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Ein Enthüllungsreporter wittert die Story seines Lebens, als ihm Hinweise auf einen gigantischen Korruptionsfall zugespielt werden. Schnell wird der Jäger jedoch selbst zum Gejagten. Norwegen, 2008: Ein Informant lenkt Investigativ-Journalist Peter Verås auf die Spur eines Skandals, in den auch sein Bruder Daniel verwickelt ist. Als der Betrug auffliegt, verliert Daniel seinen Posten als Finanzchef eines Großunternehmens und begeht ausgerechnet an dem Tag, an dem sein Sohn seinen 16. Geburtstag feiert, offenbar beschämt Selbstmord. Fünf Jahre später überbringt eine Anwältin in Daniels Auftrag der Familie ein Paket. Darin sind Informationen enthalten, die seinen Freitod in einem ganz neuem Licht erscheinen lassen. (ORF)
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Mammon is a graphic display of post-quality TV (aka quantity TV) in all its naked glory. The original ambition of the golden age of modern television, consisting in the desire to offer narratives on non-standard topics that draw viewers to the screen with their characters, stories and conflicts, has been transformed into the false art of chaining viewers to the screen and not allowing them to leave. The tools used to do this are fabricated twists, arefined form and the formal elements of film, which make it possible to turn shit into a masterpiece. Mammon would very much like to be another contribution to the lineage of serious Scandinavian crime shows with an overlapping social aspect, but unlike the works that it imitates, it has only a half-baked premise, artificial characters with an exaggerated past, a naïve belief in journalistic ethics and, above all else, a pile of absurd twists, the better of which can be chalked up to screenwriting laziness, whereas the worse ones reside in the realm of camp.
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Mammon rode the wave of popularity of Scandinavian detective stories, but using the argument that it was introduced here or there to highlight its qualities is misleading. With the current inflation of television stations and other distribution channels, there is a huge demand for genre creation, and in every new project, the market wants to see a new The Bridge or The Killing. These undoubtedly represent screenwriting constructs; in the normal world, you won't encounter such sophisticated criminals and complicated branching cases. But they are cleverly written, with an understanding of human psychology, with corresponding motivations, and it doesn't grate or go overboard. Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul convinced me some time ago that you can work with very unconventional radical characters and still make them feel believable if you put effort into the script. Mammon fails in the most fundamental aspect - it is poorly written. The concept is interesting, and the director works with proven thriller elements, but if the screenwriter relies on such obvious awkward transitions, commits such glaring logical somersaults, and piles up absurd coincidences, the result is lost. The screenwriter doesn't just need to write a sentence, they need to add an exclamation mark to it. The series lacks moderation and a sense of proportion. It is obvious that it is a mediocre work. Overall impression: 25%.
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A must for lovers of modern Scandinavian design; no other series has such stylish interiors with such attention to detail that it makes the heart rejoice. The series itself however isn’t such a reason for rejoicing (apart from the finale double episode where, amongst other things, they work nicely with the biggest Norwegian historical “skeleton in the closet"), nor for moaning for that matter. The greatest shame is that from the line taken in the opening episode, which is somewhere between State of Play and Larsson’s storyline about editorial staff and work in “Millennium", gradually shifts toward a more common version of the modern Scandi thriller. I repeat, it’s a shame, but it isn’t bad. Why? Because even so, it is sufficiently high quality and suspenseful (and it is probably no coincidence that the last two episodes have a "Nesbø feeling" about them), but it’s just rather ordinary; there’s a surplus of Scandi thrillers, but no quality thriller about journalism in sight. The damp and drizzly atmosphere and the subdued acting performances, and the clever work with genre clichés are pleasant. What isn’t pleasant is what plagues most of these productions: convoluted grafted-on over-elaborateness.
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