This is the story of why Boss remains one of the most underrated, brutal, and brilliantly acted dramas of the 2010s. Set against the steel-gray skyline of Chicago, Boss introduces us to Mayor Tom Kane at the absolute zenith of his power. He has run the city for decades, not through democracy, but through a feudal system of favors, blackmail, and iron-fisted alliances. He is the king, and the City Council are his court.

His delivery of the show’s unofficial mantra—“There is no leverage without a choice”—is chilling. He speaks Shakespearean-level dialogue (creator Farhad Safinia wrote the show with a classical tragedy structure) and makes it feel like backroom Chicago slang. While Netflix’s House of Cards (released in 2013) gets the credit for popularizing the "anti-hero politician" genre, Boss premiered two years earlier and did it darker. Frank Underwood broke the fourth wall and winked at the audience. Tom Kane stares into the void and dares it to blink.

Tom Kane ruled through fear and manipulation. His dementia doesn't change his behavior because he was already a sociopath. The horror of the show is that the disease doesn't make him a monster—it just strips away the mask.

Boss argues that political systems don't create corruption—corruption is the system. There are no good guys. The closest thing to a moral compass is a ruthless investigative journalist played by the late, great James Vincent Meredith, and even he has to sell his soul to get a story. Starz gave the show a cinematic budget, and it shows. Cinematographer Kasper Tuxen shoots Chicago as a character: the brutalist concrete of the Richard J. Daley Center, the frozen wind tunnels of LaSalle Street, the opulent but sterile high-rises overlooking the lake. It is a city of grey and blue, of cold metal and cold hearts.

But the king has a secret. Kane is diagnosed with Lewy body dementia—a degenerative neurological disorder that causes vivid hallucinations, memory loss, and loss of motor control. In the pilot’s stunning opening scene, a doctor delivers the news: "You have a year, maybe eighteen months. At the end of it, you won't know who you are."

When you think of Kelsey Grammer, you likely picture the erudite, buttoned-up, and eternally exasperated Dr. Frasier Crane. For two decades, he was television’s favorite intellectual therapist. So, when Starz unveiled Boss in 2011, audiences were met with a whiplash-inducing transformation.

But it is the eyes that do the work. In one scene, Grammer will shift from cold, Machiavellian calculation to terrified confusion as a hallucination creeps into the corner of the room. He won the Golden Globe for Best Actor in a Television Series Drama for the first season, and it remains one of the most deserved wins in the award’s history.

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Boss Series Starz May 2026

This is the story of why Boss remains one of the most underrated, brutal, and brilliantly acted dramas of the 2010s. Set against the steel-gray skyline of Chicago, Boss introduces us to Mayor Tom Kane at the absolute zenith of his power. He has run the city for decades, not through democracy, but through a feudal system of favors, blackmail, and iron-fisted alliances. He is the king, and the City Council are his court.

His delivery of the show’s unofficial mantra—“There is no leverage without a choice”—is chilling. He speaks Shakespearean-level dialogue (creator Farhad Safinia wrote the show with a classical tragedy structure) and makes it feel like backroom Chicago slang. While Netflix’s House of Cards (released in 2013) gets the credit for popularizing the "anti-hero politician" genre, Boss premiered two years earlier and did it darker. Frank Underwood broke the fourth wall and winked at the audience. Tom Kane stares into the void and dares it to blink. boss series starz

Tom Kane ruled through fear and manipulation. His dementia doesn't change his behavior because he was already a sociopath. The horror of the show is that the disease doesn't make him a monster—it just strips away the mask. This is the story of why Boss remains

Boss argues that political systems don't create corruption—corruption is the system. There are no good guys. The closest thing to a moral compass is a ruthless investigative journalist played by the late, great James Vincent Meredith, and even he has to sell his soul to get a story. Starz gave the show a cinematic budget, and it shows. Cinematographer Kasper Tuxen shoots Chicago as a character: the brutalist concrete of the Richard J. Daley Center, the frozen wind tunnels of LaSalle Street, the opulent but sterile high-rises overlooking the lake. It is a city of grey and blue, of cold metal and cold hearts. He is the king, and the City Council are his court

But the king has a secret. Kane is diagnosed with Lewy body dementia—a degenerative neurological disorder that causes vivid hallucinations, memory loss, and loss of motor control. In the pilot’s stunning opening scene, a doctor delivers the news: "You have a year, maybe eighteen months. At the end of it, you won't know who you are."

When you think of Kelsey Grammer, you likely picture the erudite, buttoned-up, and eternally exasperated Dr. Frasier Crane. For two decades, he was television’s favorite intellectual therapist. So, when Starz unveiled Boss in 2011, audiences were met with a whiplash-inducing transformation.

But it is the eyes that do the work. In one scene, Grammer will shift from cold, Machiavellian calculation to terrified confusion as a hallucination creeps into the corner of the room. He won the Golden Globe for Best Actor in a Television Series Drama for the first season, and it remains one of the most deserved wins in the award’s history.

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