Let’s be honest: Finland doesn’t always know what to do with something bold. Especially when it’s loud, chaotic, and refuses to apologize.

Case in point: Queen of F**ing Everything.

A series that dared to break every rule in the Finnish TV playbook. No quiet stares out of grey windows. No kitchen table melancholy. No slowly spoken sentences dripping with existential dread. Instead, it was raw, in-your-face, playful, dark, and alive. Finally, a show that didn’t feel like a copy-paste of the same Finnish drama formula we’ve all seen a hundred times.

It was something new. Something wild. Something that actually stood out. And still, it’s not getting a second season.

Think Breaking Bad meets Real Housewives – with a Nordic noir twist

Not because it wasn’t good – it was critically praised and had a passionate audience. But because it didn’t fit the system.

Linda is living the high life—literally. A successful real estate agent with status, wealth, and a glossy upper-class lifestyle in Helsinki. But one morning, it all comes crashing down.

Her husband vanishes without a trace—along with their money. In his place? A mountain of debt and a trail of destruction. Suddenly, Linda is left alone to clean up a mess she didn’t create—but she has no intention of going down quietly. To survive, she does the unthinkable: she steps into the criminal world. And not just as a bystander—but as its queen.

Critically Acclaimed, commercially Ignored

No international funding. No distribution deals. No continuation.

Not because it wasn’t good—it was critically praised and had a passionate audience. But because it didn’t fit the system.

Too original. Too different. Too risky.

This is the part that hurts the most. We say we want innovation. We say we want daring, genre-breaking content. But when we actually get it, we freeze. We don’t know how to support it. So we quietly retreat and go back to what’s safe. What’s familiar. What doesn’t scare the system.

We keep renewing Sohvaperunat and Sinkut paljaana. We keep the peruskaura going—TV that doesn’t challenge, doesn’t shake things up, doesn’t leave a mark. Entertainment without impact. Harmless, sure – but also hopelessly forgettable. Meanwhile, a show like Queen of F**ing Everything gets quietly buried. Too complicated to continue. Too noisy to ignore.

“We’re full” isn’t a good enough excuse

Jarmo Lampela, Head of Drama at Yle, stated that the decision not to continue was due to a packed production slate, long timelines, and a lack of international funding.

The phrase “we’re full” implies that there’s no space. No room left. But what are we so full of?

Fair on paper. But it also reveals a deeper issue: we’re not investing in the right things. We’re not even trying to market the shows that could actually cross borders. We don’t give ourselves a chance to be seen. And yet we wonder why Finnish storytelling doesn’t reach wider audiences.

Because this isn’t just about one show getting left behind. This is about how we consistently fail to recognize the true value of original, disruptive, conversation-starting content – especially when it doesn’t follow a safe, market-tested formula. Especially when it centers around a messy, complicated, powerful woman.

The phrase “we’re full” implies that there’s no space. No room left. But what are we so full of?

Safe projects. Predictable dramas. Familiar faces. Low-stakes fluff. Comfort content that might be easy to make and easy to watch—but that rarely makes headlines, rarely gets exported, and rarely ignites passion.

And the projects that could do those things? That might challenge, provoke, or travel? They get shelved. Not because they fail on artistic merit, but because they don’t fit neatly into existing strategies or funding templates. Because they don’t come pre-packaged for international buyers. Because we’re too slow—or too shy—to fight for them.

The idea that “we’re full” is also telling of our priorities. If our production slates are packed, what exactly are we prioritizing over bold, high-potential, already-proven content? If something as ambitious and original as Queen of F**ing Everything* can’t make the cut, what does that say about the selection process? About our risk appetite? About our vision?

And let’s not ignore the international piece of the puzzle. Yes, it lacked international funding – but did we actually try? Did we pitch it boldly? Did we brand it with intention? Did we knock on the right doors? Or did we quietly assume it wouldn’t sell because it was too “local,” too “wild,” too “female”?

The irony is, other Nordic countries regularly get global deals for shows that are just as specific, just as gritty, and just as dark. The difference is: they go in with ambition. With packaging. With a plan to make it work.

Meanwhile in Finland, we act like good ideas should sell themselves. We put something brave out there, wait for the world to notice—and if they don’t, we shrug, say “we tried,” and move on.

We’re not just failing to invest in courageous stories. We’re failing to believe in them in the first place.

So no – “we’re full” isn’t a good enough excuse.

Not when what we’re turning away has the potential to change the conversation.
Not when what we’re canceling already had momentum, praise, and purpose.
And not when our cultural identity depends on more than just playing it safe.

When will we start seeing value in boldness?

When will we stop treating boldness like a liability?

When will we start seeing it for what it really is—a sign of life, of ambition, of something worth watching?

Boldness isn’t about being reckless. It’s about taking creative risks that reflect the complexity of real people and real stories. It’s about trusting audiences to handle messy emotions, moral ambiguity, and unpredictable characters. It’s about letting go of the idea that every story has to be slow, grey, and quietly tragic to be taken seriously in Finland.

We have the talent. We have the stories. We even have public funding through Yle that’s meant to support exactly this kind of cultural disruption. But somewhere between the funding applications, the production meetings, and the market research, we lose our nerve.

We overthink it.
We second-guess it.
And in the end, we smother the spark before it ever gets a chance to burn.

But here’s the thing: playing it safe is starting to feel really risky. Because if we keep cancelling everything with an edge, an attitude, a distinct voice—we’ll become a culture of almosts. Almost innovative. Almost brave. Almost seen.

The shows that go viral, that break through, that win awards and stay in the public conversation for years—they all started the same way: with someone daring to do something different. And someone else being smart enough to say yes.

So, when will we start seeing value in boldness? Hopefully before the next Queen gets cancelled too.

Shows like Queen of F**ing Everything* don’t just challenge storytelling norms—they challenge gender expectations. They say that women don’t have to be likable, quiet, nurturing, or stable. They can be chaotic. Dangerous. Unhinged. Powerful.

And that’s what makes this show revolutionary.

It wasn’t just about a woman surviving. It was about her taking over – on her own terms. Reclaiming her power not through healing circles and therapy sessions (though those are valid too), but through sheer force, rage, wit, and wild reinvention.

And instead of celebrating that? We cut it short. Again.

So when we talk about investing in boldness, we’re also talking about investing in female-led stories that don’t water themselves down to fit the mold. We’re talking about giving space to women who don’t apologize for taking up space.

We’re talking about saying, yes—this story matters. This voice matters. Let her be f**ing everything.*

Because until we do that, we’re not just missing out on good television. We’re missing out on an entire dimension of what Finnish storytelling could be.

Wait, what’s Yle?

For those outside of Finland: Yle (short for Yleisradio) is Finland’s national public broadcasting company – basically the Finnish equivalent of the BBC. It’s publicly funded and tasked with producing content that serves the public interest: news, documentaries, educational programming, entertainment, and original drama.

Because Yle isn’t driven by commercial success in the same way private media companies are, it should have the freedom to support bold, creative projects—even when they’re risky or unconventional.

And that’s exactly why the cancellation of Queen of F**ing Everything* feels so frustrating. If even Yle won’t take that risk—who will?

Finland vs. the other Nordics: Why are we so afraid to be loud?

Let’s talk about the Nordic paradox.

Finland often prides itself on being innovative, creative, and unique. And in many ways, it is. But when it comes to bold, high-impact storytelling, we’re still playing it safe—especially compared to our Nordic neighbors.

While Denmark gives the world edgy, award-winning dramas like Borgen, The Killing, and The Bridge, Finland seems hesitant to back anything that might make international audiences uncomfortable.

Sweden has mastered glossy, global-facing productions. Their creators aim big. There’s funding, ambition, co-productions. Swedish shows expect to be seen outside of Sweden.

Even Norway, with low-budget hits like Skam, has shown that courage and clarity of vision can beat flashy production value—if you have the guts to back it.

And then there’s Finland.

We create something like Queen of F**ing Everything*—female-led, provocative, unpredictable—and we cancel it after one season. Because it’s “too expensive.” “Too hard to sell.” “Too much.”

Too much for who?

The truth is, Finnish culture still leans toward quiet excellence—and in many ways, that’s beautiful. But when it comes to bold creative risks, we often confuse discomfort with danger. We label originality as “too risky” instead of recognizing its true value: attention, impact, identity.

And the irony? Our Nordic neighbors are taking those same risks—and winning.

If Finland wants to stand out, we need to stop aiming for “safe enough.” We need to stop cutting bold voices off at season one. And we need to stop treating groundbreaking series as one-time flukes.

Courage isn’t a cost. It’s an investment.

Not just in one show. Not just in one season. But in a bigger, braver future for Finnish storytelling.

Investing in courage means backing ideas that challenge us instead of comforting us. It means funding the shows that don’t fit into tidy little boxes. It means supporting creators who want to shake the system—not decorate it.

Courage is what makes culture matter. It’s what makes people pay attention. It’s what gets our voices heard beyond our borders—not because we try to blend in, but because we dare to stand out.

And right now, we need more of that.
More mess.
More risks.
More weird, raw, loud, unpredictable brilliance.

Not less.

So let’s stop treating the boldest ideas like liabilities. Let’s stop ghosting the people who bring uncomfortable truths to the surface. Let’s stop cancelling the shows that make us feel something real.

Because the world doesn’t need more silence. It needs more stories that roar.

Courage isn’t a cost. It’s an investment in who we are – and who we could become.