Despite the glamorous A-list cast of 2017's Big Little Lies, its success was still rather staggering, transforming it from hit series to pop culture phenomenon. For not only did it

receive the trifecta of critical acclaim, audience obsession and awards attention, its ability to inspire impassioned fan theories and a steady stream of thinkpieces reminded networks of the

power of weekly watercooler television – often undervalued in the age of bulk-drop streaming services. In an attempt to force a second lightning strike, HBO lured the show's director,

Jean-Marc Vallée, back to adapt another female-fronted whodunnit, complete with megastar lead. But anyone expecting more of the same will have finished the first episode of Sharp Objects

on the debut novel from Gone Girl author Gillian Flynn, Sharp Objects is the dark, troubling study of Camille, a woman haunted by a past she wears all over her body in the form of

self-inflicted scars, played with career-best force by Amy Adams. The plot, which sees Camille returning home to both investigate a small-town murder and confront family dysfunction in the

shape of her severe mother, Adora, is somewhat threadbare when stretched over eight hours. That, though, is largely immaterial because the running time is instead used to explore the

complexities of a rare antiheroine who is compelling to watch but difficult to love. It has become something of a cliche to herald a show or movie for presenting a "strong female

character" but what was so interesting in Sharp Objects was that Camille's strength increased with further examination of her weaknesses. We are presented with a murky, unfettered

portrayal of a woman smart enough to know she's using sex and alcohol as coping tools but ill-equipped to stop herself. Vallée found himself in similar territory before with his

underrated 2014 drama Wild and both projects showcase his dazzling ability to convey the relentless, often crippling power of memory. His direction in Sharp Objects challenges the viewer to

acclimatise to a woozy, often confusing array of quick-cut images but still manages to avoid stylised self-indulgence – there is intention underpinning the visual trickery. But his

undeniable ace is an utterly fearless Adams, hauntingly measured and bracingly unafraid to burrow deep under the skin of a fascinatingly indefinable figure. She is ably matched by Patricia

Clarkson as her vicious, amaretto sour-swigging mother, a frightening lush who could have been played for campy creeps by a lesser actor. The two spar without ever resorting to lurid

melodrama, and the crackling tension between the pair is sustained throughout. In fact, the show's clammy, heady atmosphere is so skilfully conjured that it is best experienced as a

binge watch, despite its weekly rollout. The world Vallée creates is so intoxicating that one shouldn't be able to escape it after just an hour – it should be enjoyed, or rather

endured, in one bitter spoonful.