I started Rivers of Fate with no idea of how much it would demand from me as a viewer. The four-episode Netflix mini-series is short, yes, but short in the way a lightning strike is brief, jolting, and hard to shake off. Set in the Amazon and built around a haunting story of crime, vengeance, and survival, it feels less like traditional television and more like being swept into an urgent nightmare that has been building for generations. By the time the credits rolled, I was equal parts impressed, unsettled, and convinced that few crime dramas have used their runtime as efficiently as this one.
The series begins with Janalice, a teenager played with vulnerable intensity by Domithila Catete, whose life falls apart after a private video leaks. She seeks refuge with her aunt, hoping to escape humiliation, only to be kidnapped by a local river gang. This is where Rivers of Fate makes its first bold move; it doesn’t just treat Janalice as another innocent victim of circumstance. Instead, her terror, confusion, and resilience form the spine of the story. The camera lingers on her discomfort, and the script never allows her ordeal to become a spectacle. She is the human core of a violent world that otherwise moves with merciless logic.
Enter Preá, the reluctant gang leader played by Lucas Galvino, who is caught between his criminal obligations and the faint echo of a conscience he can’t fully silence. Preá is the kind of character who, in less capable hands, could have been reduced to a caricature: the brooding outlaw, the tragic villain. Instead, he comes across as a man fraying at the seams, battered by his own choices but still unwilling to let go of the survivalist instincts that keep him alive. Watching him wrestle with his role in Janalice’s abduction gives the show an unexpected layer of humanity. He isn’t redeemed—thankfully, the series avoids that predictable trap, but he is rendered three-dimensional, which makes his part in the final showdown all the more arresting.
On the opposite side of the story is Mariangel, portrayed with unflinching determination by Marleyda Soto. Mariangel is a mother whose family has been destroyed by pirates, and she stalks the narrative like a storm waiting to burst. Her drive is fueled by grief, yes, but also by a hardened sense of justice that leaves no room for compromise. She is both terrifying and magnetic, and every moment she’s on screen sharpens the air. If Janalice is the fragile heart and Preá is the cracked conscience, Mariangel is the fire that refuses to go out. Watching her claw her way through betrayal, danger, and superstition is one of the series’ great rewards.
What binds these three characters together is the river itself, not just as a setting but as a force. The Amazon isn’t portrayed as a scenic backdrop for adventure; it’s menacing, humid, and alive, filmed by Fernando and Quico Meirelles with equal parts admiration and unease. The river swallows people, hides crimes, and carries the weight of the region’s folklore. The whispered presence of “pssica,” a curse that hovers over everyone’s fate, adds an almost supernatural quality without breaking the realism. Whether the curse is real or simply a psychological weight, its influence is undeniable. Every decision, every act of violence, every moment of despair is tied back to this suffocating belief in forces beyond human control.
The plot doesn’t slow down. Over four episodes, we move from Janalice’s abduction to Preá’s moral conflict to Mariangel’s relentless pursuit, with the threads colliding in a climax that is both violent and strangely intimate. There is an auction, a gunfight, betrayals, desperate rescues, and a finale that refuses the comfort of neat closure. In the last moments, when Janalice chooses not to return to her old life but instead stays with Mariangel, the series makes a statement far more powerful than any twist could deliver. Her decision is not just about survival; it is about reclaiming the possibility of strength on her own terms.
Of course, for all its achievements, the series is not without flaws. Its brevity is both its strength and its weakness. At times, I wished the writers had allowed themselves the luxury of lingering just a little longer. Preá’s internal turmoil could have used more space to breathe, and Mariangel’s grief, while powerfully portrayed, sometimes leaps forward so quickly that we miss the smaller nuances of her loss. The pacing, too, occasionally barrels forward so fast that quieter moments, the kind that help characters settle into our memory, are rushed past. In a world this rich, four episodes feel like both a gift and a compromise.
Yet I can’t fault the series too harshly. Its refusal to pad itself with filler is refreshing in an age where even simple stories are stretched into bloated ten-episode arcs. Here, everything feels urgent; nothing feels wasted. Even its rough edges have a certain honesty to them, as if the filmmakers knew that the jaggedness was part of the truth they wanted to show. The violence is brutal but never stylized; the emotional beats sting without ever turning sentimental. In many ways, the show trusts its audience more than most glossy thrillers do. It trusts us to sit with discomfort, to interpret, to question.
The final impression Rivers of Fate leaves is that of a show unafraid to be both raw and poetic, both brutal and empathetic. It is a story about crime and vengeance, but also about fractured humanity struggling to keep its head above water. It asks us to think about how belief systems, whether in curses, revenge, or redemption, can shape lives just as strongly as guns and gangs. It is not easy viewing, but it is compelling in the way only something honest can be.
So yes, if I had to weigh it, I’d say it’s seventy percent gripping, powerful storytelling, and thirty percent areas where I wanted more depth or slower pacing. But even that imbalance doesn’t diminish the impact. Rivers of Fate succeeds not because it’s perfect, but because it is unapologetically alive. It leaves you shaken, a little breathless, and perhaps even grateful that television still has space for something this bold. It is a current worth surrendering to, even if the ride is rough.
Final Score- [7/10]
Reviewed by - Anjali Sharma
Follow @AnjaliS54769166 on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times