‘Their Marriage’ (2025) Netflix Series Review - A Quiet Storm Unfolding

I slid into "Their Marriage" expecting a nice home drama. Instead, I received a slow-burning fuse that was so faint I almost missed it, yet powerful enough to break the silence. The exhibition lures you in not with fireworks, but with familiar rhythms: morning coffee rituals, drawing sessions in a brightly lit room, and casual hand interlocking on the sofa.  Initially, it appears ordinary, but it quickly transforms into something more.

Here's the thing: the world of Sadao Abe (the lawyer) and Takako Matsu (the art teacher) is based on the beauty of complacency.  They clear dishes together, mutter half-formed jokes while folding clothes, and exchange comforting glances. But the tension is there, persistent. A phone call was cut short. A drawer slammed shut. A photograph turned away. You sense something pressing against the seams, and you can't peel your eyes away.

Episode one is all unwinded domesticity. We settle into their life—quiet, unassuming, and steady. Then comes an almost casual moment: the art teacher pauses over a brushstroke, her expression tightening. The lawyer centers himself around a letter he's reluctant to touch. The pacing feels refreshing, even eerily still. It’s a faux lull. More of a test than a tease. And as viewers, we pass it. We lean in.

By episode two, the mundane starts to wobble. Casual banter becomes cautious. Shared jokes fade into clipped sentences. They eat dinner with polite distance, sit across rooms rather than side by side, and a text is ignored long enough to plant doubt. These small shifts sting harder than shouting matches. The show isn’t shouting at us; it’s whispering danger in the background.

What makes Their Marriage tick is restraint. Not once does it rely on sweeping orchestral swells or dramatic cinematography trickery.  Instead, it lingers on a brush lingering over canvas, notices a quiver in a hand as a door closes, and focuses on eyes glowing with unspoken words.  This is a lesson in restraint: the performers convey entire emotional arcs by the way they keep their silence and breathe around each other.

And yet this isn’t a hollow minimalist exercise, it’s emotionally vivid. It's clear that the creators value nuance over melodrama, and they’re rewarding the viewer with emotional depths rather than cheap suspense. Plot-wise, the skeleton is deceptively simple. He’s an attorney, she’s an art teacher. They’ve built this calm life. But there’s a secret—sparse clues drip in. A phone call she takes when he isn’t home. A name that makes him freeze. References to an incident in her past that she brushes aside. A conversation that trails off in the doorway. It’s quiet, yes… but it’s also lethal. By the end of episode two, I found myself rewinding those small moments in my mind, replaying the subtleties. I wanted to lean in closer.

That said, this slow burn is not for everybody. If you crave dramatic crescendos or sensational reveals, this may feel like a slow waltz into the dark. A few scenes linger just a few seconds more than needed—an artistic choice, of course, but one that could test patience. And while most dialogue hits its mark, there are instances where it whispers around emotion a little too much. I caught myself wondering if a sharper line or a bolder moment could sharpen the tension.

The acting duo is understated yet magnetic. Abe’s lawyer has the kind of still gaze that makes you wonder what he’s not saying. His small hesitations speak volumes. Matsu’s art teacher carries her own calm veneer, but there’s pain behind her glances: a flicker of fear, a memory she’s leaning away from. I often felt like I was watching them live, rather than perform. That’s a rare gift.

I’m impressed by how Their Marriage captures the echoes of real relationships—how love and unease can coexist, how routine can cushion and yet betray. One moment you’re warmed by the way they reach across for a cup of tea, the next you feel the chill as she steps into another room to take a call. It’s those moments of duality familiarity fractured by something unsettled—that linger in the mind.

What’s next? My gut says the secret will reveal itself in pieces: a hidden past for her, a decision he’s made, someone else in the picture. But the more intriguing question is whether they’ll choose to share that weight with each other or keep pulling further apart. I’m invested enough to watch that unfold.

So here’s my take: Their Marriage is a slow crescendo of domestic drama, skilled, atmosphere-rich, and emotionally intricate. It doesn’t give you noise or fireworks. Instead, it offers intimacy and tension in equal measure, trusting you to feel the shift in every glance and pause. It knows that marriages aren’t always dramatic affairs; they can be quiet, too. And sometimes, what isn’t said speaks louder than what is.

That said, let me balance my praise with a nod to its cautious side. If emotional suspense isn’t your jam, you might find yourself waiting for more payoff. A sharper dialogue, or a burst of conflict, could have livened up some scenes. But I believe the show’s slow, deliberate tone is deliberate, and in these early episodes, it mostly pays off.

In short, this is a show to settle into if you’re in the mood for something that builds gradually, one thoughtful frame at a time. No big thrills yet—but that fine-grained tension? It’s addictive. I’m curious, and I’m staying.

Final Score- [8/10]
Reviewed by - Anjali Sharma
Follow @AnjaliS54769166 on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times