One pint of legacy spills into chaos—Sir Benjamin’s ghost demands his heirs choose: empire or exile? But what if the will hides a blade aimed at the heart of the dynasty?

Season 2’s greenlight unleashes a storm of scandals, from Arthur’s forbidden alliance to Edward’s New York betrayal that could drown the family fortune. The cliffhanger’s revenge arc? It’s brewing hotter than ever. Catch the inside scoop on what’s next for the Guinnesses before the premiere pint drops. Who’s toasting to more? 👉

Just five days after the frothy debut of House of Guinness stormed Netflix charts worldwide, creator Steven Knight has cracked open the keg: Season 2 is officially in the works. The announcement, dropped during a packed Q&A at London’s BFI Southbank amid cheers from a crowd nursing complimentary pints, comes as no surprise to fans left parched by the Season 1 finale’s gut-wrenching cliffhanger—Arthur Guinness dangling from a noose in a shadowy Dublin warehouse, his brothers nowhere in sight. With the series already topping Netflix’s global Top 10 in 72 countries and racking up 45 million viewing hours in its first weekend, the renewal signals Netflix’s bet on Knight’s alchemy of historical grit and family venom. As production scouts eye Dublin’s cobblestones for a 2026 return, here’s the essential primer: from the show’s soapy roots in 19th-century Ireland to the cast’s real-life toasts, plot teases, and why this brew might just outshine Peaky Blinders.

For the uninitiated—or those still nursing a hangover from bingeing the eight-episode drop—House of Guinness isn’t your grandpa’s brewery biopic. Penned by Knight, the Oscar-nominated scribe behind Peaky Blinders and A Thousand Blows, the series trades razor blades and razorback horses for barley and betrayals. Set against the emerald fog of 1868 Dublin and the grimy glamour of Gilded Age New York, it kicks off at the funeral of Sir Benjamin Lee Guinness (a spectral turn by veteran Michael Colgan in flashbacks), the iron-fisted magnate who turned a modest alehouse into a global juggernaut. His death leaves the brewery’s reins—and a fortune worth millions in today’s pounds—to his four grown children: the pious Arthur (Anthony Boyle), the rakish Edward (Louis Partridge), the overlooked Anne (Emily Fairn), and the wayward Benjamin (Fionn O’Shea). But Benjamin’s will isn’t a simple windfall; it’s a Machiavellian maze of stipulations tying inheritance to marriage, sobriety, and unwavering loyalty to the family brand, forcing the siblings into a serpentine scrum that echoes Succession‘s boardroom brawls but with more Catholic guilt and fewer private jets.

Knight, drawing from the real Guinness clan’s labyrinthine lore—courtesy of consulting producer Ivana Lowell, a modern-day heiress and daughter of author Lady Caroline Blackwood—blends fact with his trademark fiction. Historical touchstones abound: Arthur’s real-life push for social housing in Dublin’s slums, Edward’s globe-trotting expansions that ballooned the empire to 100 countries by century’s end, and the family’s shadowy flirtations with Irish independence amid the Fenian uprisings. But Knight amps the drama, infusing opium dens, illicit affairs, and a proto-feminist subplot for Anne that sees her scheming to claim a stake in the male-dominated boardroom. “It’s not a documentary,” Knight quipped to Variety post-premiere. “It’s the Guinnesses if they had Peaky‘s edge—blood in the barley, secrets in the stout.” The result? A series that’s equal parts intoxicating and incendiary, with a modern soundtrack—think Hozier-laced reels clashing against horse-drawn carriages—that’s drawn both raves and raised eyebrows.

Season 1, which bowed on September 25, 2025, unfolds like a perfectly poured pint: a creamy head of intrigue atop a body of brooding tension. Episode 1 opens with Sir Benjamin’s cortège snaking through Dublin’s teeming streets, rain-slicked mourners whispering of his “miracle cure” for the city’s cholera-riddled poor—courtesy of Guinness-funded aqueducts that doubled as empire PR. The will-reading in the opulent Iveagh House (recreated at Wales’ Penrhyn Castle) detonates the powder keg: Arthur, the eldest and most devout, inherits operational control but must wed within a year or forfeit to Edward; Edward, the charming black sheep, gets New York expansion rights but tied to teetotaling; Anne, the sharp-tongued spinster, eyes a dowry loophole for independence; and Ben, the addict spiraling through brothels and back-alley bets, risks disinheritance unless he cleans up. Enter the ensemble foil: James Norton’s Sean Rafferty, the family’s cunning solicitor whose loyalties blur like a bad batch of porter; Jack Gleeson’s Byron Hedges, a slimy English investor sniffing for a buyout; and Niamh McCormack’s Ellen Cochrane, Edward’s fiery love interest who’s equal parts ally and arsonist.

As the season ferments, alliances curdle. Arthur, haunted by visions of his late mother (Dervla Kirwan in ethereal cameos), clashes with brewery workers agitating for fair wages amid Ireland’s land wars—echoing the real 1867 Fenian rising. His arc peaks in Episode 6’s barn-burner: a clandestine meeting with rebel sympathizers in the Guinness vaults, where barrels hide explosives. Edward, meanwhile, jets to New York (filmed in Liverpool’s docklands) for a high-stakes merger with American brewers, only to tangle in a torrid affair with a Vanderbilt-esque heiress (Danielle Galligan) that threatens to import scandal across the Atlantic. Anne’s quiet rebellion simmers—forging alliances with suffragette precursors in Dublin salons—while Ben’s rock-bottom bender culminates in a fever-dream duel that leaves him scarred and sober(ish). Subplots weave in the working-class grit: Ann Skelly as a no-nonsense barmaid moonlighting as a spy, Seamus O’Hara as a brawling foreman with Fenian ties, and Michael McElhatton’s grizzled overseer doling out “justice” in the hops fields.

The finale, “The Black Pour,” lives up to its name. Arthur’s handfasting to a politically expedient bride unravels when Byron exposes her as a plant; Edward returns from New York with a briefcase of dirty money and a bullet wound; Anne uncovers a forged codicil to the will; and Ben, clean but cornered, vanishes into the night. The hammer drops in the final frames: Arthur, cornered in a warehouse by masked assailants (Byron’s hired thugs?), slips a noose around his neck as a voice hisses, “For the empire.” Fade to black on his gasp—pure Knight cliffhanger catnip. “We left ’em hanging, literally,” Boyle laughed to Tudum. “But Arthur’s a fighter; Season 2’s his resurrection.”

Knight’s confirmation of Season 2, teased in that BFI chat and echoed in HELLO! exclusives, stems from the show’s swift metrics: 87% on Rotten Tomatoes (“a silky pint of dynastic drama,” per the consensus) and a Metacritic 73 signaling “generally favorable.” The Guardian gushed over Norton’s “pheromone-sizzling” Rafferty, while The Hollywood Reporter praised the “electric energy” but nitpicked the “meandering back half.” Fans on X (formerly Twitter) erupted, #HouseOfGuinnessS2 trending with 1.2 million posts: “That noose? Knight, you monster—renew now!” (@DublinDramas, 50K likes). Netflix, ever data-driven, held off official word until post-premiere views solidified, but insiders whisper a mid-October greenlight, eyeing a fall 2026 drop to capitalize on holiday pours.

What to expect from the encore? Knight’s vision spans “multiple series,” per The Mirror, picking up threads from the real Guinnesses’ 1870s-80s heyday: Arthur’s philanthropy boom (those 80,000 slum homes weren’t cheap), Edward’s transatlantic empire-building amid Prohibition whispers, and Anne’s proto-feminist push mirroring the era’s Married Women’s Property Acts. Fictionally, the noose tightens: Arthur’s “resurrection” could unmask Byron as a triple agent—English spy, Fenian mole, or family saboteur? Edward’s Yankee dalliance brews a bastard heir subplot, while Ben’s sobriety cracks under a cartel of rival distillers. Anne steps center stage, perhaps commandeering a female-led export line. New blood? Rumors swirl of Cate Blanchett as a Vanderbilt matriarch, or Barry Keoghan slinking in as a Fenian bomb-maker. “Season 2 pours darker,” Knight hinted to TV Insider. “The empire expands, but so do the graves.”

Behind the barley curtain, production was a transatlantic tango. Knight’s Kudos banner, fresh off SAS: Rogue Heroes, teamed with Nebulastar for a £25 million budget, shooting across Ireland (Dublin’s St. James’s Gate brewery as the heart), Wales (Penrhyn’s neo-Norman halls for Iveagh House), and England’s northwest (Stockport mills for factory brawls). Directors Tom Shankland (The Devil’s Hour) helmed the first five eps with taut, fog-shrouded visuals, handing off to Mounia Akl (Costa Brava, Lebanon) for the finale’s feverish flair. The score—Gaelic fiddles laced with electronic undercurrents—mirrors Knight’s anachronistic ear, earning Spotify playlist spins in the millions.

The cast, a mix of rising Irish talent and Brit heavyweights, sells the suds. Boyle’s Arthur channels Cillian Murphy’s Tommy Shelby with a rosary twist—pious yet pulverizing, his Episode 4 pub rant a viral sensation. Partridge, post-Enola Holmes, infuses Edward with Byronic charm, his New York nude scene sparking tabloid frenzy (and a discreet NSFW filter on Netflix). Fairn’s Anne, the “overlooked” engine, steals quieter moments, her salon showdowns echoing The Responder‘s grit. O’Shea’s Ben tugs heartstrings amid the haze, while Norton’s Rafferty slithers with Happy Valley menace. Gleeson’s Byron, a post-Joffrey pivot, drips oily menace: “He’s the pint you regret at last call,” Gleeson told Parade.

Off-screen, the vibe was “like a family reunion with free beer,” per Fairn. Boyle and Partridge bonded over hurling matches; O’Shea hosted sober mixers (irony noted). Knight, 66 and reflective post-Peaky film delays, called it “therapy in tartan—exploring inheritance’s curse through my own da’s stories.” Lowell, the heiress hook, ensured authenticity: “No stereotypes; just the raw pour of privilege and pain.”

Critics split hairs: Variety flagged “overstuffed” subplots diluting the punch, but Decider dubbed it “Knight’s smoothest yet—grittier than The Crown, sexier than Bridgerton.” Purists gripe at liberties—like Anne’s invented radicalism—but Gabaldon-esque fans lap it up. Social buzz? TikTok edits of the will-reading rack 5 million views; Reddit’s r/HouseOfGuinness theorizes Arthur’s “ghost” season arc (20K upvotes).

As House of Guinness ferments toward its sophomore sip, one truth foams clear: In Knight’s world, legacy isn’t poured—it’s plotted. Season 1 quenched the thirst; Season 2 promises a hangover for the ages. With Arthur’s noose still swinging in collective memory, Netflix’s gamble feels like a sure bet. Raise your glass: To more betrayals, bolder brews, and the family that put the “house” in hangover. Sláinte.