The ‘Black Mirror’ Episode Fans of the Original Seasons Are Loving

From the limited information initially teased about Black Mirror’s seventh season, “Bête Noire” appeared to be the most unfancied.

Both “Plaything” and “USS Callister: Into Infinity” expand upon the worlds of earlier favorites. “Common People” and “Eulogy” boasts the star names (Rashida Jones, Chris O’Dowd, Paul Giamatti) and the kind of bittersweet premises that have become the show’s forte. And “Hotel Reverie” promised a classic Hollywood spin on “San Junipero,” the atypically uplifting fan favorite which proved Charlie Brooker can do heartfelt romance as effectively as abject nihilism.

Then there’s the fact its title translates from French as ‘black beast,’ suggesting another unwelcome detour into the supernatural akin to last season’s werewolf tale “Mazey Day.” Instead, “Bête Noire” delivers what many longtime viewers have been clamoring for ever since Black Mirror moved to Netflix from Channel 4 in 2016.

With a cast full of emerging domestic talent rather than red carpet regulars, the type of sardonic humor entrenched in British comedy, and a suspenseful story set within the passive-aggressive nature of UK office culture, it’s perhaps the closest the show’s streaming years has come to recapturing its terrestrial.

The second episode stars Siena Kelly as Maria, a go-getting twentysomething who works in the research and development team of a confectionery firm named Ditto. Combining sweet and sour seems to be her USP: she made her name as the brains of a chili-infused chocolate flake bar (named Bête Noire) and is now aiming to impress bosses with a miso jam twist on their most prominent sugary snack, the Hucklebuck.

The early food trial response suggests her creation will never make it to market. “Why? Why would you do that?” moans one guinea pig while screwing up his face in disgust. But she’s saved by another more encouraging voice, a blast from the past who insists it tastes “ten times better” on the second bite. Watching from behind a two-way mirror, Maria instantly recognizes Verity (Rosy McEwen) from her high school days. However, it soon becomes clear the pair weren’t exactly bosom buddies.

“I was such a geek at school,” a self-flagellating Verity admits during a painfully awkward reunion in the company bathroom. “Like, what was I?” On recounting the meeting with her much kinder-hearted boyfriend Kae (Michael Workéyè), Maria cruelly answers, “the school freak” with “zero social skills” and “mad hair.” Exuding mean girl energy, she also gleefully recalls the rumor—that she once gave a hand job to her computer studies teacher—which gave Verity her “Milkmaid” nickname and ultimately made her teenage years a living hell.

So far, so 100 percent Team Verity. And Maria’s behavior only becomes uglier when her nemesis lands a job in the same office. “She was just a bit... odd,” she tells boss Gabe (Ben Bailey Smith) in a transparent bid to make him reconsider his new appointment. “Well, we’re all odd,” comes the first of many frustrating rebuttals.

What follows is a perfectly observed snapshot of office politics as the pair engage in blatantly fake niceties while surrounded by colleagues making questionable jokes and arguing about the theft of almond milk. For anyone with a nine-to-five white-collar job, this is Black Mirror at its most relatable. Of course, such general mundanities soon give way to something far more sinister.

What’s clever is how “Bête Noire” continually keeps you guessing about the turn it’s inevitably about to take. The daily interstitial titles, where an element of the chocolate-making process is accompanied by some organ chimes of doom, suggests an amuse bouche of culinary horror a la The Menu or House of Spoils. A heated debate about the name of a fast-food restaurant, one that eagle-eyed viewers of the first scene will immediately be able to settle, implies a Mandela Effect-style conspiracy. Then a mix-up over a plant-based gelatine hints at everything from memory manipulation to technological sabotage.

Kelly, who picked up a BAFTA nod for her heartbreaking turn as an abused porn star in Adult Material, is never anything less than compelling as a woman struggling to comprehend just how dramatically her illusions are shattering. Maria isn’t an easily likable protagonist—she’s constantly brittle, unnecessarily combative, and clearly prone to main character syndrome. Even when her paranoia is proven to be justifiable, she cuts an unsympathetic figure (see just how insensitively she handles the news of old friend Natalie’s passing). Yet she’s also not the out-and-out monster the life-changing (literally) punishments she’s dealt would suggest, either, making her unlikely escape from the pits of despair feel well-earned and surprisingly triumphant.

McEwen, robbed of a BAFTA nod for playing a closeted gym teacher bound by anti-LGBTQ legislation in Blue Jean, is equally multi-layered, evolving from a shy and retiring wallflower (you can practically feel Verity’s heart sting on remembering how her sole safe space was hijacked by vicious gossip) to perhaps TV’s ultimate vengeance seeker. Indeed, after Maria is given her marching orders for an act of vandalism we know she didn’t commit, the true nature of the episode becomes apparent. This is Revenge of the Nerds cranked up to supervillain proportions.

Yes, far from the meek and mild victim presented, Verity is a tech genius who by “retuning one of our corporal frequencies” to a parallel universe, can change reality with the switch of a pendant. And still heavily scarred by her former tormentors, she’s made it her mission to toy with their perspectives until they reach breaking point. “It took me five weeks to break Natalie,” she tells Maria, explaining her shock suicide. “You’ve been, like, what, five days?”

“You could use that to do anything?” argues Maria on learning exactly how her life has imploded via an arsenal of petty workplace misdemeanors. A quick scan of the bedroom she’s broken into—adorned by photos of Verity gracing the front cover of Vogue, winning an OIympic gold medal, and in what was surely her first megalomaniacal move, dating Harry Styles—proves Verity already has.

It’s a curveball which highlights how high school trauma can impact one’s emotional wellbeing long after graduation and how those who inflict it rarely give the consequences a second thought. It also practically makes a second watch compulsory.

Once revealed that it’s all been a Machiavellian plot, every interaction between Verity and Maria takes on a different meaning. While the latter’s job vacancy denials were interpreted as a selfish means of getting rid, for example, it’s clear the former simply wished one into existence. And when Verity “coincidentally” gazes toward an out-of-sight Maria during the food trial, it’s evident this was her first warning shot. Also witness how she arrives immediately rubbing her genie-like pendant, guaranteeing her a seat at the Hucklebuck-tasting table she previously had no invite for.

While the majority of “Bête Noire” revels in microaggressions and minute specifics, the finale goes unashamedly big. There’s a fight sequence which at times echoes the do-or-die battles of Kill Bill, and at others, the feeble manchild antics of Bridget Jones’ Diary. There are splattered brains, gun-toting cops, and a last-second switcheroo which allows Maria to ascend to the mythical realm. The final shot is less Black Mirror and more the canceled-before-its-time Kaos.

It’s the one concession to the glossier, bigger-budgeted sphere that Black Mirror now finds itself inhabiting. Yet it doesn’t detract from the performances—both leads’ careers deserve to take a similarly giant leap—and how it effectively kept the everyday tensions simmering like a pan of Ditto’s melted chocolate. Bête Noire by name, but certainly not Bête Noire by nature.