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Who Needs the Batman?
As The Penguin’s representatives of Gotham’s underworld, Colin Farrell and Cristin Milioti can do bad all by themselves.
And certainly not when Colin Farrell, from beneath a ton of prosthetics as striving henchman Oz Cobb, is providing an outsize version of gabagool excellence: waggling his eyebrows in shock, Kubrick-staring with disgust, and pontificating about the evils of the upper classes like he’s Frank Sobotka running for another union term. Oz is written to lean into other people’s suspicions of him, and Farrell has a great time hamming up his scumminess: flashing smiles so wide his numerous gold teeth are visible, pitching his already-affected “fuhgeddaboudit” voice a little bit higher when he’s anxious, never letting a joke about another man’s lack of masculinity pass him by. The character hits upon every single feasible Italian American stereotype; our guy even lets out a Joey Tribbiani–esque “How you doin’?” But one of the series’ cleverest touches is how it reveals Oz’s identity as a malleable, deliberate performance shaped by his relationship with his demanding mother and codified by years spent trying to fit in with the Falcones.
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