Teacup on Peacock is yet another example of today's TV trend-taking what could be an engaging story and stretching it over eight episodes so slowly that you can practically watch the plot evaporate. The first six episodes are a masterclass in how to take ordinary, daily activities-making tea, staring into space, exchanging sighs-and somehow expect them to build suspense. It's the TV equivalent of watching paint dry, but with occasional brooding glances to remind you something "big" might happen.
And finally, when it all comes to a head in the last two episodes, you realize it's just more of the same, only louder and faster. The series wraps up by leaving just enough plot threads hanging-like an overworked screenwriter forgot to delete their sticky notes-to suggest a possible season two. Because why answer questions now when you can dangle the carrot of resolution just out of reach forever?
In the end, Teacup proves that modern screenwriting has become the art of saying nothing at great length. It's binge-watching at its worst: a narrative that's as lukewarm as the title and filled with enough empty space to make you question your life choices.
