House of Guinness Review 2025 Tv Show Series Cast Crew Online
Move over, Brennans. Step aside, Roys. There’s a new dysfunctional dynasty in town, and they’re not just fighting for power-they’re fighting for the recipe to the Black Stuff. ‘House of Guinness,’ the latest offering from the man who gave us haircuts we still can’t pull off (‘Peaky Blinders’), is a ridiculously entertaining soap opera disguised as a serious historical drama. Think of it as ‘Succession’ with more sideburns and a better-stocked bar. It’s the water-cooler show you’ll be awkwardly trying to explain to your coworker who only watches baking competitions.
Why Your Brain Will Chug This Show The Pitch Was Gloriously Simple: The creator probably walked into the Netflix boardroom and said, “Right. ‘Succession,’ but in waistcoats. And instead of a media empire, it’s beer. So much beer.” And God bless them, they said yes. The show milks this formula for all it’s worth, giving us boardroom backstabbings that would make Logan Roy spill his whiskey, all set to a soundtrack that makes 19th-century Dublin feel like a particularly moody indie music video. It’s a Frankenstein’s monster of things we already love, and it works because it’s shamelessly fun.
You don’t need a PhD in Irish history to understand “Dad’s dead, the will is a mess, and the kids all hate each other.” It’s the plot of every Thanksgiving, just with a multi-million-pound brewery as the last drumstick. The show taps into our primal love for watching obscenely rich people be miserable. It’s the schadenfreude we crave, served in a chilled pint glass.
This show is visually more filtered than a celebrity’s Instagram. The sets are so lavish you’ll feel a strange urge to buy a pocket watch and complain about the damp. And in James Norton, they’ve found their leading man: a brooding, handsome “fixer” who looks like he’s just smelled something unpleasant but is too polite to mention it. He’s the human equivalent of a perfectly poured Guinness-dark, handsome, and with a great head on him.
If you’re a stickler for historical accuracy, you might get a twitch. The show treats facts the way a student on a pub crawl treats a kebab: as something to be enjoyed creatively late at night, not examined too closely. It’s less a documentary and more a “what if” scenario dreamed up after three pints. Purists may grumble that it feels like a “Guy Ritchie film that got lost on its way to a pub,” and they’re not entirely wrong, but it’s a very entertaining wrong.
The director’s signature style is turned up to eleven. There’s so much slow-motion walking in dark, smoky rooms you’ll start to wonder if anyone in 19th-century Dublin knew how to hurry. The moody lighting is so extreme you might need to adjust your TV settings just to see who’s betraying whom. It’s the TV equivalent of a hipster who wears sunglasses indoors-it’s a definite look, but it can be a bit exhausting.
The first episode doesn’t so much begin as it oozes onto your screen. It takes its sweet time, like a bartender meticulously crafting a latte art masterpiece when you just really need a coffee. Stick with it. The froth settles, and the good stuff underneath is worth the wait.
House of Guinness is the televisional equivalent of bar peanuts you know it’s not a gourmet meal, but you’ll be damned if you can stop consuming it. It’s a big, bold, and slightly silly romp that’s engineered for global domination. So pull up a stool, ignore the historical nitpicking, and enjoy the spectacle. It’s a heady brew that’s sure to leave you wanting another.
