This Octopus Docuseries Is Too Smart To Be This Overlooked

By all accounts, Octopus, a two-episodic miniseries on Amazon Prime Video is the kind of smart, witty, and slightly eccentric docuseries that compels your attention. The kind that makes swiping through bumble mid-way into a series boring. Makes you really interested in a documentary on nature, you know it's a difficult sit through sometimes!

Octopus on paper is an underwater dream. You have the fantastic Phoebe Waller-Bridge narrating the tale of Dorris and swimming casually on to its cousins and extended family like she knows them all. All that with her signature brand of dry, detached irony for a subject ripe with the metaphor-- intelligent invertebrates, eight-armed escape artists, creatures that shape-shit and love (maybe)

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Directed by the American TV producer of Gaycation, Lady Gaga starrer Power of Kindness director, Niharika Desai, the marine mollusks are seen from a steady and aesthetic documentarian's gaze that's neither too glossy nor too cold or scientific.

It is witty. No, not the lazy kind of witty. The writing (from Desai and her team) paired with Waller-Bridge’s unmistakable tone makes for an experience that never drags. There’s a level of sophistication in its humor, a cleverness that flirts with absurdity but never dives full Fleabag, of course.

A running joke about octopus body dysmorphia lands so well you almost wish the series leaned harder into the weird. There’s a quiet confidence in the way it delivers facts—an octopus can taste with its arms or the fact that a certain category of erotica was born out of a Japanese painting about, ahem, woman getting pleasured by an Octopus (yeah, the Dream of Fisherman’s Wife Hokusai painting) without the science class stiffness.

Visually, the beauty of the docuseries Octopuses is depicted in such a way that it almost feels like you have know these creatures forever. And that adorable animation of Doris the octopus is purely magical. The cinematography captures the inky ballet of octopuses moving through coral tunnels, their skin pixelating into camouflage like something out of a Marvel origin story.

Desai seems to understand that the most compelling way to show intelligence is to linger—on the thoughtful pause before an octopus unscrews a jar, on the careful calculation in a predator’s ambush. There’s a meditative quality to it all. The kind of show you want on in the background while you’re cooking something vaguely Mediterranean and sipping an orange wine.

However, what felt like a weak punch is the abrupt shift from different perspectives being brought into one pool. We have a writer, an artist, a scientist, a researcher, a fisherman and more. But where is the deep engagement with the story beyond what octopuses are. Don't we have National Geographic for that? Don't get us wrong. The story is not bad but its not great either. Just functional.

Each episode follows a loose thematic arc, dipping between marine biology, climate commentary, and cultural myth. But the emotional throughline, the thread that makes you care, is conspicuously missing. There’s no My Octopus Teacher intimacy here, no sense of personal entanglement with these strange, beautiful creatures. It feels curated, like walking through a very chic museum exhibit narrated by a witty docent—informative, stylish, clever—but ultimately detached.

However, that detachment might be intentional. Waller-Bridge’s narration doesn’t seek to bond with the viewer. She’s not trying to sell the octopus as a tragic figure or a misunderstood genius. Instead, she plays it with cool remove, her voice like an eyebrow permanently arched. But that choice, while bold, robs the series of warmth.

You can admire the octopus—marvel at its shapeshifting, its logic-defying problem-solving—but you never feel anything for it. (Although, you really want. Unless, you have a serious obsession or intrigue about them already.)

Perhaps, there’s a missed opportunity here. In a world that’s slowly waking up to the idea that sentience comes in many forms, and that the line between human and animal intelligence is blurrier than ever.The Octopus Series could have pushed for something more vulnerable. Instead, it feels like it got stuck in the cerebral lane. You walk away knowing more, certainly, but not necessarily caring more.

 Still, it's worth watching. For the narration. For the way Desai captures an underwater creature’s subtle drama with cinematic grace. For the wry metaphors that sneak up on you like a tentacle under the sand.

Just don’t expect to fall in love. This isn’t a tearjerker or a mind-blower. It's a stylish cocktail of documentary storytelling: sharp, dry, and maybe a little too emotionally distilled.