Netflix has quietly unleashed one of its most ambitious period dramas yet with Sandokan, an eight-episode limited series that premiered globally on January 23, 2026. Set against the turbulent backdrop of 19th-century colonial Southeast Asia, the show reimagines the legendary pirate Sandokan—not as the romantic anti-hero of Emilio Salgari’s classic novels, but as a ruthless, calculating force of nature locked in a deadly game of empire, betrayal, and forbidden passion. What begins as a historical adventure quickly reveals itself as something far darker and more psychologically gripping: a slow-burning descent into obsession, moral decay, and the brutal machinery of colonialism.
At the center of the series is Ed Westwick in a career-redefining performance as the British naval officer Captain Charles Middleton, tasked with hunting down the infamous pirate known as the Tiger of Malaysia. Westwick sheds every trace of his Gossip Girl persona to portray a man who is cold, methodical, and terrifyingly self-contained. His Middleton is not a cartoonish villain or a noble crusader—he is a product of empire: ambitious, disciplined, and utterly convinced of his own moral superiority. Yet as the hunt for Sandokan drags on across monsoon-drenched jungles, pirate-infested coasts, and opulent colonial courts, cracks begin to appear. The captain’s certainty erodes; his obsession with capturing the pirate becomes something personal, almost intimate. Westwick plays every shift with chilling restraint—eyes that narrow a fraction, a jaw that tightens imperceptibly, a voice that drops half an octave when rage threatens to break through. It is impossible to look away.
The series is anchored by two towering performances. Alongside Westwick is Cambodian-French actor Piseth Chhun as Sandokan himself. Chhun brings a coiled intensity to the role—quiet, watchful, and lethal. He is not the flamboyant pirate of older adaptations; this Sandokan is a survivor, a strategist, a man who has seen his world systematically dismantled by colonial powers and now fights back with precision rather than bravado. His relationship with Lady Marianna Guillonk (played by French-Algerian actress Lyna Khoudri) forms the forbidden emotional core of the series. Marianna, the beautiful and educated daughter of a powerful colonial administrator, is drawn into Sandokan’s orbit during a chance encounter that quickly spirals into a dangerous, all-consuming love affair. Their scenes together are charged with unspoken longing and constant peril—every stolen glance, every whispered promise carries the threat of discovery and death.
The supporting cast is equally strong. Tom Bateman appears as Lord James Brooke, the White Rajah of Sarawak, a historical figure whose real-life empire-building ambitions serve as the political backdrop for much of the conflict. Brooke is charming, erudite, and utterly ruthless—a man who believes he is civilizing the region while quietly looting it. His interactions with Middleton reveal the moral rot at the heart of empire: polite conversation over tea masks calculated betrayal and genocide. Also notable is Malaysian actor Remy Ishak as the pirate ally and confidant of Sandokan, whose loyalty and eventual sacrifice provide some of the season’s most gut-wrenching moments.
Visually, Sandokan is stunning. Shot across Malaysia, Indonesia, and Vietnam, the series captures the humid, oppressive beauty of 19th-century Southeast Asia with breathtaking detail. Dense jungles, monsoon rains, torch-lit pirate coves, and the opulent yet claustrophobic colonial mansions are rendered with tactile realism. Costume designer Gabriella Pescucci and production designer Maria Djurkovic create a world that feels lived-in and authentic—every silk robe, every rusted cannon, every bead of sweat tells a story. The color palette shifts from the lush emerald greens of the jungle to the blood-red sunsets over the South China Sea, mirroring the escalating violence and passion.
The pacing is deliberate and unhurried. Creator and showrunner Peter Moffat (known for Criminal Justice and Your Honor) structures the series like a slow fuse. The first two episodes establish the world and characters with almost novelistic patience. Episodes three through six tighten the noose—alliances fracture, secrets unravel, and the body count rises. The final two episodes deliver a devastating payoff that feels earned rather than rushed. There are no cheap cliffhangers or forced twists; every major turn grows organically from the characters’ choices and the brutal logic of their world.
What sets Sandokan apart from typical prestige period dramas is its refusal to romanticize empire or soften the brutality of colonialism. The British characters are not misunderstood heroes—they are invaders, looters, and architects of systemic violence. The Malay, Dayak, and other indigenous characters are not passive victims—they resist, adapt, betray, and survive in a world that has already been stolen from them. The love story between Sandokan and Marianna is never allowed to become escapist fantasy; it is shadowed at every turn by race, class, power, and impending doom.
Critics have praised the series for its emotional depth and visual grandeur, while audiences have responded with intense investment. Social media is filled with late-night watch posts, fan theories about hidden motives, and emotional reactions to key deaths and betrayals. The eight-episode format—long enough to build a rich world, short enough to stay taut—has proven ideal for binge viewing. Many viewers report starting one episode and suddenly realizing it’s 3 a.m., the screen still glowing with the aftermath of another betrayal or another death.
Netflix positioned Sandokan as a major early-2026 release, and early numbers suggest it is already one of the platform’s biggest non-English-language originals of the year. Its blend of historical spectacle, slow-burn romance, and unflinching political commentary has struck a chord with audiences looking for something more substantial than comfort viewing.
In the end, Sandokan is not a show you casually “try.” You fall into it. You stay up far too late. You feel the humidity, the danger, the impossible longing. And when it ends, you sit in the dark for a long moment, still caught in its current, wondering how something so beautiful could also be so brutal.
