Do you know what five divorces are? Five times I believed in love — Kicking off against the backdrop of this iconic yet melancholic dialogue by Berlin in La Casa de Papel (Money Heist), Netflix’s latest offering, Berlin, begins with the eponymous character navigating the aftermath of his third marriage’s collapse. The stage is set for an intriguing twist of fate as Berlin steers towards an audacious heist.

The show kicks off with Berlin (played by Pedro Alonso) and his crew masquerading as law enforcement, crashing a posh dinner party with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer at a symphony. Berlin, with his silver-tongued finesse, effortlessly nabs a counterfeit ancient chalice amid the glamour and chaos of the posh dinner party. And just like that, the curtain rises on the quirky overture of heist preparations, where the stolen chalice becomes the unsuspecting star of this criminal symphony.

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In this eight-episode saga, we venture into the pre-Berlin era, just before Money Heist’s charismatic yet morally questionable bon vivant, Berlin, graces the gang. Heigh-ho! The rhythm is as peculiar as a dance-off between mismatched partners, the heist is about as thrilling as a snooze-inducing seminar, and the characters? Well, they’re flatter than a pancake on a Sunday morning. This isn’t a prequel or spinoff; it’s more like a budget-store imitation, and suspense seems to be on an extended coffee break.

Instead of breaking new ground, Berlin opts for a breezier, occasionally comedic approach, essentially serving up a reheated dish of the Money Heist recipe. Here, Berlin sets his sights on pilfering a trove of jewels from France’s grandest auction house, and in a somewhat copycat fashion, he gathers a misfit crew of semi-competent thieves, diligently schooling them just as his more prudent and intelligent brother did in the original series.

The characters, too, in this caper seem like déjà vu on a loop: meet the brooding yet brilliant mastermind, a role now embodied by Tristán Ulloa as Damián — an older, bespectacled version of Álvaro Morte’s El Profesor. Then there’s the charming himbo, portrayed by Joel Sánchez as Bruce, a slightly less nuanced take on Jaime Lorente’s Denver. And of course, an adrenaline junkie nursing wounds from a past romance, with Begoña Vargas as Camerón, who can’t escape the shadow of Úrsula Corberó’s Tokyo. It’s even hard to ignore the cheeky wink in naming one character Roi (played by Julio Peña Fernández), which happens to be an anagram of Rio, Miguel Herrán’s character in the predecessor series. It’s almost as if the show’s creators decided to play a game of narrative Scrabble, hoping we wouldn’t notice the recycled tiles.

Sure, the show doesn’t shy away from these intentional parallels, but not all characters are mere duplicates. Take Keila, the timid hacker played by Michelle Jenner, for instance — a fresh face in the lineup.

Adding another layer to the déjà vu, Berlin in this iteration finds himself captivated by the allure of Camille (played by Samantha Siqueiros), the wife of his intended target, François Polignac (played by Julien Paschal). He’s not just infatuated; he’s practically setting up shop in the heartbreak hotel, scheming to entice Camille into detonating her own life for the sake of his affections.

This romantic subplot is a direct nod to the original series, notably the Professor’s strategically unsound crush on Inspector Raquel Murillo (played by Itziar Ituño), the very hostage negotiator he’s meant to be manipulating. It’s as if the show’s creators dipped into the well of nostalgia with a ladle, drenching the script in deliberate callbacks and recycled emotions.

The level of intentional nostalgia is so over-the-top that it borders on the absurd. It’s like watching a magician perform the same trick for the umpteenth time, hoping the audience won’t catch on to the recycled sleight of hand. Berlin, it seems, has not only borrowed the blueprint of his brother’s heist but also decided to replicate the romantic missteps, creating a symphony of echoes that might leave viewers wondering if they accidentally hit the rewind button on their remote.

Not content with just a single scoop of nostalgia, Berlin treats us to a duo of familiar faces – the Spanish law enforcers Raquel Murillo and Alicia Sierra. Alicia, in a gesture that screams “Remember me?” from the rooftops, is indulging in her signature heart-shaped popsicle, a throwback to her pregnancy cravings in Money Heist. Meanwhile, Raquel, apparently a fan of recycling, is fashioning her hairdo with a pencil, a move that’s practically a wink and a nod to aficionados of the original series.

Berlin not only falls short of the standards set by Money Heist but also takes a spectacular nosedive, crashing and burning in the abyss of mediocrity.

Andres de Fonollosa aka Berlin becomes the maestro of irrational whims, the saboteur-in-chief of meticulous plans, the one who turns a heist into a chaotic symphony of mayhem. He’s not just content with endangering the whole crew; he adds a musical twist by belting out tunes as if the unfolding chaos were a Broadway musical. Yet, even Pedro Alonso, with his charismatic aura and undeniable charm, can’t quite elevate this series to the heights of intrigue. It is as if Berlin’s mischievous antics, coupled with Alonso’s allure, still cannot rescue the show from the clutches of mediocrity. In the end, it’s not just the heist that’s in disarray; the charm of Alonso, impressive as it is, struggles to shine in a script that seems to have lost its way.

The author is a journalist on the staff of The Statesman.