The gory adventures of an obsessive pop fan

In Swarm a fan goes hunting. Dre and her unstable roommate and soul mate Marissa are obsessed with the Beyonce-esque singer Ni’jah and overactive in “The Hive”; on social media, they descend like a swarm on anyone who insults their ‘Queen Bee’. But Marissa’s enthusiasm wanes; when she chooses a date with her bad boyfriend Khalid over a Ni’Jah concert, it shocks Dre so deeply that she doesn’t look at her cell phone for an entire evening. With fatal consequences, after which the fuses blow. Dre becomes a chameleonic psychopath who roams America with only one goal: to exterminate non-fans. As Carmen the stripper or Tony the transgender man, she cunningly bends the world to her will and smashes the skulls of unsuspecting ‘haters’ with sledgehammers, dumbbells or clubs.

Dre is a hyperbolic ‘stan’, an obsessive fan who lives under the delusion that he has a deep connection with his idol. Not that Swarm seriously explores the psychology of such a Stan or has something to say about the sectarian sides of fan culture or social media as an echo chamber. Dre is just a monster: as an orphan, she was already a claiming, violent stalker. She rejects friendship, love and connection time and time again: she is safer in her delusions. When feelings overwhelm her, she binge-eats or bites. Oral fixation, Freud would say. Emotionally, Dre is a baby.

Playfully surreal

Swarm is a miniseries – 7 episodes of half an hour – by Donald Glover. Are playfully surreal, creepy sense of humor already led to number 1 hit ‘This is America’ and up to 6 Emmys for hit series Atlanta. Horror comedy Swarm doesn’t have that potential – as a heroine, Dre is a bit too repulsive – but a similar vibe. In Dre’s world, the banal and everyday suddenly turn into grotesque parody, surrealistic slapstick or bloody horror. After which, with an almost shrug, things become mundane again.

As horror comedy is Swarm very wry: at most you grit your teeth. Serial killers are often heroes in TV series: we like to see Dexter kill because his victims deserve their fate: he is an avenger. Reluctant Barry is forced into bloodshed by imbeciles over and over again. Dre, on the other hand, is completely unsympathetic. Her murders are random and unnecessary, her victims sometimes gullible or intrusive, but mostly pitiful. They just have the misfortune of crossing Dre’s path or not liking Ni’Jah’s music. So you watch with growing unease as Dre packs them up and wait for the hammer to drop.

Donald Glover is a bit creepy, and very huggable

The fact that Dre’s bloody adventures still fascinate is because Swarm allows himself such absurd and unexpected leaps and bounds. Each episode is one surprise: Dre becomes a stripper, breaks into her stepparents’ house, penetrates Ni’Jah’s entourage, ends up in a feminist cult of white yoga ladies led by Billie Eilish – a remarkable episode that became a horror hit Get Out samples. Or Swarm suddenly becomes a true crime documentary about a detective on her trail, a prelude to season two.

A bumpy ride, but with so much what the fuckmoments that keep you watching.