His & Hers: Gloriously Grisly Murder Romp – Faster Than a Hearse on Nitrous

Right, buckle up your seatbelts, because Netflix, early January, lobbed this "His & Hers" bomb into our laps like a dodgy hand grenade with the pin half-pulled, and it's got more corpses per minute than a butcher's Christmas rush. Tessa Thompson's Anna is your classic ex-TV anchor turned suburban zombie, festering in Atlanta's armpit humidity with the ghost of her dead kid tap-dancing on her conscience – probably blaming her for that time she left the fridge door open. Then Jon Bernthal's Detective Jack, her ex-old man and walking midlife crisis, stumbles into their sleepy hometown of Dahlonega, where some poor cow had her head turned into pate with what looks like a lump hammer. Six episodes were binge-dumped because life's too short for weekly teases when you could be mainlining the misery instead.

Plot: A Black Hole of Hilarious Horror

Anna hightails it back home like a moth to a flame-grilled barbecue, poking her nose into the bash where her old journo instincts kick in harder than a mule with indigestion. Jack's on her tail, growling like a Rottweiler with a bone up its arse, convinced she's got more skeletons in her closet than a budget graveyard. Affairs slither out like oily eels, a serial killer's lurking with a body count that'd make Jack the Ripper blush, and red herrings flop about so thick you could fry 'em up with chips. Adapted from Alice Feeney's book, it's all "his truth, her truth" – which basically means everyone's lying through their teeth until the finale, when the killer's unmasked in a twist so daft it'll have you cackling into your cornflakes. Imagine if your spouse turned out to be the neighbourhood neck-snapper; suddenly, those arguments over the dishwasher seem quaint, don't they? Binge it, and you'll pray for the characters to just kill each other quicker – mercy killing for the plot, darling.

Cast: Beasts in Human Skin, Gloriously Unhinged

Thompson's Anna? She's a pressure cooker of pent-up rage and maternal meltdown, with eyes like a hawk spotting roadkill, delivering lines with the venom of a scorned viper. Proper acting, none of that Hollywood hair-tossing fluff – you half-expect her to strangle the scriptwriter mid-scene. Bernthal's Jack is the real treat: a hulking Punisher reject with a badge, roaring his way through domestic drama like it's a demolition derby. Their chemistry? Explosive as a fuel-injected fireball – hate-sex vibes so palpable you'd need a fire blanket. The sidekicks? Pablo Schreiber's sleazy cameraman looks like he'd shag a tripod, and Crystal Fox's mum dishes passive-aggressive guilt trips sharper than a shiv. It's a menagerie of misfits who'd make a family reunion feel like a wake – which, spoilers, it bloody well is.

The Gore, The Guts, The Giggles

Oh, the black comedy gold: bodies pile up like empty cans at a stag do, with bludgeonings so visceral you'll check your own skull for dents. Sex scenes? Steamy as a sauna slaughterhouse, complete with post-coital corpse discoveries for that extra frisson of "oops". Language? Filthier than a farmyard flood – every F-bomb lands like a punch to the funny bone. Critics cream themselves at 82% on Rotten Tomatoes; audiences hover at 77% – fair play, it's no Citizen Kane, but who wants Bergman when you can have brains on the bonnet? Pacing's a rocket sled to ridiculousness; the finale's a fireworks fart of revelations that'd make your nan plot a comeback from the grave.

Verdict: Throttle Down or Swerve?

In a world of woke weepies and superhero slop, "His & Hers" is a gleeful gut-punch: watch couples implode, killers cavort, and small-town secrets spew like vomit after vindaloo. It's got me rooting for the psycho – anything to liven up the marital drudgery. Solid 8/10 now: rev the engine for the carnage, but don't blame me if you start eyeing the garden shed for bodies. Netflix, you've outdone yourselves – pass the popcorn and the plot twist detector.