A Place to Call Home: The Sweeping 1950s Saga of Forbidden Love, Family Secrets, and Shattering Betrayals That’s Exploded on Prime and Left Audiences Breathless

BBC One - A Place to Call Home, Series 4, Catch the Tiger

It began as a quiet Australian import tucked away in Amazon Prime’s back catalog. Now, six seasons later, A Place to Call Home has detonated into the streamer’s biggest surprise obsession of the year, surging into the global Top 10 and leaving viewers gasping: “More addictive than Bridgerton,” “richer than Downton Abbey,” and “impossible to stop watching.” Created by Bevan Lee (Packed to the Rafters) and originally airing on Seven Network and Foxtel from 2013 to 2018, the sweeping post-war saga set in the fictional rural town of Inverness has found a second life on Prime, with binge-watchers devouring all 67 episodes in marathon weekends and flooding social media with declarations that it’s “the period drama we didn’t know we needed.”

TV Review: 'A Place to Call Home'—High Drama From Down Under - WSJAt its heart is Sarah Adams (Marta Dusseldorp), a mysterious nurse returning to 1950s Australia after two decades in Europe. Having survived Ravensbrück concentration camp and converted to Judaism, Sarah steps off the boat into a country still scarred by war—and straight into the orbit of the wealthy Bligh family. What starts as a job offer from matriarch Elizabeth Bligh (Noni Hazlehurst) spirals into a decades-spanning hurricane of forbidden love, class warfare, buried secrets, and moral reckonings. Sarah’s romance with the tormented George Bligh (Brett Climo), Elizabeth’s son, ignites a firestorm: Elizabeth’s ruthless determination to protect the family name clashes with Sarah’s unyielding spirit, while George’s sister-in-law Regina (Jenni Baird) schemes like a Shakespearean villain in pearls. Over six seasons, the show morphs from elegant drawing-room drama into a gut-wrenching epic of homosexuality criminalisation, religious persecution, mental health stigma, and the slow death of old-money privilege.

Critics who once dismissed it as “Australian Downton” are eating their words. The Sydney Morning Herald now calls it “a masterclass in long-form storytelling,” praising its fearless tackling of taboo 1950s issues—conversion therapy, abortion, antisemitism—wrapped in sumptuous production values and performances that rival anything from the BBC. Dusseldorp’s Sarah is a revelation: steely yet shatterable, her chemistry with Climo crackling across stolen glances and tear-soaked confrontations. Hazlehurst’s Elizabeth evolves from ice-queen antagonist to heartbreaking anti-heroine, while Baird’s Regina delivers villainy so deliciously diabolical she’s been dubbed “the Cruella de Vil of the bush.” Supporting players like David Berry’s charming James, Arianwen Parkes-Lockwood’s tragic Olivia, and Frankie J. Holden’s gruff Roy round out a cast that feels lived-in, not merely decorative.

Amazon’s algorithm resurrection has been seismic. After Foxtel axed it in 2014, a fan campaign (#SaveAPlaceToCallHome) raised $250,000 to fund Season 4, proving its cult devotion. Now, Prime’s global reach has turned that cult into a phenomenon: 42 million hours viewed in the past month alone, outpacing Bridgerton Season 3’s rewatch numbers in several territories. TikTok is flooded with “POV: you just finished Season 6 and are emotionally destroyed” videos, while Reddit’s r/PeriodDramas calls it “the best-kept secret that isn’t secret anymore.”

“It’s elegant on the surface but brutal underneath,” creator Bevan Lee told The Australian. “We wanted to show Australia’s soul—beautiful, broken, and brave.” From 1950s corsets to 1960s miniskirts, the series spans two decades of social upheaval, ending in 1968 with a finale that’s left viewers “sobbing on the floor” and begging for more.

Six seasons. Sixty-seven episodes. One unforgettable family. If you thought period drama peaked with corsets and tea, A Place to Call Home will blindside you with betrayal, heartbreak, and revelations that burrow under your skin. Amazon Prime just handed you the weekend binge of the year. Cancel plans. Inverness is calling—and once you answer, there’s no leaving.