With Apple TV+ Pachinko and HBO’s My brilliant friend Despite being the best scripted shows on television right now, this was already a big decline for non-English originals.

La MáquinaHulu’s first Spanish-language original series, doesn’t quite reach these creative heights. But the genre-bending underdog sports conspiracy/melodramatic comic thriller could find a larger audience with its mostly brisk pace and a number of somewhat unexpected twists – as well as the always-welcome reunion of longtime friends, collaborators and producing partners Gael García Bernal and Diego Luna, whose star performance easily carries this six-part limited series.

Bernal plays Esteban “La Máquina” Osuna, a Mexican boxing legend who is nearing the end of a successful career after an abrupt first-round knockout. Feeling the toll of more than 70 professional fights, recovering drug addict Esteban looks forward to getting his life back together after divorcing stunning journalist Irasema (Eiza González).

But Andy (Luna), Esteban’s Botox-obsessed friend and manager, is determined to get La Máquina back in the ring for a rematch – an encore that could take him to a new level of fame or involve him in a situation far away . A conspiracy that puts his life and the lives of everyone he cares about in danger.

Things get even more complicated when Irasema begins investigating a case involving some of the most powerful institutions in boxing-crazy Mexico, and when Esteban struggles to navigate between reality, fantasy and the dark secrets of his past due to his decades of accumulated neurological trauma differentiate.

La Máquina is not a telenovela in terms of style or structure, even if format legend Lucía Méndez delivers a pleasingly historical, scene-filled performance as Andy’s controlling mother. But under the direction of creator Marco Ramirez (Netflix). Daredevil), it does something that the best telenovelas do – namely, throw the rules of traditional classification out the window. It’s a buddy comedy and a down-to-earth problem drama about exploitation and corruption in the Mexican pugilism industry. There are traces of romance, although Dariam Coco as Esteban’s new flame is perhaps the series’ most underused asset, and there are moments of heightened tension and violence.

It’s up to director Gabriel Ripstein (Narcos) to act as a tone wrangler, and overall he does it well. The premiere, which packs at least three to four hours of action into 52 minutes, is the least successful of the five episodes sent to critics. It contains two crucial boxing matches (one of which was shown extensively on screen, while the result of the other was only revealed in an abrupt cut) and their associated training montages, but also introduces us to most of the cast and lays the groundwork for the most ongoing continuation threads. It’s entertaining but choppy and rushed.

From then on, however La Máquina does something completely unusual for streaming and cable shows: It continues to expand its world as it unfolds its yarn, and yet the episodes become shorter, more focused and more self-aware. Characters that start out silly and cartoonish become poignant. Decisions have immediate and quickly paid consequences. The secrets get, well, mysterious. Possibly too much. I have a hard time imagining how the season’s larger storylines will play out in the finale, even after a fifth chapter that ties together some crucial character-based conflicts very well.

Equally important to reconciling the different elements of the series are Bernal and especially Luna. In most actors’ hands, Andy would be a goofy character, especially given the many layers of makeup and prosthetics that capture his youthful vanity. And Luna isn’t afraid to ridicule him, particularly in a scene of escalating humiliation set during an otherwise grim event. But even as he embraces Andy’s puffy lips, disheveled hairpiece, and mannequin tan, Luna continues to recognize what’s tragic about this man who wants to be a good manager, friend, husband, and potential father, but fails.

Bernal, who gave himself up to a completely different kind of engagement with physicality in the Lucha Libre biography Cassandrois not so convincing with the boxing side La Máquina. But when the gloves look too big and his footwork feels too slow, it just highlights how far Esteban is beyond his limits. From the graying temples and the darting, uncertain eyes, Bernal recognizes the sadness and uncertain decency of his character.

As always, when you bring Bernal and Luna together, they are a real eye-catcher. They also uplift everyone around them — especially González, who displays a wounded wildness that her English-language performances rarely express. Casting Irasema as a journalist and a proactive part in uncovering the conspiracy rather than just a long-suffering ex-wife is also a wise decision, although this is the storyline least likely to pay off in what is likely to be a rushed finale.

Beyond these three marquee stars, La Máquina features strong supporting performances from Andrés Delgado as Andy’s strange brother-in-law Saul (presumably a reference to Mexican boxing superstar Saul “Canelo” Alvarez); Karina Gidi as Andy’s wife Carlota, in another part of the series that combines humor and pathos; and Jorge Perugorría, who amusingly turns expectations upside down as Esteban’s coach Sixto.

It’s my instinct to wish that La Máquina had more than six episodes to tell its story. It tries to accomplish so many things, and I suspect that some of its more sophisticated aspects – the impact of CTE on boxers, the class struggle built into Mexico’s centuries-long love affair with the sweet science, the aforementioned romantic and journalistic subplots – can be lost to varying degrees. But more than that, I enjoyed watching this narrative come together. I’d love to watch more of this chemistry-filled, unpredictable mess.