'Alpha Males' and TV's Gatopardism

 

The Illusion of Deconstruction: 'Alpha Males' and TV's Gatopardism

By: Benjamín Gavarre

Is it possible to dismantle the heteropatriarchy through sketch comedy, or is commercial television doomed to always return us to the safety of the statu quo? After four seasons of massive success on Netflix, the series created by siblings Alberto and Laura Caballero (Contubernio Films) has come to an end. It leaves us with plenty of laughs, but also with uncomfortable questions about its resolution—an evolution that invites us to reflect on the boundaries of political correctness and male deconstruction on screen today.

At first, the premise was a highly enjoyable breath of fresh air. In societies with a deeply rooted machista culture like Spain—easily translatable to Mexico and much of the Spanish-speaking world—seeing four traditional "alpha males" cornered by the rise of feminism was genuinely entertaining. The show laid out on the table, with explicit and biting language, concepts like privilege, patriarchal couples, and new masculinities, using them not as a moral lecture, but as the perfect fuel for satire.

Impeccable Technical Standards at the Service of Humor

Beyond its witty scripts, one of the main triumphs that solidified the international success of Alpha Males is its impeccable production values. Visually, the series distances itself from the flat, traditional studio sitcom format. Contubernio Films delivers top-tier technical craft: bright cinematography, highly dynamic editing that smoothly weaves together the four subplots, and a selection of urban, aspirational locations that perfectly capture modern Madrid (as well as the tropical destinations where the cast shot global promotional content for Netflix).

The production design, wardrobe, and art direction are equally precise; each space reflects the psychology of its inhabitants. From the sterile, luxurious minimalism of the influencer's house to the daily chaos of Raúl and Luz's lower-middle-class home, the visual package is flawless.

This is elevated by an exceptional cast that effortlessly masters physical comedy and fast-paced dialogue:

• Fernando Gil shines as Pedro, the disgraced executive who transitions from alpha provider to a dependent partner.
• María Hervás brilliantly portrays Daniela, the influencer who makes millions speaking nonsense to her camera while her personal life crumbles.
• Gorka Otxoa (Santi) wonderfully humanizes the perpetually confused father, reluctantly guided by the sharp insight of his daughter Álex (Paula Gallego), who acts as the true Gen Z moral compass of the show.
• Fele Martínez (Luis) and Raúl Tejón (Raúl) perfectly nail their archetypes: the mundane civil servant caught in a chaotic polyamorous experiment, and the chronic cheater terrified by the open relationship proposed by Luz (Kira Miró). The metatheatrical twists of the final seasons are also a welcome addition, as Luis begins writing a fiction script that turns out to be the very show we are watching—a clever hall of mirrors.

The Final Thesis: Changing Everything So Nothing Changes

However, the real critical debate emerges when analyzing how the show closes. After exploring themes of heteroflexibility (such as Santi's homoerotic flirtation with his business partner, which promised to break barriers but ultimately faded away), partner swapping, financial disparities, and harsh critiques of the traditional wedding ring, the series suffers from a clear case of narrative Gatopardism.

In the end, the fiction opts for the comfort of the status quo and returns to square one. It seems deconstruction was a lot of fun while the novelty lasted, but the conclusion slightly betrays the revolution it set out to achieve: almost every couple retreats to their original partnership under the old banner of "the love of my life." Those who dared to break the rules pay a heavy toll. Daniela, the woman empowered by social media clicks, ends up entirely isolated after a dark, ambiguous arc involving a politician. Meanwhile, Pedro, the guru of masculinity workshops, marries himself in a final sequence where his tears proclaim a rather cynical truth: in the modern world, being single or entirely independent is treated as an anathema. Everything is built for two, and steping out of that mold is punished with isolation.

Critics agree that the Caballero siblings knew how to milk this cash cow for all it was worth while the format held up, delivering a technically flawless and highly entertaining product. Yet, much like Santi resignedly accepting being financially supported by a successful woman despite the criticism of the old guard, the show leaves us with a bittersweet lesson. We moved forward only to end up in the exact same spot. A familiar formula repackaged—one that made us laugh out loud, but ultimately proves that commercial television remains too afraid to leave its alpha males completely stranded.

What did you think of the series finale? Do you believe the characters actually learned something, or did they simply return to the comfort of the same old patriarchy? Let me know your thoughts in the comments below.