing something about Josh that the show hasn’t gotten to as of yet.

Richard is a man who buys outcomes through favors, whose son’s birthday party Ella has just been hired to run for fifteen thousand dollars she desperately needs. He now has a channel into the Tao household. That’s not a rivalry. That’s exposure.

THE ALUMNI RACE IS THE SHOW PROVING ITS OWN THESIS

Teagan’s race plan is sound. Sprint, settle, sprint again — hold something back and spend it when the other boat is empty. That’s real strategy; it’s what a coxswain is for, since the job is steering, calling the rate, and managing race strategy for eight people. Josh pretends he’ll follow it, sees his dad pulling ahead, decides he has something to prove, and pushes everyone into overdrive.

They lose. And instead of taking responsibility he blames Teagan.

So the boat lost because the person in stroke seat overrode the person whose job it is to call the rate.

The specific trigger is worth sitting with: Josh abandons the plan the instant he sees his father’s boat pulling ahead. He isn’t racing the alumni. He’s racing Richard, in a contest Richard has already won by existing, using seven other people’s bodies to do it. Eight teenagers get burned out early because one of them needed his dad to see him in front.

Then Josh assigns the failure to the girl who predicted it, and the reason he has to is what makes it more than obnoxious. He cannot afford for the plan to have been good, because if it was, he’s the reason they lost, and he’s already been told by his own father that he isn’t capable. He needs it to be her. It’s a lie he’s telling himself, urgently.

The losers serving the winners afterward is the show twisting it one more turn, too. The boys have to wait on the fathers who just beat them, in a boathouse named after one of those fathers, while the man who caused the loss refuses to admit it. That’s a class tableau disguised as a team tradition.

HAYDEN IS THE ONLY ADULT IN THE BUILDING

Thomas Cadrot’s coach is doing something quietly heroic and quietly doomed, and this is the episode that shows you the cost.

The parents offer him everything at parents’ night and he cannot be bothered. Ryder’s mom pitches him on her son, which is admirable — a mom should look out for her kid — and he’s still not for sale. He picks Cam for stroke knowing full well it’s the maximum possible provocation, because it doesn’t just demote the donor’s son, it hands the most visible seat on the team to the kid these families consider a charity case.

He says out loud that what the parents want doesn’t matter, that it’s what’s best for the team. Which is the show’s argument stated plainly by the only person willing to state it: a boat has an objectively correct configuration. There is a fastest arrangement of eight people, it’s discoverable, and it has nothing to do with whose name is on the building.

Crew Girl S1. (L to R) Sam Braun as Josh Regis and Kyle Clark as Cam Dillinger in Crew Girl S1. Cr. Courtesy of Craig Minielly/Netflix © 2026

A FATHER ASKS TOO MUCH

Richard’s response to that is worth noting for how practiced it is. He doesn’t threaten. He tells Hayden he appreciates the everybody-gets-a-chance thing, but there’s a tried and true stroke seat right here. When Hayden says he’s made his decision and you’ll see it on the boat, Richard doesn’t argue — because he’s already decided to route around him. Men like this never win the argument. They win afterward, elsewhere, through a niece.

And then a Louis Vuitton internship undoes it, and Hayden has to walk into a room and tell Cam he’s better and it doesn’t matter.

That scene is where the episode gets genuinely uncomfortable, because Hayden is both the best adult here and complicit in this specific moment. There is no gentle version of that conversation with Cam.He’s teaching Cam something worse than a demotion: the boy has spent his life being told his talent is his ticket, and the first time his talent wins him something, a phone call takes it back — delivered by the one adult who was supposed to be the exception.

Learning that Hayden is a single dad raising a daughter, and that he knew Ella back when, reframes his integrity slightly upward. He’s not incorruptible because he’s above it. He’s holding the line in the final year of his contract with a kid at home.

The setup for him and Ella is obvious and I don’t mind it at all. Go with God, do your thing, nobody’s hating on you.

JESSICA PARÉ IS STILL THE MOST INTERESTING STORY HERE

Ella’s arc in this episode is a straight line from concealment to survival, and it’s the strongest writing in the hour outside the crucible.

She agrees to seven thousand a month she cannot pay, which is admirable in that she won’t uproot her daughter again and terrible in that it’s the cake stand at scale. She keeps purchasing the appearance of handling it. This time she’s buying it with money that doesn’t exist, from an institution that will absolutely put Teagan’s enrollment on the table the first month she misses. What she’s really protecting is her daughter’s belief that the ground is solid, which is loving and which will hurt more when it goes, because Teagan won’t see it coming.

PARENTS NIGHT

At parents’ night Ella gets handled rather than accused — nobody says you were complicit, they just make sure she knows they know, over and over, in pleasant voices. The assumption underneath every conversation is that a wife must have known that living in a house built on stolen money makes you a participant by residence. Which conveniently makes her available for a judgment they can’t deliver to the man who actually did it.

And then she walks up to a group and says she’s going to need this Chardonnay since the FBI raided her house.

That’s her first correct strategic move of the series, and it works because it takes the weapon off the table. You cannot expose someone who has already exposed herself. She volunteers the worst fact about her life to strangers. Not a personality change. A woman who has run out of energy for concealment and discovered the truth is cheaper.

Imogen at the bar telling her the sins of the husband should not fall upon the wife is the first genuine solidarity anyone extends her, and the relief on Paré’s face tells you how starved she’s been. I’m slightly on guard, because this show has established nobody at Easton is nice for free. But taken straight, it’s worth more than the advance from Jim.

THE JOB SHE TAKES IS THE SHARPEST PLOT MOVE OF THE EPISODE

Ella gets hired to party plan Josh’s Casino Royale birthday – hundred thousand dollar budget, fifteen percent, so about fifteen grand. Two months of tuition in one job, and the first time she’s been paid for a competence rather than a shift.

But look at what she’s signed up for. She’s going to be the help at a party for the family that owns her daughter’s crew seat. In that house as a vendor, arranging things for Richard Regis, occupying the exact social position these parents already believe she belongs in. And she takes it knowingly, because the money is the money.

That’s a genuinely uncomfortable place to put her and it’s the smartest choice in the hour, because her whole storyline has been pride versus survival since the cake stand. This is the first time survival wins outright, and the price is being seen as staff by every parent who spent parents’ night handling her.

It also creates leverage. Josh and his mother are standing in the one place Teagan had left — home –, where she and her mom told each other the truth. Now the boy who dumped seaweed on her is in the doorway of it, and her mother needs his family’s money.

And note who’s at the door with him. Not Richard. His mother, who we’ve barely met, doing the social call — which is exactly how a family like this operates. The father handles acquisitions and the mother handles appearances, and Josh gets to stand there acting shocked and innocent to see Teagan, which he absolutely is not. He’s fake. But he’s also learning it from professionals.

Teagan’s ability to fight Josh at school is now tied to whether her mom keeps a fifteen-thousand-dollar gig. That’s not a complication. That’s leverage.

THE IRON CRUCIBLE IS WHAT THE SHOW IS FOR

Seven events split by a two-mile run. The stated purpose is to finish. The purpose is to find yourself.

And immediately, Josh and Ryder cheat — rolling up a net to make it harder for Cam — while competing in an event whose entire premise is self-discovery. That’s a perfect little indictment. These boys cannot conceive of a challenge that isn’t about beating someone. Handed a test designed to be internal, they convert it into sabotage within minutes.

For Josh specifically, self-discovery is the actual threat. An event that measures you against yourself is the last thing a kid wants when he suspects the answer. So he does the only thing available: he makes it about someone else’s failure, because as long as Cam is behind him, the question of what Josh is worth stays unasked.

Hayden attaching the stroke seat to the outcome is also a clever move, and I don’t think it’s just plot convenience. He can’t award Cam the seat, because a favor took it away. So he manufactures a public contest with a witnessed result — something a quiet phone call can’t reverse afterward. He’s creating a record. If it happens in front of everyone, Richard has to overturn it in front of everyone.

WORK TOGETHER

Then Teagan and Cam work together to get the net down, she gets on his shoulders, and they run together — and when she’s about to fall she tells him to go ahead, because she doesn’t want to be the reason he loses the stroke seat.

That’s the most important character beat she has had, and it’s important because nobody is watching. A coxswain’s entire function is subordinating her own outcome to the boat’s. She has spent two episodes being called a distraction, a liability, an interloper, and alone on a trail with no audience she chooses the team’s result over her own finish. There’s no credit available for it. That’s what makes it real.

It’s also the direct opposite of what Josh did in the boat, in the same episode, with a plan in front of him. She sacrifices her result for the team’s. He sacrifices the team’s for his father’s attention. The show didn’t need to say that out loud, and it doesn’t.

The pairing is also doing the show’s class work in the most efficient way available. Cam is a townie, the scholarship kid, and the show is arguing that townies aren’t just “townies” — they’re humans, and not being filthy rich doesn’t mean they can’t do the thing. It makes that case not with a speech but by having the two outsiders solve a physical problem the rich kids created.

THE WALL

Ryder, Cam, and Josh all collapse in front of it. Teagan collapses where she is, and she has a memory of her father telling her that the pain is reminding her how far she can go.

Then she doesn’t stay down. She gets up, goes for the rope, and climbs.

She gets over that wall using something her father gave her. The man who wrecked her life is also the man who taught her how to survive it, and there is no way to separate those two things. She can’t return to the lesson. She wouldn’t want to. It’s hers.

That’s a strikingly mature idea for a teen show — that a person who did you enormous damage can also be the source of the thing that saves you, and you just carry both. She isn’t honoring him by climbing and she isn’t defying him either. She’s using him.

THE WALL ATTACK

And put that next to Josh at the same wall, because the episode is very deliberately staging a comparison. Teagan’s father is a criminal who abandoned her, and what he left behind gets her over. Josh’s father is present, wealthy, and legally spotless, and what he left behind gives his son a panic attack at the bottom. One of these kids has a dead phone number and a useful sentence. The other has a man in the parking lot and nothing he can use.

The choice of obstacle is perfect, too. All episode Teagan’s been trying to lead people who won’t follow, which is a problem entirely dependent on other people. The rope isn’t. It’s the first challenge at Easton where the only variable is her, and she clears it while three boys with every advantage in the world lie at the bottom.

The boys suddenly hustle for the wall. Which answers the question she gave up on the night before, when she told Cam she didn’t think she was right for this team because she can’t lead people who won’t follow. She couldn’t lead them. No microphone, no changing room, no authority. So she stopped asking them to follow and just went, and the threat of being beaten by her accomplished what two weeks of instruction couldn’t.

That’s not the leadership she wanted. It’s the only kind available in a room like that. And the show is honest enough not to pretend otherwise.

All four finish. Nobody has finished in six years.

MIKU MARTINEAU, AGAIN

Martineau’s work here is more contained than in the premiere and better for it. Teagan spends this episode mostly losing — she loses the microphone, the race, the argument, and very nearly her nerve — and the performance has to make quitting feel like a legitimate conclusion rather than weakness.

It does, because she plays it as assessment rather than despair. When she tells Cam she doesn’t think she’s right for the team, she isn’t wallowing. She’s correctly identifying that a coxswain who can be overridden by a purchased stroke seat has no authority, and that the position she fought for is empty. That’s a smart kid reaching a rational verdict, and it makes the crucible mean something, because she doesn’t return with restored confidence. She returns with a different strategy.

She’s also still doing the two-register thing from the premiere — armored and fast in public, then quiet with her mother at the end. Ella asks how she finished the race and she says it’s something Dad taught me. Sober. Daylight. Good day. Last episode it took vodka and a porch to admit she missed him. This time she credits him out loud, which is a real shift: she has stopped treating the fact that he mattered as something shameful.

Ella asking a question instead of offering encouragement is its own small win, too. Two episodes of talking past each other, and the fix turns out to be inquiry rather than enthusiasm.

WHERE IT FRUSTRATES

The thing that wears on me is that almost nobody in this show takes responsibility for anything, and by the back half of the episode that starts to feel less like theme and more like a setting.

Josh blames Teagan for the race. Richard blames the coach. The boys blame Cam for existing. Ryder tells Josh his catches are shit and Josh storms off rather than hear it. Even the fight at the clam bake resolves into everyone being mad at someone else. Cam telling Teagan she has to let it go or she won’t get anywhere is valid, and it’s also the only accountability anyone models all hour.

I understand it’s the point — these are children raised by men who buy outcomes, so of course consequence is a foreign concept. But an episode where the only person who owns anything is the girl everyone’s blaming needs at least one adult to notice, and Hayden’s next-day speech about wanting athletes and not fucking children is as close as we get.

I also want more on the specifics of the fraud, and this episode makes the omission more noticeable rather than less. The parents at Easton clearly know things Ella hasn’t told her daughter, and the show is withholding the mechanics from the audience in a way that keeps me from calibrating anything — how much she might have known, what benefited them, whether looking away counts. Right now the crime functions as weather. It should function as a fact with edges.

THE VERDICT

Here’s where I land after two episodes, and I say this as someone who came in expecting a rowing show with a love triangle and got something with actual teeth instead.

Crew Girl is doing the thing we always want teen dramas to do and so rarely get. It’s taking its girl seriously. Not as a prize two boys are competing over, not as a plot device for someone else’s growth arc, but as a person building a self out of the wreckage her father left. And it’s putting that girl in a place designed from the ground up to tell her no — no team, no microphone, no locker room, no authority that can’t be overturned by a phone call — and then letting her be smarter than the room anyway.

That’s the fantasy. Not the castle, not the boys in crew uniforms, though listen, I’m not made of stone. The fantasy is being the person who sees clearly in a building full of people who’ve never had to. Teagan diagnoses a boat’s seat order before anyone will hand her a changing room. She’s right about the race and gets blamed for losing it. And when leading them stops working, she stops asking and just climbs the wall, and three boys with every advantage on earth scramble after her because they suddenly understand they can be beaten by her.

If you have ever been the girl in the room whose competence made everybody uncomfortable, that scene is going to do something to you. It did something to me.

ROMANCE

And I love that this show gets that the romance is better when it isn’t the whole meal. Cam telling her flatly that she was shit today is more romantic than any grand gesture, because it means he thinks she can be better. Every other person at Easton is either managing her feelings or aiming at her. He hands her accurate information and expects her to use it. That’s the good stuff. That’s the ship. I said what I said.

Then there’s Ella, who I did not expect to love this much. Jessica Paré has turned a supporting mom into a woman deciding, in real time, how much dignity she can afford this month — and the answer keeps getting smaller. The porch scene in the premiere and the Chardonnay line here are two halves of the same woman: one who can only tell the truth when she’s out of energy to hide, and who discovers that the truth is cheaper anyway. A mother and daughter who both got left, both miss him, and both had to get a little wrecked before they could say so. Give me eight episodes of that and I’m never leaving.

And Josh. God help me, Josh. I spent this entire hour wanting him thrown in the lake and then the show showed me a boy having a panic attack on a wall his father would never know about, and now I’m invested. That’s good writing. A show that can make you loathe someone and then hand you one detail that reorganizes him is a show that knows what it’s doing with eight episodes.

WATCH IT

So yes, watch it. Watch it for Miku Martineau, who is playing anger as a container for grief and making it look effortless. Watch it for the class stuff, which is meaner and more precise than this genre usually bothers with. Crew Girl should be watched because a girl got over a rope wall using something a criminal taught her, and the show was brave enough to let both of those things be true.

Richard Regis can buy his son a stroke seat. He cannot buy him over that wall. And Teagan Tao didn’t need anyone to buy her anything.

Now Josh is standing on her doorstep with his mother, her mom needs the check, and I have six episodes left and no self-control. See you for episode three.

Crew Girl is streaming now on Netflix.