Why Netflix show Secrets We Keep is being compared to global hit Adolescence
A new Netflix drama, which follows two wealthy Danish families as they deal with the fallout from a missing Filipina au pair, is being compared by fans to Adolescence – the global hit that put a spotlight on incel culture and toxic masculinity. Secrets We Keep, a six-part limited series in Danish, premiered on May 15 and has struck a chord with viewers for its gripping pacing and unflinching look at racism and Denmark's au pair culture. The show, whose Danish title is Reservatet, has been viewed more than 10.3 million times since its debut and is currently the No 1 non-English show in more than 28 countries. The show follows Cecilie (Marie Bach Hansen), a wealthy executive, whose neighbour's maid Ruby (Donna Levkovski) suddenly goes missing. After realising that her obscenely rich neighbours do not seem too bothered about their au pair's disappearance, Cecilie increasingly grows concerned. Her suspicion and investigation then eventually leads her close to home. Hit British show Adolescence broke Netflix viewership records, with many praising it for its technical achievement – each of the four episodes is shot in one take – and for tackling issues about toxic masculinity. While Adolescence centres around a 13-year-old boy being accused of murdering his classmate, a girl, Secrets We Keep is meant to be a thriller. But it also tackles several issues, from class divide to racism and spotlights the ramifications of an increasing number of young Danes being raised by foreigners. Like many of the wealthy families in the show, Cecilie and her husband Mike (Simon Sears) also employ a Filipina au pair Angel (Excel Busano), whose primary job is to take care of their toddler. Angel is also close to Ruby, their neighbour's au pair, who later goes missing. While Cecilie and Mike adore Angel, who in-turn seems to enjoy living with the family, Cecilie increasingly gets frustrated after noticing their pre-teen son Viggo's (Lukas Zuperka) attachment to Angel. Meant to be sort of a cultural exchange, under Denmark's au pair scheme, foreign nationals can live with a Danish family for up to two years where they learn the culture and language while contributing to the household. In return, au pairs are entitled to receive pocket money monthly as well as boarding and lodging. A large majority of au pairs in Denmark are Filipinos. Despite essentially being housemaids, they are not officially recognised as labour migrants and therefore are not protected by labour laws. No. Creator and co-writer Ingeborg Topsoe said she was fascinated by the power structures within a family. "Denmark is often portrayed as a very egalitarian society, and I've never seen homes like these portrayed on TV," she said. "Perhaps it's a reality we don't want to acknowledge the existence of. "Au pairs are 'part of the family', while being employed, and parents are well-meaning, while absent. It's these cold, hard facts, hidden beneath a soft layer of niceness, that intrigues me.' Secrets We Keep is now streaming on Netflix
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4 days ago
- The National
From Noma to Poulette: How Copenhagen's restaurants shaped The Bear
In a bright Copenhagen bakery, actor Lionel Boyce was more interested in perfecting croissants than memorising lines. Each day, he would join Hart Bageri's staff, rolling pastries and absorbing the meditative rhythm that would later define his pastry chef character Marcus on The Bear, season four of which begins Thursday. Amid the bakery's light, airy interior – with its high ceilings, expansive windows and beams – there was no script to follow, no intensive coaching. Just the endless repetition of folding and shaping until the movements became instinct. 'We just treated him like any aspiring employee who came to work for us,' Hart Bageri creative director and baker Talia Richard-Carvajal tells The National. 'It was a few years ago, so we're talking around the time they were preparing for the second season [which aired in 2022], and I remember our attitude was like, 'Listen, it's lovely that you're here, but now you really need to work.'' Boyce was immediately comfortable with the rigours of the craft. 'It made me realise that we're more similar professions than we perhaps thought,' she notes. 'You have to be the kind of person who finds joy in repetition, and you always have to be open to learning from scratch to a certain degree. You have to be humble enough to appreciate that you're not going to get it right on the first go.' For a series based on the triumphs and travails of a fine-dining restaurant in Chicago, the training mattered. In The Bear, the food always seems to be saying something. The exacting craft of a perfectly cooked Chilean sea bass with tomato confit signals a kitchen in control, while a croissant ragefully hurled to the floor screams chaos. The point of training wasn't for actors to merely act or move like chefs. It was to think like one and experience the kitchen from the inside, with all the awareness and aches that come with its momentum and monotony. To get it right, the producers looked to Copenhagen. They consulted Rene Redzepi, co-founder of Noma – arguably the Danish capital's most famous restaurant, which earned its third Michelin star in 2021. Redzepi also appeared briefly in season three. Lead character Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto (Jeremy Allen White) is said to have trained at Noma, a detail that explains his obsessive standards and quiet discipline. His pastry chef, Marcus, follows that path more literally. In the dedicated season two episode Honeydew, directed by Ramy Youssef, he travels to the Danish capital to deepen his craft. That connection is concrete behind the scenes. Amid Noma's foraged gardens – with elderflower, wood sorrel and wild herbs – Boyce trained alongside the team during service in Copenhagen, with scenes shot inside Noma's actual kitchen. 'Our team was just amazed by the scale of the whole thing. The cameras, the crew and the operation were incredible and genuinely fun for everyone to be part of,' recalls Annika de las Heras, managing director at Noma Projects. 'I think there's a lot of overlap between film, design and food. It's always interesting to see how people working creatively and with care can come together like that.' The detail was so precise that Rosio Sanchez – a Chicago-born Mexican chef who made a cameo appearance in season three – found herself recoiling during some of the show's more intense kitchen scenes. 'I actually thought, 'Wow, this is so real'. It's so accurate to how it feels to be in these moments,' she says. 'I was at the edge of my sofa just thinking, this is making me cringe because I can so relate to it.' That said, the rush actors feel following the director's cue of 'action' mirrors her daily experiences when opening her restaurant. 'It's that same adrenalin of getting ready for service each day,' she adds. 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The National
25-05-2025
- The National
Why Netflix show Secrets We Keep is being compared to global hit Adolescence
A new Netflix drama, which follows two wealthy Danish families as they deal with the fallout from a missing Filipina au pair, is being compared by fans to Adolescence – the global hit that put a spotlight on incel culture and toxic masculinity. Secrets We Keep, a six-part limited series in Danish, premiered on May 15 and has struck a chord with viewers for its gripping pacing and unflinching look at racism and Denmark's au pair culture. The show, whose Danish title is Reservatet, has been viewed more than 10.3 million times since its debut and is currently the No 1 non-English show in more than 28 countries. The show follows Cecilie (Marie Bach Hansen), a wealthy executive, whose neighbour's maid Ruby (Donna Levkovski) suddenly goes missing. After realising that her obscenely rich neighbours do not seem too bothered about their au pair's disappearance, Cecilie increasingly grows concerned. Her suspicion and investigation then eventually leads her close to home. Hit British show Adolescence broke Netflix viewership records, with many praising it for its technical achievement – each of the four episodes is shot in one take – and for tackling issues about toxic masculinity. While Adolescence centres around a 13-year-old boy being accused of murdering his classmate, a girl, Secrets We Keep is meant to be a thriller. But it also tackles several issues, from class divide to racism and spotlights the ramifications of an increasing number of young Danes being raised by foreigners. Like many of the wealthy families in the show, Cecilie and her husband Mike (Simon Sears) also employ a Filipina au pair Angel (Excel Busano), whose primary job is to take care of their toddler. Angel is also close to Ruby, their neighbour's au pair, who later goes missing. While Cecilie and Mike adore Angel, who in-turn seems to enjoy living with the family, Cecilie increasingly gets frustrated after noticing their pre-teen son Viggo's (Lukas Zuperka) attachment to Angel. Meant to be sort of a cultural exchange, under Denmark's au pair scheme, foreign nationals can live with a Danish family for up to two years where they learn the culture and language while contributing to the household. In return, au pairs are entitled to receive pocket money monthly as well as boarding and lodging. A large majority of au pairs in Denmark are Filipinos. Despite essentially being housemaids, they are not officially recognised as labour migrants and therefore are not protected by labour laws. No. Creator and co-writer Ingeborg Topsoe said she was fascinated by the power structures within a family. "Denmark is often portrayed as a very egalitarian society, and I've never seen homes like these portrayed on TV," she said. "Perhaps it's a reality we don't want to acknowledge the existence of. "Au pairs are 'part of the family', while being employed, and parents are well-meaning, while absent. It's these cold, hard facts, hidden beneath a soft layer of niceness, that intrigues me.' Secrets We Keep is now streaming on Netflix
Gulf Today
01-05-2025
- Gulf Today
How working-class Manchester kids became theatre troupe
Maira Butt, The Independent In the grey skies above the city of Salford, Zeus, Hera and Hermes recline, playing with the fates of the mortals living below. Powerless to their might, a band of Olympians defy their commands, wrestling to regain control of their freedom and their lives. The message of Gods of Salford — an original play that's just been staged in Manchester — is blunt. It's meant to be. This was a production that didn't at all shy away from its working-class origins. It was also the product of 25 young, first-time actors from working-class backgrounds, who were tasked with reimagining tales from Greek mythology as raucous testaments to class-driven defiance. The play came about between Manchester's Lowry Theatre, which is celebrating its 25th anniversary, and the not-for-profit Not Too Tame, which has long incorporated working-class people and culture into the fabric of its being. 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A study last year found that working-class representation in the TV and film industry has plummeted to its lowest level in a decade, with only 8 per cent self-identifying as from that background. Fairhurst, who also plays Zeus in the production, is only too aware of that fact. Describing himself as a modern-day Billy Elliot, Fairhurst says it took years for him to overcome doubts about his ability — or his right — to pursue a career in TV and theatre. 'It was a big hurdle to overcome,' he says. 'If you're from a certain background and your parents aren't headmistresses or prime ministers, you're told 'Don't make a fuss'.' It was something felt in each of the young people cast in the show as well, adds Jenny Riding, director of learning and engagement at the Lowry. 'Giving themselves permission has been a massive challenge for the actors,' she says, adding that the young stars have often struggled with feelings of 'self-sabotage'. As a response, Riding, Fairhurst, and their team have developed a person-centred approach that puts the needs of young performers at the forefront. Each part of the process takes into account their sensitivities, with several individuals overcoming complex life circumstances such as mental health, homelessness and foster care, to make it to the stage. Support that is offered includes things as simple as the use of fidget spinners in rehearsals — which have helped performers with conditions including anxiety or attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) — to transport help for those unable to afford it. More often than not, though, what is most provided is a sense of hope. 'Sometimes, because they don't feel that they're worth it, it can feel easier to quit and leave than it is to be told that you've failed again,' Fairhurst says. 'This is where the pastoral care side of it comes in. In a professional setting they might have lost their chance, but we reconnect with them and give them some support and encouragement and help get them back in the room.' He continues: 'There is an untapped scene on the coalface of culture, and that is because working-class people don't consider themselves or don't believe that they are artists,' says Fairhurst. 'There's a bloke down the road from me who passed away and there were boxes of poetry under his bed. No one knew. And all these people go, 'Oh that's not for me, or the likes of me', and I think there's something (important) about us going, 'no it is'. If you don't hear your voices or see your stories, how do you know that you're relevant? How do you know you've got a voice?' He's seen the promise of this first-hand. A 55-year-old friend of his, a joiner by trade, found his first job in the media via a set-building company that provides props for TV and film. It's proof, Fairhurst adds, that it's never too late to change your life. For 19-year-old Callum, who lives in supported accommodation, the change has been immediate. He first came across the Lowry through a scheme that provided those at risk of homelessness with free theatre tickets (in addition to other support). 'I came to a show called My Beautiful Laundrette and I met Jenny for the first time at the doors,' he says.
