“Vladimir” may be one of the most literary TV shows in memory — but don’t take that to mean that it isn’t hot-blooded. Our unnamed protagonist, played by Rachel Weisz, is consumed by the idea that she’s a heroine of fiction — fueled by the literature she teaches as a college professor. And her sexual obsession with a colleague named Vladimir (played by Leo Woodall) plays out as a sort of metafiction, with her imagination running wild even as Vladimir sends signals that are mixed at best. It represents an escape from her vexed marriage to John (John Slattery), who’s facing potential discipline for an inappropriate relationship with a former student.
The Netflix limited series, out March 5, is based on a sensational 2022 novel by Julia May Jonas, a Brooklyn-based author and playwright. Jonas also created the series, writing and executive producing, bringing the book’s erotic charge and its sense of shifting reality to the streamer. “Vladimir,” the book, drew rave reviews for its ability to convey the inner life — and the pulsing erotic imagination — of a woman in late middle age. Writing for the screen for the first time, Jonas transfers that internal monologue into confessions that Weisz speaks aloud; the only caveat, of course, is that what Weisz’s character tells us may not in fact be true.
Jonas spoke to Variety about adapting her own work, the eerie feeling of life in small college towns — and why she rejects comparisons between this complex academic heroine and Cate Blanchett’s Lydia Tár.
Your background, before novel writing or screenwriting, was in theater — clearly, you’re capable of moving between media. In writing “Vladimir,” had you ever considered how it might look on screen?
No, I wanted it to be its own thing. I don’t want to be disingenuous; I’m aware that things get optioned. But in terms of the form of how I was writing the book — I like the form of a novel, and I wanted it to feel singular to itself.
I’m curious as to how it all came together, then — who approached whom in terms of making it a series? It’s pretty uncommon that a novelist is the person who goes on to adapt the book for TV.
It was really just assumed that I would do the adaptation. No one even asked me — because I come from theater, that was taken as a given, and I just didn’t correct anybody. It wasn’t something I had to actively advocate for.
The way the pilot got developed and got made was through scripts. I went out with the first one as a script, and then they commissioned a second episode, and that’s when they decided to do the series, based on my writing of it.
Rachel Weisz as The Protagonist and Leo Woodall as Vladimir.
Courtesy of Netflix
How does writing plays color the rest of your work? There are so many logistical aspects to theater — managing the flow of characters on and offstage — that you don’t need to worry about as much now.
[In theater], you have to have a discipline to be concise. I always say that every single line of dialogue should be doing at least two things — hopefully three. You’re showing character, you’re moving action forward, and then you’re doing one more thing. You’re being funny.
So much of the novel is our protagonist explaining her roiling inner thoughts — which is easy to do in a novel. Can you talk about the choice to have Rachel Weisz directly address the camera? Had you ever thought about illuminating her inner monologue in a different way?
One of the reasons that I got really interested in doing it is because we discussed this idea about her direct address having this different flavor than ones we’ve seen before. She was unreliable. Most direct addresses, like Shakespearean addresses, are where I’m turning to you and saying, This is the real truth. Here we have someone who is actually trying to spin the truth in front of you. There’s a bit of insecurity on the part of the viewer about whether she’s being straight with you or not, in the moments that she’s talking to you, or how deluded she is.
It really started to dawn on me in one scene Weisz shares with Leo Woodall, over what she thinks is a potentially romantic lunch. Without getting into spoiler territory, I realized suddenly we were in deeper than I’d thought.
I hope that it is a slow burn, that feeling. Because you need to, at first, be on her side — you want to be inside of her experience. I’m most interested in how people lose perspective. That’s a fascinating thing when you can be so consumed with something that you can lose objective reality of what a circumstance is. I was really interested in how she loses perspective by virtue of not just her desire for Vlad but also the stress in her life.
I don’t think that “Vladimir” is literally about academia, but I’m curious what academia added for you as a setting. What did it open up?
I think she thinks of herself as a kind of literary heroine, so I wanted to have a world of ready references to support that — you know, “The Age of Innocence.” She’s desperate to have something happen, and that’s supported by her existing in the world of books. I also think there’s just so many generational differences in an academic setting, and I wanted to talk about generational differences in terms of relationships to sexuality and feminism and all of those kinds of issues. Depending on when you grew up, you had a very different experience of what those institutions were.
But those generational differences cut in multiple directions; sometimes, young people have a different kind of power, as we see in John Slattery’s character’s hearing.
And all the shifts in power. At one point, it would be absurd to think that the professor was not the most powerful person in the room, but we absolutely feel like it isn’t. It is a reminder of your aging all the time to be around 18- to 20-year-olds, because, when we went to college, we were forming our identities and senses of self. And then you see these new people forming their identities. You still feel so close to that, but they’re clearly so much younger.
Courtesy of Netflix © 2026
“Vladimir” gets at something funny about college, which is the fact that everyone in this college town knows her. The book’s not about theater, but this character’s life is a bit of a stage.
When you teach in a small college town, you are so conspicuous. You see people at the Target, and you are running into students in every aspect of your life. I’ve had that experience, and I know even more so from certain friends who have taught at very small universities and felt like they were in a fishbowl.
I’m sure you’ve heard these titles a lot in conversations about “Vladimir,” but this past year, the Julia Roberts film “After the Hunt” was concerned with cultural shifts in academia; before that, “Tár” addressed similar issues, also with a complex female lead. I’m curious if you think that there is a notable appetite for these stories right now, and if so, why?
I get asked about this all the time — not necessarily this, but, you know, “50-year-old women are sexy now, what’s the trend?” When it comes to something like “Tár” — why is “Tár” not compared with “Maestro,” as opposed to “Vladimir”? That’s a story about a composer, and the pitfalls of their ego. What I’ve been interested in with “Vladimir” is: How can I present a complex hero of a story, have them have all the social circumstances of being a female in the world, but have them go on a tragic story and seek something they want?
Do you think the protagonist of “Vladimir” is a hero?
Well, yeah — if Oedipus is.
This interview has been edited and condensed.
