A Gripping Blend of Thriller and Realism in a Spanish Show
The sharp comedy of writer and director Diego San José intertwines with the brilliant craftsmanship of director Elena Trapé, creating a new genre that blends thriller with costumbrismo, a focus on everyday life and local customs.
Carmen Machi featured on the official poster of 'Celeste'. Movistar Plus+
The constant wave of new releases on streaming platforms—every Friday, more and more—hides precious gems within their catalogs. Underrated series, little-known but with great potential: too much to be dismissed like that. But this ignorance will not be the cause of Celeste's burial, the new show from Movistar+, which arrives right on the heels of any highly anticipated premiere.
Without quite knowing how, subscribers are getting hooked on a series of adventures and the Tax Agency, where the villains turn into heroes. Let’s set the scene: Sara Santano’s early retirement, a tax inspector, is shaken up by the most important case of her career—and, deep down, of her life. She must prove that Celeste, the big Latin music star, resides in Spain and must pay her taxes here. The echoes of the “Shakira case” are resonating everywhere, and that’s something we’re interested in.
Diego San José's sharp comedy – to whom Spain owes so much for Ocho Apellidos – blends with the brilliance of Elena Trapé: both directors come together to create a new genre, somewhere between thriller and costumbrismo. What makes Celeste special is not just its plot, but the atmosphere it breathes. From the gray offices of the Tax Agency to the hair salons that serve as the backdrop for the most revealing conversations, the series portrays a world rarely seen on television. Everything is seasoned with subtle, almost resigned humor, making even the heaviest topics more bearable.
The series is created by Diego San José, directed by Elena Trapé, and stars Carmen Machi, Manolo Solo, Andrea Bayardo, Antonio Durán Morris, Aixa Villagrán, Clara Sans, Jesús Noguero, and Marc Soler.
Celeste weaves a story full of ironies about contemporary society, specifically about that corner of everyday life we prefer to ignore: taxes. This isn’t just about numbers, but what they represent. Sara Santano, played by Carmen Machi, gives a face to a normally opaque universe and makes it irresistible.
Machi achieves something remarkably rare in fiction: making us empathize with someone who controls, audits, and points fingers. Sara is not your typical heroine; she’s imperfect, grumpy, and at her lowest points, she seems to hate her job. But in every glance she casts over her wall of evidence, you feel a spark of pride in her work, a justification for years spent in the monotony of numbers. That spark also illuminates the more human corners of her story: the dance club where she seems to rediscover life, her failed attempts to connect with her daughter, or the lonely dinners with a packet soup.
Although not the most hyped or anticipated series, Celeste is one of the strongest and most unexpected fictions of the year. Yes: by the end of the year, it arrives and surpasses the rest. The chemistry between Machi and the rest of the cast, the direction, and a daring narrative—betting on the bureaucratic—make this series a unique, necessary, and above all, entertaining experience. Celeste doesn’t just captivate, it leaves a mark. It’s a series that makes you reflect on life, work, and morality, all without sacrificing an ounce of fun. Because what Carmen Machi demonstrates with her character is that even the grayer edges of society can be colored with humanity.
