Alphabet Soup (2025) Docuseries Review: A Raw but Increasingly Repetitive Look at the Queer Dating Experience in New York City

As the title suggests, creator Shannon Alexander’s “Alphabet Soup” is a confusing assortment of individuals belonging to the queer community in New York City. Much like his post-COVID documentary “Sex, Love, Misery: New New York,” that the filmmaker made in order to understand what the isolation did to young, single folks in the city, the 6-episode long docuseries essentially follows the same format, although it is entirely focused on Queer connection and what makes and breaks modern relationships.

It’s obvious that the filmmaker is fascinated by New York, more so with the artistic side of the city. His lens thus now carefully manveures to the Queer community. The voices of trans, non-binary, and BIPOC individuals form the crux of this documentation, which is essentially looking at what identity and intimacy mean to young folks who are constantly trying to understand themselves and the world around them. As one of the subjects in “Aphatabet Soup” points out, New York is a place that doesn’t make them feel like they belong to a community that is marginalized.

The landscape in New York is squarely timed because Queerness is not seen as an abnormality. These voices tell us that they feel freer here than in their own homes. Although the dating scene has its set of highs and lows, the wild and rebellious nature of these individuals, who are constantly shapeshifting and changing every day, cannot be contained in something concrete.

Troy Weekes, who also featured as one of the subjects in Alexander’s post-COVID doc (in addition to being the composer for the series), is one of the first people we meet. Troy’s brief dating pivot with Nova, a fashion-forward 20-something who has moved from being a Navy veteran to transitioning and rebuilding their life and new self, is cut short or superseded by his initially dicey long-distance relationship with Ray Anthony – a Jamaican immigrant who keep his married life with a man from England a secret.

Among other subjects is Shalimar – a performing artist/dancer whose inability to truly connect with Kiykiy is attributed to his more feminine personality. The plot progression and dynamics of most of these realtionships are defined by the texts these set of individuals share with each other, but unlike his 2022 doc, the series, and it’s featured communication (some of which can be attributed to the Gen-Z lingo) doesn’t provided a leeway into these people for them to matter. So much so that I found myself feeling increasingly disinterested in the hangout vibe of the series – something that is truly genre-defying for a show that is essentially about dating.

One of the reasons can be the mystery that the format created in “Sex, Love, Misery: New New York.” Not knowing what a prospective date felt about you made things more compelling (at least to me). Here, since some of the members of the community feel like they could run into each other anytime, or are interconnected in some way, the mystery of not knowing is not felt in a way that makes the narrative interesting. For instance, a section of these people – especially the ones that often share a similar space – Atari, Shalimar, Saturn, and Andrea – feel more and more distant as we get to know them better. Saturn’s housing situation could have given a socio-political and layered development to his character, but it is soon abandoned for the traditional talking-heads perspective, where he self-proclaims himself as ‘toxic’ at least half a dozen times.

There are interesting plot threads here and there – Troy and Ray’s brief throuple experience and fallout, and creator Alexander’s move to not cut out a subject named Ray F. after they fail to commit to the series are some of my favorite bits. But beyond that, the series did not dig deeper into anything related to gender identity and/or personal choices that define these characters. After the initial setup and a couple of intriguing turns, the series becomes tedious, and even though there is a forced character arc of sorts during the show’s final moments, it doesn’t feel like we journeyed along with them as they get nearer to finding themselves.

“Alphabet Soup” only works as an observational tactic that feels raw and authentic. But unlike Shanon Alexander’s earlier work, the subjects don’t feel compelling enough for us to tag along for 6 long, dreary episodes.

Alphabet Soup is currently available to stream on Peacock and Prime Video.