Netflix’s YA rowing drama “Crew Girl” is now streaming, but the eight-episode series struggles to stay afloat despite a premise built around scandal, reinvention and high-stakes prep-school competition.
Created by Vivian Lin, the series centers on 16-year-old Teagan Tao, played by Miku Martineau, a single sculler whose carefully ordered life is upended by her father’s crimes. David, portrayed by Byron Lawson, is a wealthy hotelier who is caught stealing money from his clients. Before the FBI can arrest him, he flees, leaving Teagan and her mother, Ella, played by Jessica Paré, to absorb the consequences.
The setup gives “Crew Girl” an immediate jolt. The show opens with Teagan racing while her parents watch from the stands. Just before she wins, David disappears, leaving behind a brief apology text as the FBI arrives. Six months later, Teagan and Ella have little to rely on beyond Teagan’s education fund. They leave their affluent Los Angeles community and head east to Eagle’s Cove, a fictional Massachusetts town where Ella’s worn childhood home becomes their landing place.
That move places Teagan at Easton Prep, where the series shifts into familiar YA territory: new school, new social hierarchy, new rivals and the possibility of reinvention. Teagan quickly connects with Juliet Morny, played by Olga Petsa, a boarder at the school, while landing on the wrong side of Britney Garner, played by Sage Linder, who functions as Easton Prep’s resident mean-girl antagonist.
The rowing hook arrives when Teagan learns from Coach Matt Hayden, played by Thomas Cadrot, that Easton Prep has a crew team only for boys. Refusing to be sidelined, she pushes her way into the boathouse and becomes the team’s coxswain — the non-rowing member responsible for steering, executing the race plan and keeping the boat focused. Her goal becomes twofold: help the boys start winning and convince the school administration to consider creating a girls’ team.
The team she inherits is hardly a frictionless unit. Among the eight-man crew are rival cousins Josh Regis, played by Sam Braun, and Ryder Regis, played by Connor Paton; scholarship student Cam Dillinger, played by Kyle Clark; and Bronson “Baloo” Garner, played by Jude Wilson, Britney’s twin brother. The boys initially present Teagan with a wall of attitude, and the series asks viewers to invest in her effort to earn their respect and transform a divided group into something more functional.
There are elements here that work. Martineau, who also stars in Netflix’s “Bet,” brings meaningful representation to the center of a YA genre that rarely places Black people and people of color in leading positions. Teagan’s relationship with Ella is also one of the show’s stronger emotional threads. In a story where many of the adults are depicted as poor parents who lean on their children or prioritize themselves, the mother-daughter bond is grounded in safety and a reasonable degree of honesty.
The chemistry within the boathouse also gives “Crew Girl” some needed energy. Teagan’s dynamic with her crewmates, particularly the sparks involving Cam and Josh, creates the kind of interpersonal tension the series needs to keep its school-and-sports framework moving.
But those strengths are not enough to rescue the show from its larger problems. “Crew Girl” has the polished surface of an appealing YA drama, yet too often feels built from overly familiar pieces. Its dialogue is uneven, its conflicts frequently strain credibility, and its themes return to well-worn territory without adding enough texture of their own.
The series falls into some of the same traps that have affected other recent YA dramas, including Netflix’s “My Life With the Walter Boys” and Prime Video’s “The Runarounds.” It contains the expected ingredients — social reinvention, class tension, romance, rivalry and team-building — but does not give them enough specificity or emotional weight. The result leaves the cast navigating contrived turns rather than inhabiting a fully convincing world.
That lack of specificity is especially noticeable in a series centered on Gen Z and younger viewers coming of age in a distinct moment. By focusing on a posh prep school and an all-boys rowing team split between privilege and scholarship-kid resentment, “Crew Girl” leans on a familiar haves-and-have-nots framework. What it does not sufficiently capture is the texture of a generation shaped by a hyper-digital world, post-pandemic anxiety and other contemporary pressures.
For all its attractive settings and promising emotional entry points, “Crew Girl” never quite finds the rhythm its sport demands. The rowing sequences and prep-school dynamics provide structure, but the storytelling too often drifts into predictable waters. Teagan’s journey has the shape of a compelling underdog story, yet the series around her feels too generic to make that journey land with the force it needs.
“Crew Girl” is now streaming on Netflix.