Alfonso Cuaron‘s first project since Roma was always going to be an attractive prospect, especially with the cast he’s assembled for Disclaimer. It stars Cate Blanchett and Kevin Kline, featuring Indira Varma as the narrator, and few enough people saw Borderlands that Blanchett’s reputation for taking on quality projects should still be intact. And this is very good television indeed, a genuinely gripping thriller elevated by brilliant direction and acting. It might be essentially a potboiler at the end of the day, but it’s a superbly executed one.

Blanchett plays Catherine Ravenscroft, a crusading journalist famous for covering difficult subjects and uncovering troubling secrets. Kline is Stephen Brigstocke, a widower whose son died in an accident many years ago and whose death he never got over. When he discovers a troubling secret about Catherine’s past, he sets out on a self-imposed quest to bring it to light.

As Maude Lebowski once said, the story is ludicrous – but that’s not a bad thing. It’s extremely melodramatic and features characters whose actions are often so infuriating you’ll want to yell at the screen. If they could just stop what they’re so fixated on doing, calm down, and actually listen to one another, the show would be over in about five minutes. The brilliance of it, though, is that that’s the entire point.

This is a show largely about how people don’t listen to one another, how confirmation bias plagues even the most intelligent and enlightened among us, and how once we’ve decided on a course, we stubbornly commit to it regardless of what new information comes to light. It’s particularly about how people don’t listen to women, and so while the plot stretches credibility at times, the characters’ behaviour rarely does because we’ve seen this kind of thing play out in real life all too often.

Cuaron‘s inevitably impeccable direction goes a long way toward grounding the show in recognisable reality. His signature long, long takes are on full display, giving the events an almost theatrical quality at times and letting the naturalism of the performances balance out the heightened histrionics of the plot. He’s not afraid to let the drama take the lead when necessary though, particularly during the genuinely white-knuckle race-against-time finale where everything finally comes to a head.

Said finale also gives Blanchett a real chance to shine in an extended monologue where Catherine lays all her cards on the table, and she’s truly brilliant. Kline has a lot of fun as a man so consumed by grief and loss that he’s almost become a cartoon supervillain, and Lesley Manville brings the pathos as his wife Nancy in flashback scenes before her death. The storytelling does lean a little too hard on the narration at times, presumably a result of the show having been adapted from a novel. Indira Varma does strong work, but the text of the narration can be a little “Counsellor Troi from Star Trek”, reminding us that the “visibly extremely angry person” is quite angry. It would have been nice to let the performances speak for themselves a little more.

Still, a few minor quibbles don’t undo the fact that Disclaimer is a seriously compelling thriller that leaves you genuinely excited to watch the next episode, a feat lots of leisurely-paced, eye-wateringly expensive streaming series don’t manage. It might be the TV equivalent of an airport novel when you get right down to it, but it’s an incredibly well-put-together airport novel that keeps you hooked right up to the end. And that finale is a belter.