If you’ve spent any time in a corporate office or a high-pressure creative environment, you know the feeling. It’s that subtle, prickly heat on the back of your neck when a younger, hungrier version of yourself walks into the room. Netflix’s Turkish drama As the Crow Flies (known locally as Kuş Uçuşu) isn’t just another glossy soap opera. It’s a brutal, sometimes uncomfortable autopsy of generational warfare.
I watched the first season thinking it would be a standard "stalker" thriller. I was wrong. It’s actually a deep dive into how the Gen X/Millennial "hustle culture" is being dismantled by a Gen Z "shortcut" mentality.
The premise is deceptively simple: Aslı Tuna, a fanatical fan of legendary news anchor Lale Kıran, fakes her way into an internship. But she’s not there to learn. She’s there to take Lale’s seat. Honestly, the show captures something about modern ambition that most Western dramas are too polite to mention. It’s about the sheer, unadulterated vanity of wanting to be "the one" without putting in the decades of grunt work.
The Brutal Reality of the Bird vs. the Lion
The title itself, As the Crow Flies, refers to taking the straightest, fastest path. In the show’s metaphor, the "Lion" (Lale) represents the old guard who climbed the mountain step by step. The "Bird" (Aslı) represents the new generation that just wants to fly to the top.
It’s messy.
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Birce Akalay plays Lale with this incredible, brittle grace. You can see her world-weariness in the way she holds her coffee cup. She’s a woman who survived a male-dominated industry by being better, faster, and more ethical than everyone else. Then enters Miray Daner as Aslı. She is terrifying. Not because she’s a "villain" in the cartoonish sense, but because her logic is so modern. She views Lale’s ethics as a weakness and her experience as an expiration date.
The show nails the specific anxiety of the digital age. In one scene, Aslı uses social media bots to manufacture a scandal. It’s not just a plot point; it’s a commentary on how easily "truth" can be dismantled by anyone with a laptop and a lack of conscience. We’ve seen this happen in real-time newsrooms across the globe. The show doesn't shy away from the fact that Lale’s prestige is a house of cards.
Why the Season 3 Finale Changed Everything
By the time we hit the third and final season, the power dynamics have flipped so many times you get whiplash. But that’s the point. The "throne" isn’t a prize; it’s a curse.
I found the resolution of the Lale-Aslı-Kenan triangle fascinating because it avoided the typical "happy ending" tropes. Lale’s eventual departure from the newsroom wasn't a defeat. It was an exit. She realized that the game she was playing—the one she helped build—was no longer something she wanted to win. Meanwhile, Aslı discovers that getting to the top "as the crow flies" means you have no foundation when the wind starts blowing.
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The cinematography in these later episodes shifts. The newsroom, which used to feel like a temple of truth, starts looking like a high-tech cage. The lighting gets colder. You start to feel the isolation of these characters. It’s a lonely show, despite all the shouting and the high-fashion outfits.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Show
A lot of critics dismissed As the Crow Flies as a "guilty pleasure" or a Turkish Devil Wears Prada. That’s a lazy comparison. While The Devil Wears Prada is about the cost of excellence, this show is about the cost of ego.
Specifically, it looks at the concept of "The Muse" versus "The Worker."
- Lale is the Worker. She believes in the craft of journalism.
- Aslı is the Muse of Chaos. She believes in the image of the journalist.
There’s a specific nuance here regarding Turkish media culture, too. The show reflects a very real tension in Istanbul’s elite circles between traditional values and the hyper-accelerated, globalized world of streaming and social influence. If you ignore the cultural context, you miss half the stakes.
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The Production Quality and Global Impact
Netflix has been pouring money into Turkish originals, and it shows. The production design here is top-tier. Everything from the brutalist architecture of the news station to the meticulously curated wardrobes screams power.
But it’s the writing by Meriç Acemi that keeps it grounded. She has a knack for writing dialogue that feels like a serrated knife. Characters don't just talk; they negotiate. They threaten. They plead. It’s high-stakes drama that feels earned because the emotional stakes are so high. Even the side characters, like Güliz or the long-suffering Kenan, have arcs that feel complete. They aren't just there to move the plot; they are casualties of the war between Lale and Aslı.
Actionable Takeaways from the Lale Kıran Era
If you’re watching As the Crow Flies for more than just the drama, there are actually some pretty heavy lessons about career longevity and mental health tucked between the plot twists.
- Audit your "Bird" tendencies. Ambition is great, but Aslı’s downfall is her lack of a "why." If you’re pushing for a promotion, ask if you want the work or just the title. The title won't protect you when things go south.
- Recognize the "Lion’s" trap. Lale’s mistake was thinking her past achievements made her untouchable. In any industry—tech, media, even plumbing—the moment you stop looking at the horizon, someone younger is going to catch you.
- The "Shadow" is real. The show emphasizes that for every star, there are ten people in the shadows making them look good. If you ignore the "shadow" people in your own life (the assistants, the editors, the support staff), you’re building your career on sand.
- Social media isn't reality, but it has real consequences. The way Aslı manipulates public opinion is a warning. Don't tie your self-worth to a digital metric that can be manipulated by a bot farm in another country.
If you haven't finished the series, pay close attention to the mirrors. The directors use reflections constantly throughout the three seasons. It’s a subtle way of asking the audience: which one are you? Are you the one working for the dream, or the one trying to steal it?
The show ends not with a bang, but with a transition. It suggests that the cycle will just keep repeating. New birds, old lions, same mountain. It’s cynical, sure, but it’s also one of the most honest depictions of career ambition ever put on a streaming service.
To truly understand the impact of the show, watch it in the original Turkish with subtitles. The cadence of the language adds a layer of intensity that the dubbing sometimes loses. You get a better sense of Lale’s authority and Aslı’s desperation. It’s a masterclass in tension.