We Were Liars’ Review: Prime Video’s YA Thriller Trades Fairytales for Fatal Secrets

An elite family’s darkest summer resurfaces in this haunting mystery of privilege, repression, and reckoning.

There’s something instantly seductive about summer-set mysteries. When the backdrop is a private island dripping with old-money elegance and the central characters are four angsty teens untangling the lies of their privileged past, you’ve got a potent mix of soapy tension and slow-burning psychological suspense. Prime Video’s We Were Liars, adapted from E. Lockhart’s best-selling YA novel, leans into this formula with ambition, casting sun-drenched wealth and family dysfunction as characters in their own right. It mostly works — at least until the mystery runs out of runway and the characters risk drowning in melodrama.

Anchored by a vulnerable, haunted performance from Emily Alyn Lind as Cadence Sinclair, the series unspools a layered mystery across two pivotal summers at Beechwood Island, the private compound of the powerful and waspy Sinclair clan. What begins as a dreamy, introspective return to a family tradition soon warps into something far more sinister, as Cadence begins to recover memories from Summer 16 — a time the entire family refuses to talk about. She was found half-dressed and unconscious on the beach. No one will say why.

For longtime fans of the book, the story’s rhythms will feel familiar. Cadence’s search for the truth is at the heart of the show, but showrunners Julie Plec (The Vampire Diaries) and Carina Adly MacKenzie (Roswell, New Mexico) widen the scope by layering in subplots for each of “the Liars,” as the quartet of cousins call themselves: Johnny (Joseph Zada), Mirren (Esther McGregor), and Gat (Shubham Maheshwari), the outsider whose romantic connection to Cadence sparks tension that runs deeper than teenage angst. Gat’s presence — both as the only non-white main character and as someone straddling the line between guest and family — becomes the series’ most insightful thematic device, gently but powerfully exposing the quiet racism and gatekeeping that permeates Beechwood’s polished facade.

The adults, meanwhile, are less subtly drawn. The Sinclair matriarchs — played with icy venom by Caitlin FitzGerald, Candice King, and Mamie Gummer — are locked in a power struggle for their father’s (David Morse) affection and inheritance. Morse’s Harris Sinclair becomes a grotesque caricature of toxic legacy, weaponizing real estate and generational wealth as tools of control. These dynamics are amplified to the point of theatricality, offering less nuance than the novel and, at times, making the show’s rich-people satire feel cartoonish rather than cutting.

That said, We Were Liars remains consistently watchable thanks to its central performances. Lind’s Cadence is a compellingly fragile center, and Maheshwari’s Gat gives the show its conscience. The chemistry between them, particularly as Cadence’s romantic awakening dovetails with her social one, feels raw and lived-in. Their scenes together offer some of the season’s most grounded and emotionally charged moments, particularly as Gat grapples with his discomfort amid the family’s performative inclusivity and Cadence begins to question everything she thought she knew about her lineage.

Visually, the show leans into hazy blues and warm golds, creating a dreamy coastal aesthetic that’s as deceptive as its characters. The cinematography softens the more jagged thematic edges, occasionally making the show feel like a fragrance commercial with trauma. Still, the illusion serves the story’s central question: how much of our lives are shaped by the fictions we tell ourselves?

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Tonally, We Were Liars is something of a chimera—equal parts teen drama, gothic mystery, and social critique. This genre fluidity often works in its favor, allowing moments of romance and humor to briefly interrupt the emotional dread. But by the final episodes, especially the unexpected cliffhanger, the series struggles to balance its many tones, and its final twist lands with more confusion than catharsis. For fans of Big Little Lies or Cruel Summer, the show fits comfortably into the genre, though it rarely transcends it.

Despite these flaws, We Were Liars is a satisfying binge. Its central mystery is layered and well-paced, with enough emotional payoff to justify the journey. While the Liars themselves are sympathetic, the adult characters are written so one-dimensionally they verge on parody. But maybe that’s the point. The story, after all, is about the dangers of mythologizing the people closest to us — of mistaking opulence for safety, control for love.

It’s in the show’s quieter moments — a glance across a sunlit dock, a cryptic remark over dinner — where the deeper themes emerge: memory as manipulation, identity as rebellion, love as risk. We Were Liars doesn’t always trust its audience to follow these threads without embellishment, but when it does, it finds real resonance in the spaces between words.

Rating: ★★★★☆