We Were Liars— the Amazon Original TV show adapted from E. Lockhart’s young adult novel of the same name—was far more compelling than the book, which, as a staunch member of the “the book is better” camp, isn’t something I often say. 

Cadence, Johnny, Mirren, and Gat—the Liars—have been coming to spend summers on the Sinclairs’ private island, Beachwood, nearly their entire lives. The former three are cousins, close in age, the first-born children of each of the three Sinclair daughters. Gat is an honorary cousin, the nephew of Ed, Johnny’s mother’s long-term partner.

The story starts in summer 17, when Cadence returns to the island after suffering an amnesia-causing head injury at the end of summer 16. For the rest of summer 17, in conversation with the (unhelpful) other Liars, she attempts to decipher what happened to her. Subsequently, the narrative is dominated by flashbacks, as Cadence begins to remember.

Tension between the three Sinclair daughters dominates summer 16. When their mother, Tipper, dies, they try to prove themselves to their father, Harris, the great patriarch of the Sinclair line; the sisters are all desperate for the money he might bestow. He tests them, pits them against each other, and he is always disappointed in the catty behavior he has incited. 

Cadence also falls in love with Gat during summer 16, and the three Sinclair Liars begin to notice Harris’s racism towards Gat and Ed, who are both Indian-American, his cruelty towards his daughters, and how image and legacy are more important to him than love or justice. 

Summer 16 (and therefore the story) culminates in a twist climax. Reviewing this show without revealing the spoiler is challenging, but I’ll do my best. 

The novel is written from Cadence’s point of view, and it emphasizes Cadence’s confusion; her frustration feels real. But the first-person narration meant that her limited knowledge and the dominant focus on her romantic relationship with Gat left the development of every other character and relationship lacking. Cadence’s centrality as narrator and protagonist in the book weakened the emotional impact of the climax. 

In contrast, throughout the show, Johnny and Mirren, especially, are given deep and realistic relationships with each other and with their mothers. There’s an incredible scene where Mirren talks about art, invisibility, and anger at her mother’s pressure. In another scene, Johnny attempts to come out to his mom. She shuts the conversation down by saying that they will talk about it tomorrow. The mothers themselves are also given complex relationships as sisters and daughters, so their actions, though sometimes abysmal, often make sense.

By deepening each character and amplifying the family dynamics, the show felt less like a guilty and self-absorbed lament about rich people’s problems (or rich, love-sick girl problems) and more like a commentary about how money can exacerbate human problems. Every decision and its accompanying consequence felt more inevitable.

The show largely avoided the laughable sentimentality sometimes found in young adult media; all-around solid (to my untrained eye) performances from the cast—especially Esther McGregor as Mirren and Joseph Zata as Johnny—contributed to that avoidance. 

In sum, I think the show is worth watching for three reasons. First, intentionally or unintentionally, it engages with a central human issue—invisibility and erasure—on personal, familial, and systemic levels. 

Secondly, I’m a sucker for family drama. I found the mothers’/sisters’ relationships fascinating. The performances by Caitlyn FitzGerald, Mamie Gummer, and Candice King as Penny, Carrie, and Bess Sinclair were quite good, and their conflicts (the necessity of money, raising a family, being a wife and mother) were relatable and compelling.  

Finally, the twist ending raises powerful questions about how to respond to privilege. The shock value makes the thought-provoking stuff all too easy to skate over. However, the major decision and its consequences are ambiguous enough to fuel a multitude of interpretations: the story perpetuates a conservative (status-quo upholding) understanding of the world; it laughs or laments at the all-or-nothing mentality of youth toward justice; or it advances a progressive condemnation of the privileged and completely misdirected zeal of rich kids. 

Regardless, if you like stories driven by familial and relational conflict, if you can stand a little bit of immature/obvious commentary about race, and if you’re willing to wait for a thought-provoking resolution, give the show a watch, and then hit me up; I’d love to talk about it!

Savannah Shustack

Savannah Shustack graduated from Calvin in 2024 with a major in literature and plans to have the job of “books” one day. Rather like Ken, she is still figuring life out; the job “books” provides plenty of wiggle room, though she’s currently leaning toward being a librarian. Savannah is a New England native who enjoys watching hockey (Go Bruins!) and playing board games—especially ones she can win.