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etflix’s Alpha Males [Machos Alfa] does not make excuses for its characters. That is exactly what makes it work. Across three seasons, the Spanish comedy follows four men as they reckon with a world that no longer validates the version of masculinity they grew up with. But unlike many series that centre men in crisis, Alpha Males does not ask viewers to feel sorry for them. It asks them to watch, laugh and, more importantly, notice the cracks in the system that these men once benefited from.
The premise is sharp. The four friends in their 40s - Pedro, Raúl, Luis and Santi - slowly realise that the tools, behaviours and assumptions that once served them in work, relationships and social life are now either irrelevant or plainly unacceptable. Their challenge is not oppression. It is irrelevance. Instead of sulking, the series forces them, sometimes brutally, to evolve, or at least to admit that they have coasted far too long on unexamined privilege.
Pedro, a TV executive, is perhaps the most obvious embodiment of entitlement. His demotion and replacement by a younger, more competent woman is not framed as an injustice. It is portrayed as overdue. He fumbles with HR policies, fakes awareness and weaponises buzzwords to stay afloat, all while ignoring the core issue: his refusal to change. It is not sad. It is funny and it is accurate.
Raúl’s experiments with open relationships and new-age therapy do not make him enlightened. They reveal his obsession with control and discomfort with accountability. A recurring theme in his arc is how he dresses up selfishness as exploration, pushing emotional boundaries while expecting tolerance in return. It is these subtle power games, exposed without apology, that make the writing especially sharp in later seasons.
Luis, the soft-spoken cop, might seem like the more “decent” one at first, but the show quickly makes it clear that his passivity is not a virtue. It is avoidance. His marriage problems stem from emotional laziness, not bad luck. In one scene, his wife calls out his silence as a form of control, a line that lands because the series knows how emotional withholding functions in relationships. Instead of portraying Luis as harmless, it lets him be complicit in his failures.
Santi, the most likable of the four, is also not spared. As a single father trying to figure out modern dating and fatherhood, his desire to be liked often overrides his capacity for introspection. Again, no sympathy is asked for. Just recognition.
It is refreshing to see how Alpha Males treats women as full characters, not moral foils or passive victims. They are not there to teach lessons or redeem the men. They are building careers, setting boundaries and expressing their exhaustion with emotional labour. When Pedro’s replacement takes over, the show does not paint her as a villain or saviour, but just someone doing the job better. When Raúl’s girlfriend tries to draw limits in their open relationship, the show does not ridicule her. It gives her the clarity that Raúl lacks.
Alpha Males is not a story about men being left behind. It is about men being forced to confront a world that never needed to revolve around them in the first place. For once, the series does not ask the viewers to feel bad about that. It just invites them to watch what happens when the centre of gravity shifts and how some adapt while others flounder.
Alpha Males does not reduce masculinity to a single narrative. It shows different shades of male behaviour, not to excuse them, but to reflect how male entitlement adapts to survive. Whether it is Luis hiding behind quiet decency or Raúl misusing language to manipulate, Alpha Males shows that the real issue is not gender roles. It is accountability. These men were never taught to question themselves and now the cost of that ignorance is becoming personal.
The show’s tone evolves across the three seasons without losing focus. The first season lays the foundation. It exposes the fragility behind these men’s confidence and pokes holes in their outdated assumptions. Season Two pushes further. It shows how shallow self-improvement efforts can be when unaccompanied by real reflection. By season Three, the show widens its scope, tackling things like social media politics, generational divides and the commodification of masculinity. It is ambitious but still character-driven. This keeps it from getting too abstract.
Alpha Males avoids making redemption arcs for the sake of comfort. There are no sweeping transformations. The characters grow in small, often frustrating steps and sometimes not at all. Raúl might say the right thing in one episode, then do the wrong thing in the next. Pedro might acknowledge his flaws, but he rarely acts on that awareness. This inconsistency is not bad writing. It is honest because the point is not to reward them for trying. It is to show how difficult it is to let go of power one never had to earn.
The humour also works brilliantly because it is observational, not exaggerated. The writers clearly understand how men talk when they think no one is paying attention. It is not broad slapstick. It is satire rooted in truth: uncomfortable, recognisable and earned.
Alpha Males is not a story about men being left behind. It is about men being forced to confront a world that never needed to revolve around them in the first place. The series does not ask the viewers to feel bad about that. It just invites them to watch what happens when the centre of gravity shifts and how some adapt while others flounder.
What makes it work is its clarity. It does not beg for understanding, does not soften the criticism and does not pretend that masculinity is under attack. It shows that what’s really under pressure is entitlement that that has been long overdue.
The writer is a freelancecontributor