The term “Others” in the landscape of Russian fantasy has long been tied to Sergei Lukyanenko’s Hours universe, a connection that persisted for years. Yet a quarter of a century later, Kinopoisk began exploring the same space on screen, signaling a shift in how these ideas could be adapted. In this take, the characters we meet in the broader Otherworld do not simply wear the cloak of wizardry or drift through a Twilight-like arena. The series leans more toward the ensemble energy of a mutating X-Men vibe, though its ideological core diverges from that template. The illusion of a single, linear adventure dissolves into a more expansive, character-driven exploration that invites viewers to see the world through multiple moral lenses rather than a single heroic arc.
When examining the thread of moral relativism that threads through the show, Anya, a seamstress who also manifests as a power broker of sorts, stands at the center. Her abilities echo the tension between control and conscience, as if Soviet-era cadres and postwar legends had fused into one controversial figure. The cast includes a spectrum of characters who rarely fit neatly into the good-versus-evil binary. Among them, a Jewish orphan named Borukh offers a rare anchor of innocence, and Likholetov, a cautious researcher, begins by investigating the consequences of Anya’s actions but gradually shifts his attention toward a darker antagonist, Maximilian Neumann, who wields mind-control with chilling precision. The broader historical echo—an alternate 1940s Leningrad and a Madrid of 1936—lingers as a backdrop rather than a strict plot anchor, lending weight to the tensions that unfold.
Kinopoisk released only the first episode to critics ahead of the official rollout; two episodes aired initially, with four more planned for release. The overarching logic emerges slowly: the series may feel underrated after its premiere, but the second episode reveals a stronger, more purposeful rhythm. The production design becomes a compelling strength, delivering beauty and inventiveness that draw the eye even when the narrative itself stumbles. The academic figure who orchestrates the study of people with extraordinary abilities under the NKVD umbrella remains a focal point, delivering moments of tension that outlive the episode’s immediate stakes. While the scripting occasionally undercuts the suspense, the character-driven torment lingers and invites viewers to reconsider what victory looks like in a world where power comes with a heavy price.
The cast brings a notable contrast, especially the performer who plays Serebryakov. The actor’s performance is a powerful hinge around which the show’s mood rotates, but the weight of the project sits—perhaps unavoidably—on Anya’s portrayal by Martynenko. The director, Vladimir Raksha, and the creative partner, cameraman Mikhail Dementyev, share responsibility for the show’s aesthetic. Some viewers may feel the final product leans too heavily on visual polish at the expense of a tight, driving narrative. The impression one takes away is not that the cast fails, but that the project’s ambitions outpace the writing at certain moments. A careful balance between mood, motive, and momentum remains a delicate art in this field, and Raksha’s recent work shows both the promise and the risk of such an approach.
The world the show crafts, built in collaboration with the cinematography team, is lush and inviting. Yet it sometimes lacks a steady hold on the audience, which can sap persistence in a series that asks for patience from its viewers. Still, the intent behind the project feels clear: to present a house full of unusual children, where the tension between danger and desire threads through every scene. The character Anya stands at the center of this delicate orchestra, while the other personalities hover on the margins, offering glimpses of backstories that might yet converge into a more coherent arc. The tension between control and care—between the fear of what power can do to people and the need to protect those who are vulnerable—permeates the storytelling, inviting a closer look at how choices ripple through a community.
Meanwhile, the broader momentum around the series has been reinforced by additional material. The initial surge began late last year with the release of a novelization based on the script The Others, written by Alexandra Yakovleva. The audiobook version, voiced by Aigel Gaisina, adds another layer of engagement for fans and newcomers alike. A forthcoming Bubble Publishing project promises a graphic extension, hinting at cross-media expansion that could deepen the world’s mythology. The prevailing expectation is that the narrative will persist, inviting viewers to stay with the story and follow how the threads of fate, power, and identity weave together over time. Such cross-media planning signals a confidence in the series’ long-term potential, even if the first season tests the limits of its own storytelling assumptions.
It is, in its own quirky way, somewhat humorous that a show built around a girl who can shatter fearsome machinery with nothing but her voice can still struggle to touch the heart in a meaningful way. Yet there is value in watching a fantasy unfold that challenges expectations while delivering moments of genuine wonder. The journey features Anya as a volatile, unforgettable figure, a tram involved in a perilous collision, and a mysterious stranger who injects an eerie tension into the lives of those around them. The result is a series that invites contemplation about power, responsibility, and the sometimes fragile bonds that hold a community together, even when the storm clouds gather.