The six episode TV series Bait – created by, executively produced by, and starring Christ Church College alumnus, Riz Ahmed – was released on Amazon Prime Video on March 25, 2026.
The concept for the show is that a new James Bond is being sought out, but this time, they’re looking to break the chain of never-ending white males (although, according to the Guardian’s film editor, Catherine Shoard, the next James Bond may follow the age-old pattern, with her guess being Australian “it boy” Jacob Elordi). The series follows Ahmed as Shah Latif, a struggling British-Pakistani actor who lands an audition to play James Bond. However, he chokes in his first audition, and his journey to getting another audition – and to finally landing the role – leads him through an absurd whirlwind of events.
This story is especially interesting right now, with much speculation about the fate of the James Bond saga, four years after Daniel Craig’s last appearance in the role in No Time to Die. The show also challenges those who are now in control of the Bond franchise. In 2021, when Amazon MGM studios agreed to take over the Bond franchise from Eon Productions, which was led by Barbara Broccoli, and her half-brother, Michael G Wilson, they agreed they would keep creative control. That said, last year, the pair let go of the reins and passed creative control entirely over to Amazon MGM studios. Amazon will now decide which actor takes over the famous character. Although many actors have been posited as the bookmakers’ favourites, including Theo James, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, and James Norton, there is still no clear direction for who will come to fill the shoes of the famous spy next.
Riz Ahmed was also granted permission by Amazon MGM and by Barbara Broccoli to make the series depicting a struggling actor aspiring towards the role of James Bond, a kind of critique of the very people who have allowed his show to happen.
So, what was the show actually like? I’m not quite sure what I was expecting with this series: perhaps a laugh-a-minute, hilarious comedy, or perhaps an observational piece criticising the industry and how the same five white actors in Hollywood seem to be getting every part.
I was pleased to see Guz Khan pop up on the screen, as a sign of reassurance that it would be a hilarious comedy. Having watched all of Man Like Mobeen as well as his various appearances on game shows and comedy series like Taskmaster, Would I Lie To You?, and more, I knew I was in for something good. There definitely was some humour, with Latif’s laughable narcissism driven by deep insecurities. This began with a moment crying in the arms of a crew member and then leaving the studios from the front entrance he was told not to, just to secure an image from paparazzi, making it seem as though he had been confirmed as the next James Bond.
Guz Khan features as Latif’s cousin, Zulfikar, a.k.a., “Zulfi”, who is also a taxi driver. Together, they devise a plan for Zulfi to pretend not to know Latif in public, so it seems as though he has a private chauffeur. This again adds humour, and when they are out of sight, Latif climbs over into the front seat, getting in Khan’s face. Another element that brought humour was the editing style and shots used, such as the scene edited to look like it had come from a Bollywood film to glorify the image of the family favourite, Salim, played by Nabhaan Rizwan.
However, despite all this, it wasn’t all humorous. The series opens as a comedy, joking about the lead’s own narcissism. Some of the tropes made the plot too predictable: the rival actor that steals his idea and takes it for himself, too obvious, too cringe-worthy. But then, right at the moment the obvious thing would happen, something else completely unexpected would come to shock the audience completely, a big absurdist hammer whacking us over the head.
One example is the moment in the gallery in the ceremony where Latif tells his rival actor of an experience he had of the pig’s head being sent to his home. He then asks if they can speak together on stage, where the rival actor steals his story and invites Latif on afterwards, clearly with nothing left to say. But just when this typical, obvious thing has happened, something surprising thrusts us in the other direction. The protester from outside the ceremony runs in and Latif breaks his arm to stop him attacking him, thinking that was his intention. These additional elements leave us rooting for the protagonist, and hating him, and being frustrated with him, all at once. The situation keeps getting worse for Latif, nonetheless. He keeps getting himself into trouble he doesn’t need, infuriating us as viewers, whilst also making us realise how quickly things can escalate.
Although Latif’s narcissism is humorous at first, it gets to the point that he begins to develop a superiority complex. He thinks he is better than his family, and there is real pathos in some moments, such as when we see him pretending not to know his cousin, Zulfi. However, his narcissism is what leads to his insanity, blocking everyone out of his life and solely relying on a pig’s head for comfort, advice, and guidance. A message in itself, representing the internalized critical voice, racism, and insecurities of himself as an actor, doing what he thinks will help him ‘fit in’. However, at the same time, this is blended with the insane and narcissistic quality of his dramatic soliloquies directed to the pig’s head. As Ellen Jones says, this replaced the traditional skull of Hamlet, potentially only inserted into the series to add in evidence of Ahmed’s ability in more serious roles. She thinks it is a show of his narcissism, a sort of semi-biographical work. This all led me somewhat to conclude that there is no true function to the absurdist elements in the series, and that their addition is an example of absurdism for the sake of absurdism, a pretentious move to appear artistic. I think because of the confusion it causes, it might be taking away slightly from the actual message of the show: a commentary on how race is treated in the film industry. As soon as we are given a moment to reflect on the message being expressed, the pause is snatched like a carpet from beneath us and replaced with a quick sand that you’re unsure how to get out of.
However, I don’t think the absurdism in the show is all bad. I think it makes for a great watch, a show that’s unique, that’s not like others, and that you can’t take your eyes away from at all. It is a cringe-worthy series. It is a tense, confusing, and comedic one, with some emotional break-throughs, and a final resolution at the end to top off the chaotic journey, almost like a gift to the audience after the confusing, chaotic, journey that we have been dragged along on.
It’s a narcissistic project, but also a highly self-reflective and critical one, part semi-autobiographical sitcom, and part surrealist industry satire. It’s a mesh reflecting concerns from every angle of society, all neatly rounded up within the series title, “bait”, meaning ‘obvious’, ‘naff’, or ‘sell-out’, and in the OED sense of lure, not wanting to fall into the trap of tokenism. It’s confusingly brilliant, but, in agreement with Ellen Jones, I do believe the show could indeed do with a dash more of Guz Khan and his hilarious humour.