“You young people suck!”
That's not just a line. It's a siren. A warning. A truth bomb lobbed into the polite silence of repression—and it detonates in the trailer for HBO's Rage, premiering July 11th on Max.
This isn't your garden-variety ensemble drama. It's a ticking time bomb of pain, irony, and female fury, detonated across eight razor-sharp episodes—each just 30 minutes, each a sliver of unraveling sanity. Five women, five tangled conflicts, one spiraling universe of consequences. You watch the trailer and think: This isn't just satire. It's revenge theater. In heels.
The Butterfly Effect, But Make It Burn
Let's be clear—this isn't prestige TV with the gloss turned up to 11. Rage (or Furia, as it's known in Spain) feels closer to a powder keg dressed in Chanel. Creator-director Félix Sabroso builds a world where every micro-aggression lights a fuse. One woman's blackmail bleeds into another's breakdown, into another's quiet implosion, until all five stories converge in—what? Riot? Redemption? The trailer won't say. But it hints.
There's this one moment. A woman—glaring, blood smeared across her cheek—says absolutely nothing. Just stares. And somehow it's louder than any monologue. That's the vibe.
This Cast? Viciously Perfect
Carmen Machi. Candela Peña. Cecilia Roth. Nathalie Poza. Pilar Castro. Five titans of Spanish screen sharing space for the first time—and not a weak link in sight. These aren't “strong female leads” in the Hollywood sense. They're complex, broken, furious. Human.
Peña in particular—god, she smolders. You can feel her contempt radiating through the trailer like a heatwave. It's not just acting. It's lived-in exhaustion, like she's been waiting decades to say what her character finally screams.
Supporting players like Claudia Salas and Ana Torrent round it out, but this is a women's arena. Men exist here only to serve as obstacles, triggers, or—rarely—witnesses.
Not Even They Are Spared
What makes Rage interesting isn't the vengeance. It's the aftermath. The trailer flirts with power but stays haunted by consequence. It's not “girlboss justice”—it's you broke me, so I broke everything.
Sabroso's satire has teeth, but also empathy. This isn't just a roast of patriarchal rot; it's a funeral march for the pieces of yourself you lose when you decide to stop being quiet. The humor's acidic, yes—but so is the grief underneath.
There's a shot—blink and you miss it—of two women laughing uncontrollably while covered in what looks like blood and wine. It's joy, maybe. Or hysteria. Or both. The ambiguity is the point.
Why Now? Because Rage Is Always Timely
Let's be real. Every year gives women new reasons to scream. The world hasn't gotten kinder since Big Little Lies or I May Destroy You—if anything, it's just gotten sneakier. What Rage does differently is lean into the surrealism of it all. These aren't stories of slow, righteous triumph. They're war stories.
And war stories don't end clean.
With episodes helmed by both Sabroso and Jau Fornés, and a visual language that looks like it was soaked in cigarette smoke and daylight regret, Rage isn't here to be pretty. It's here to provoke, to unsettle, to maybe even offend.
Good.
Rage Debuts July 11th on Max
That's a Friday. Cancel plans. Light a candle. Brace yourself.
Because Rage is coming—and if the trailer's right, it won't ask for your sympathy. Just your attention.
