‘Ratu Ratu Queens: The Series’ (2025) Netflix Review - Finding Laughter, Tears, and Chaos

I just finished Ratu Ratu Queens: The Series, and here’s the thing: I laughed, I felt annoyed, I sighed, and then I smiled. It doesn’t all land perfectly, but there’s enough heart and enough raw edges to make it worth the ride.

Set about eight years before the film Ali & Ratu Ratu Queens, this show zooms in on how these four women ended up together, what broke them, what made them bond, and how they try to keep going. Party is trying to hold on to her apartment and dignity, even when work is murky and immigration rules are tougher than her resolve. Ance is a single mom whose daughter is growing up fast and asking uncomfortable questions. Chinta is fresh from a divorce, hoping to rebuild more than just her self‐esteem. Biyah? She’s doing whatever she has to, paparazzi gigs, cosplay of hot dogs, or Statue of Liberty, or whatever gets eyeballs and coins to stay afloat. Their lives intersect because being alone in a foreign place is expensive, painful, and absurd in equal measure.

What I appreciate about this series is how it leans into slice of life without being bland. The little moments—the awkward first kiss, the immigration paperwork nightmare, the cleaning job with a boss who doesn’t get your accent—all these feel familiar if you’ve ever been out of your comfort zone. The show doesn’t shy away from trauma, loss, loneliness, and humiliation, but also doesn’t treat the characters like fragile porcelain. They’re scrappy, sometimes ridiculous, sometimes unkind, but mostly just trying.

The chemistry among the leads is genuinely strong. Nirina Zubir’s Party carries this mixture of maternal strength and exhaustion with credibility; Tika Panggabean’s Ance has bite where she needs it; Happy Salma as Biyah delivers desperation and comic desperation in turn; Asri Welas’s Chinta shows vulnerability without being a victim. Together, they feel enough like old friends bickering in the kitchen to pull off moments that sting. There are comedic beats that land—often because the characters push each other’s buttons—and emotional ones that work, especially when they aren’t telegraphed too obviously.

On visuals and setting, the show gets credit for making Queens feel lived in. It’s not glamorous. It’s grimy, cramped, and loud. We smell sweat, hear traffic, taste homesickness. The production doesn’t gloss over the mundane struggles, and that gives the show weight. Also, the pacing is mostly good—some episodes are tighter; others drag when subplots feel repetitive. But—it’s not perfect. And that’s where the negatives come in.

Firstly, sometimes the tone wobbles. One minute I’m laughing at Biyah’s antics, the next there’s a sudden heavy confession. That shift can be powerful, yes, but occasionally it feels abrupt, like the show hasn’t quite decided how much it wants to be drama vs. dramedy vs. pure slice of life. The changes sometimes jolt you rather than move you.

Secondly, some character arcs are undercooked. For example, Chinta’s divorce and her emotional journey are interesting, but don’t always get the depth I expected. We see her heartbreak, yes—but less of her recovery, or how the small wins and setbacks stack to change her. Ance’s relationship with her daughter could have been more nuanced; there are moments when her overprotectiveness edges into cliché.

Third, plot-wise, some episodes feel padded. There are forks down storytelling paths that lead to familiar territory: immigration stress, financial precarity, homesickness in ways we’ve seen before in other immigrant stories. That isn’t a dealbreaker, but once or twice I thought: “Haven’t I seen a version of this already?” Without new wrinkles, repetition makes the novelty fade.

Also, it isn’t always clear how much “immigrant life, the struggles” is being shown in full complexity. There are loose ends: legal status issues are mentioned, but not always explored; class differences among immigrants, varying social support, the politics of race and belonging, etc., are there, but often in the background. Sometimes I wished the show leaned further into those edges instead of pulling back to more comfortable places.

Still, when the show works, it really works. The emotional moments when they trust each other, when one of them breaks, when they share joy, are powerful. I especially liked when the series gives space for laughter that comes from pain, not just despite it. The dialogue is sharp, often witty, and doesn’t patronize its audience. It trusts us to know what longing feels like, what frustration at injustice feels like, what exhaustion smells like late at night.

Another strong point: its value as a character origin. Because this is a prequel, there’s satisfaction in seeing how quirks, fears, habits, and alliances of the four Ratu Queens were born. Knowing where they end up in the film gives some scenes extra weight: little conversations about identity, about what they left behind, what they hope for. It adds texture to Ali & Ratu Ratu Queens, instead of merely retreading old ground.

In short, Ratu Ratu Queens: The Series isn’t flawless, but it’s brave, warm, funny, and honest in a way many immigrant stories aspire but don’t fully deliver. If you like character-driven shows, jokes that sting and soothe, flawed but lovable people, this one will hook you. If you want high‐octane plot, novel story mechanics, or radical reinventions of the genre, it might sometimes frustrate you.

If I were rating it, I’d say this: watch it. Especially as a fan of the film, it fills in gaps, and it gives you new respect for what those characters went through. And even if you’ve never seen Ali & Ratu Ratu Queens, you can jump in, feel for these four, and leave with something real. Ratu Ratu Queens: The Series reminds us that strength often hides in everyday struggle. It’s not always tidy, but the mess makes it human. And sometimes that’s all you need.

Final Score- [6/10]
Reviewed by - Anjali Sharma
Follow @AnjaliS54769166 on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times