'Wayward' stars talk cults, queerness, girlhood, and weaponized liberalism

In it, Martin plays police officer Alex Dempsey, who, along with his pregnant wife Laura (Sarah Gadon), moves to the small town of Tall Pines. Waiting there for them is a home seemingly rent-free and a new job for Alex in the local police department. The town itself, nestled in the natural beauty of New England, appears Utopian at first glance. Everyone is friendly and welcoming, never batting an eye at its openly trans new resident, despite the year being 2003. But when a violent attack occurs inside Alex and Laura’s home and seems to be connected with the nearby academy for troubled teens, things begin to shift. The Tall Pines Academy is run by a woman named Evelyn, who is revered by the town and his wife like a religious figure. But despite their warm welcome, Alex begins to suspect something sinister is lurking behind the town’s friendly smiles.

He is not wrong.

We begin to understand just what lies at the dark and disturbing heart of Tall Pines through the perspective of two more of its new residents, Leila (Alyvia Alyn Lind) and Abbie (Sydney Topliffe), so-called troubled teens who are enrolled in — by which I mean made prisoners of — the academy, where they will be deprogrammed and improved through Evelyn’s rigorous reeducation program.

Anyone familiar with the tactics of Synanon, a cult which rose to prominence in California beginning in the late 1950s, and which would go on to devolve into abuse and violence, will recognize the DNA in Evelyn’s tactics.

For Martin, the cultic thinking and setting proved to be a useful metaphor for “in the systems of the world how much of our critical thinking we have to suppress just to sort of get by,” they explain. “I think everybody can always relate to that cult story where you think, ‘What would I sacrifice and what would I turn a blind eye to, to live in this utopian or happy way?’”

That the troubled teen industry was also born out of cults like Synanon made their inclusion a no-brainer for Martin. “You don't need to fictionalize it too much. It's all there,” they add.

For both Collette and Gadon, who previously knew little about the troubled teen industry, working on the series proved to be a disturbing education. “It was so shocking to me to hear,” says Collette. “Parents permit these people to come in and basically kidnap them in the middle of the night because they're overwhelmed that the kids aren't living as they want them to live, and not allowing them to be their own people. [So they ship them off to be fixed.] It's just the most appalling betrayal.”

For Gadon, who had just had a child of her own, it was unfathomable. “The more I learned about what a giant system it was, and a giant profitable industry, it made me very enraged,” she says. “Seeing how this industry preys on parental fear and then the innocent, robbing the innocence of children and robbing their ability to really become who they are, made me so angry [and] happy to be doing the show.”

While the subject matter is undoubtedly dark, the series never veers too far into the abyss that it becomes unbearably grim. In part because of the balancing buoyancy of resistance and resilience of Leila and Abbie, who meet their oppressive circumstances with a metaphorical joint middle finger. One of the series' strengths is its portrayal of the wonderful messiness of girlhood.

“I remember when we shot the opening scene when we're on the roof, and Mae was like, just do it like, when you're a girl and there's no male gaze, there's nothing,” recalls Topliffe. “They're just kind of dirty, gross girls... they're not trying to perform to anything.”

“Mae was like, laugh with your entire mouth completely wide open,” adds Lind. “It was just awesome to build that connection and build that friendship in real life; the connections came so quickly. So, getting to build it even more on screen was so much fun... just getting to be teenage girls together.”

For a series like this to work requires a real balancing act of tones and twists. Wayward pulls it off with aplomb, alternating between a compelling mystery, a cult leader character study, an unpacking of the exploitative nature of the troubled teen industry, a steamy queer love story, and an exploration of generational trauma. It's a lot for one show to attempt, and yet Martin pulls it off. It delves into some political commentary that points the finger back at liberalism, in particular, the way bad actors can use the veneer of liberal attitudes to hide sinister intent.

“That's what's so seductive about Tall Pines as a place,” explains Martin. “When you look into places like Synanon, there were a lot of these programs and organizations [that] were really progressive socially. Then... there's some exploitative person at the center of it who kind of corrupts it.” Ultimately, Martin wanted to present how this town could be enticing to Alex and Laura and how they could be caught up in its web.

That Wayward has plenty to say only makes what is on the surface a propulsively entertaining thriller an even richer experience, and one that will stick with you.