Jane Campion doesn't do "easy" television. If the first season of her brooding masterpiece was a foggy, rural nightmare set against the jagged peaks of New Zealand, Top of the Lake series 2 is something else entirely. It's grimy. It’s urban. It feels like a panic attack in a crowded Sydney elevator. When it first aired in 2017—carrying the subtitle China Girl—audiences were divided, mostly because it refused to be a simple "who-done-it." It’s a "why-is-it" or a "how-could-they."
Honestly, watching it again today feels even more claustrophobic than it did back then.
Elisabeth Moss returns as Robin Griffin, but she isn't the same woman. She’s brittle. She’s trying to find her footing in a Sydney police department that treats her like a ghost or a nuisance. Then a suitcase washes up on Bondi Beach. Inside is the body of a young Asian woman. That’s the hook, sure, but the story is actually a messy, sprawling exploration of motherhood, the sex trade, and the way men occupy space in women's lives.
The Messy Reality of China Girl
Most police procedurals have a rhythm. Evidence leads to a suspect, a chase happens, and justice gets served with a side of closure. Top of the Lake series 2 tosses that formula into the Pacific. The plot is less of a straight line and more of a tangled knot of coincidences that feel too uncomfortable to be fake.
Robin is searching for the daughter she gave up for adoption decades ago. That daughter, Mary, played with a terrifyingly raw teenage angst by Alice Englert (Campion’s real-life daughter), is dating an older, manipulative man named Puss. Puss is basically every nightmare you’ve ever had about a charismatic cult leader-type living in a squalid apartment. David Dencik plays him with a skin-crawling greasiness that makes you want to take a shower.
Then there’s Gwendoline Christie.
Miranda Hilmarson is probably one of the most interesting characters ever put on screen. She’s huge, she’s awkward, and she desperately wants to be Robin’s friend. Their partnership is the emotional spine of the season. It’s weird. It’s clumsy. Sometimes it’s even funny, in a bleak, "I can’t believe she just said that" kind of way. Miranda isn't just a sidekick; she’s a mirror for Robin’s own isolation.
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A Different Kind of Sydney
Forget the postcard shots of the Opera House. Campion and co-director Ariel Kleiman show us the Sydney that exists in the shadows of high-rise construction and the neon-lit brothels of the "illegal" sector. The cinematography has this yellowish, jaundiced tint. It feels sickly.
The central mystery involves a surrogacy ring and the exploitation of vulnerable women. It’s heavy stuff. The show doesn't look away from the transactional nature of human bodies. In one of the more controversial subplots, we spend time in a "brothel" where the workers are treated like disposable commodities. It’s hard to watch. It should be.
Critics at the time, including those writing for The Guardian and The Hollywood Reporter, noted that the season felt more "theatrical" than the first. It’s true. The dialogue is heightened. The situations are extreme. But that’s the point. This isn't realism; it’s a fever dream about the horrors of being a woman in a world that wants to sell you or ignore you.
Why Gwendoline Christie Changed Everything
You probably know her from Game of Thrones, but Christie in Top of the Lake series 2 is a revelation. Standing at 6'3", she looms over Elisabeth Moss, yet she’s the one who feels vulnerable. Her character, Miranda, is a tragic figure. She’s desperate for connection in a city that prizes slickness and beauty.
The chemistry—or lack thereof—between Robin and Miranda is fascinating. Robin is a lone wolf. She doesn't want a partner. She barely wants to be alive. Miranda’s constant, bumbling attempts to insert herself into Robin’s life provide a strange sort of warmth in an otherwise freezing narrative.
The Nicole Kidman Factor
We have to talk about the hair. Nicole Kidman appears as Julia, Mary’s adoptive mother, sporting a frizzy gray wig and a face full of weary resentment. It’s a brave performance. Julia is a radical feminist who has been pushed to the brink by her daughter’s rebellion and her own crumbling marriage.
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Kidman and Moss have a scene in a cafe that is basically a masterclass in tension. No one is "good" here. No one is "bad." Everyone is just exhausted by the weight of their own choices. The show explores the idea that motherhood isn't a biological fact, but a grueling, ongoing psychological battle.
The Problem with Puss
If there’s one thing that sticks in people’s throats about this season, it’s Puss. He’s a polarizing character. Some viewers found him too "villainous," like a caricature of a sleazy intellectual. He lives in a brothel, he manipulates teenagers, and he speaks in pseudo-philosophical riddles.
But Puss represents something specific: the way certain men use "liberation" as a tool for entrapment. He claims to be above the law and societal norms, but he’s really just a predator. His presence in the story forces Robin to confront her own past trauma—the stuff we saw in Season 1—in a way that feels inevitable.
Breaking Down the Mystery (Without Spoilers)
The "China Girl" of the title is Cinnamon, a young woman whose death sets everything in motion. The investigation into her life leads Robin into a world of "surrogacy brokers."
- It’s about the commodification of the womb.
- It’s about wealthy people buying the lives of poor people.
- It’s about the secrets we keep to protect our own happiness.
The way the suitcase mystery intersects with Robin’s search for Mary is either a brilliant piece of plotting or a bit of a stretch, depending on how much you trust Campion’s vision. Personally? I think the coincidence is the point. In a city of millions, our lives are constantly brushing up against the very things we are trying to find—or flee from.
Technical Brilliance
The score by Mark Bradshaw is unsettling. It uses strings that sound like they’re being pulled too tight. It fits the visuals perfectly. The editing is also intentionally jarring. We jump between Robin’s professional life and her disastrous personal life with very little warning. It keeps you on edge.
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Is Top of the Lake Series 2 Better Than the First?
That’s the big question. Most people say no. The first season was so tight, so atmospheric, and so grounded in its New Zealand setting. This second outing is messier. It’s louder.
But "better" isn't really the right word. It’s bolder.
It takes risks that most TV shows wouldn't dream of. It looks at the sex industry without the usual "preachy" tone, instead opting for a cold, hard stare at the economics of it. It looks at adoption and says, "This is beautiful and also incredibly painful."
Robin Griffin is one of the most complex detectives on television because she’s allowed to be bad at her job sometimes. She’s allowed to be blinded by her own emotions. In Top of the Lake series 2, we see her at her most human—which is to say, her most flawed.
What You Should Do Next
If you haven't seen it yet, or if you skipped it because you heard it was "weird," you need to go back. It's available on various streaming platforms like Hulu or BBC iPlayer depending on where you live.
- Watch it as a standalone piece. Try not to compare it too much to the first season. It’s a different beast entirely.
- Pay attention to the background. Sydney is a character here. The construction noises, the cramped apartments, the vastness of the ocean—it all matters.
- Research Jane Campion’s other work. If you like the themes here, watch The Piano or Bright Star. She has a specific "language" of filmmaking that focuses on the female interior life.
- Look up the production stories. The making of the show involved a lot of collaboration between Campion and the actors, particularly Moss and Christie, who helped shape their characters' trajectories.
This show doesn't give you a happy ending. It doesn't tell you that everything is going to be okay. It just tells you that people are complicated, and sometimes the only thing you can do is keep breathing. It’s a haunting piece of television that deserves more than a "one and done" viewing. It lingers. Like a bad dream you can’t quite shake, or a suitcase on a beach that you know you shouldn't open, but you do anyway.