Every Actor Is a Little Bit Sherlock: A Review of Netflix’s Spanish Mystery Series The Final Problem

Few fictional figures have been reinvented as often as Sherlock Holmes, and that is exactly what makes The Final Problem such an appealing surprise. Based on Arturo Pérez-Reverte’s 2023 novel El problema final and directed by Félix Viscarret, this Spanish mystery takes the Holmes mythos and turns it sideways rather than trying to outdo the original. Instead of Baker Street, we get an elegant island hotel in 1950s Spain. Instead of the great detective himself, we follow Benito “Ben” Basilio—often referred to as Basil—a faded actor famous for having once played Holmes on screen, portrayed with quiet authority by José Coronado.

That premise alone is enough to hook mystery fans. Basil arrives on a secluded island expecting a professional opportunity, only to find himself trapped inside a classic whodunit when a woman is discovered dead. With the weather and isolation cutting off easy escape, suspicion settles over the guests and staff alike. Among those drawn into the case is Francisco, an aspiring writer of detective fiction played by Martiño Rivas, who quickly slips into the role of assistant, admirer, and would-be chronicler. The setup is deliciously old-fashioned, with a clear nod to Agatha Christie: a closed circle of suspects, a luxurious setting, and the creeping certainty that the killer is hiding in plain sight.

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What gives the series its personality, though, is not just the murder plot but the idea behind Basil himself. He is not a genius in the classic Holmes mold. He does not dominate every room with impossible deductions or theatrical displays of superiority. What he has instead is something more grounded and, in this story, just as useful: the instincts of a performer. Years spent acting have taught him how to study faces, hear false notes in a voice, and recognize when a person is performing rather than speaking honestly.

In The Final Problem, detection becomes a kind of acting in reverse: instead of convincing others, Basil’s gift is noticing when they are trying to convince him.

That is a clever twist, and the show returns to it often enough to make it feel meaningful rather than gimmicky. Every interrogation becomes a scene. Every suspect is, in some sense, another actor. The hotel itself turns into a stage where class, romance, vanity, and fear are all being performed at once. It is an idea that fits the detective genre beautifully, because mystery stories have always depended on people hiding their true motives behind well-rehearsed masks.

The supporting cast helps sustain that atmosphere. Characters such as the butler Tony and the young actress Vicky, played by Cristina Kovani, deepen the show’s fascination with deception, image, and emotional exposure. Vicky in particular works as an interesting contrast to Basil: where he reads people with seasoned control, she is far less able to disguise what she feels. That contrast sharpens one of the series’ most interesting suggestions—that performers may be especially equipped to solve crimes because they spend their lives studying gesture, tone, rhythm, and pretense.

Visually, the series has plenty of appeal. The period setting is handsome without becoming sterile, and the island backdrop gives the story a bright, almost deceptive beauty. This is not the usual fog-soaked Holmes universe. The warmth of the setting, the elegant interiors, and the stronger undercurrent of passion give the show a distinctly Spanish flavor. At times that emotional intensity edges toward melodrama, but it also keeps the series from feeling like just another respectful literary exercise. It has mood, texture, and enough style to stand apart.

Where The Final Problem is slightly less distinctive is in its mystery mechanics. The four-episode structure keeps things brisk, but some of the twists rely on familiar genre habits: red herrings, conveniently timed revelations, and clues that occasionally feel arranged for effect rather than discovered naturally. Viewers who consume a lot of whodunits may correctly anticipate some of the narrative feints. Even so, the show remains engaging because it understands that atmosphere and character can be just as important as surprise.

José Coronado is the real anchor. He gives Basil a weary dignity that makes the character more than a gimmick. The pleasure of the performance lies in watching a man dismissed as yesterday’s celebrity slowly become the most perceptive person in the room. Basil is not a superhero detective. He is observant, patient, and quietly wounded by the fact that the world still sees him as the role he played long ago. That emotional note gives the series an extra layer. Underneath the murder mystery is a story about identity: what remains of a person after fame fades, and whether pretending to be a legend can eventually teach someone how to become one.

Spoiler-free verdict: If you enjoy period mysteries, locked-room setups, literary adaptations, or Sherlock-adjacent stories with a fresh conceptual spin, this miniseries is an easy recommendation.

There is also something quietly timely about the show’s approach to detective fiction. In an era when audiences have seen countless hyper-brilliant sleuths, The Final Problem finds a more human route into the genre. Basil succeeds not because he is superhuman, but because he understands people—their vanity, their fear, their habits of self-invention. That makes him unusually relatable, even as the story around him remains satisfyingly stylized.

Ultimately, The Final Problem does not need to reinvent mystery storytelling to be worthwhile. Its pleasures are more refined than revolutionary: a strong central performance, an elegant setting, a smart hook, and a sincere love for detective fiction. It borrows from Holmes, Christie, and the classic closed-circle murder tradition, yet still manages to feel like its own thing. For viewers looking for a polished international mystery with brains, atmosphere, and a touch of theatrical self-awareness, this Netflix release is well worth the trip to its dangerous little island.

Final thought: the series’ best insight is also its simplest—an actor is always part detective. In a world full of performances, Basil’s greatest talent is knowing when not to applaud.