Mis muertos tristes, released on Netflix on September 24, began with a problem familiar to readers of short fiction: several stories can share a world without sharing a plot. The new miniseries brings together work by Argentine writer Mariana Enriquez under the direction of Chilean filmmaker Pablo Larraín. In the distributor’s September 17 account of the adaptation, both creators describe the work of connecting characters and situations while preserving the social pressures that make the stories unsettling.
The project also crossed presentation formats during its launch. The San Sebastián festival catalog placed it in the 2026 Official Selection and listed an Argentina–Chile production running 187 minutes. Its synopsis follows Ema, a recently retired doctor who can see the dead, after her mother’s death, her niece Julie’s arrival and the killing of three teenagers in Piedrabuena. Grief begins within a family and extends into a neighborhood. Those are the documented circumstances of the story, rather than a verdict on how the series stages them.
The collaboration is more extensive than a director borrowing a novelist’s premise. Netflix’s original production announcement credits the adaptation to Enriquez, Guillermo Calderón, Anastasia Ayazi and Larraín. It identifies the title story alongside “Julie,” “Un lugar soleado para gente sombría” and “Cuando hablábamos con los muertos” as sources. Fabula produced the project. The announced filming plan divided locations and exteriors in Buenos Aires from interiors in Santiago, putting the cross-border partnership into the production’s working geography as well as its credits.
Enriquez’s explanation in the September conversation gives that arrangement a particular stake. She connects the returning dead to memory and to injustices that cannot simply be settled. Larraín, in turn, describes the difficulty of converting literary sensations and abstractions into another language. Their accounts locate adaptation in decisions about what an image or a performance can carry. A ghost can be a plot event, but the creators are also asking what unfinished relationship or public failure makes it return.
The current Netflix title page lists four episodes and names Mercedes Morán, Dolores Fonzi and Alejandra Flechner as its starring cast. That episodic form supplies the home-viewing route into the material after its festival presentation. It also provides a practical distinction for readers encountering different running times: the festival entry describes its own screening presentation, while the streaming page breaks the work into separate installments.
For an adaptation assembled from several texts, fidelity is a question of relationships as much as incidents. Which connections become clearer when stories touch? Which ambiguities should remain unresolved? Those questions offer a useful way into this release without assuming that every unexplained presence needs an explanation. Some narratives gain their force from making an audience stay with what has not been put to rest.