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Jessica Biel's The Sinnergarnered almost unanimous critical acclaim, surprisingly successful ratings, and two Golden Globes nominations in the star-studded categories of BestMiniseries and Best Actress in a Miniseries alongside heavy-hitters like Big Little Lies and FEUD.

Yet somehow, most of us totally missed it when it aired back in August.

For all the positive buzz generated by reviewers, the show never got the mainstream attention that it deserved. It's not hard to see why: As a USA Network limited series with a similar subject matter and genre to Big Little Lies, The Sinnerhad little chance of stealing that HBO thunder.

But its strong showing at the Globes should give you reason enough to believe that we've all missed one of the most binge-worthy female-driven shows of 2017. But there's luckily time to correct that, with episodes still available on USA Network. You only need to catch up on eight 40-minute parts before becoming a bonafide believer in The Sinner.

Both starring and produced by Jessica Biel, the psychological thriller comes across as a passion project with every single person -- both in front of and behind the camera -- punching above and beyond their weight class. Based on a novel by Petra Hammesfahr, it tells the story of young mother Cora Tannetti, as she quietly suffers through her small town suburban existence. Until, that is, a beautiful sunny day at the beach is interrupted by Cora's sudden, inexplicable, brutal act of violence that changes everything.

The Sinner is best understood as a reverse whodunit. There's no question of who committed the crime, with countless townsfolk bearing witness to it in broad daylight, and Cora openly and emphatically confessing her guilt from the start. The question of who is instead replaced by the more existential crisis of why.Or rather, howdoes a sane, loving family woman turn into a lethal criminal within seconds? And what does her fallout say about how we prosecute justice, judge the guilty, and assign blame?

Perhaps no one wants to know the answers to those questions more than Cora herself, who must live day-in and day-out with the lack of motivation for the attack. While the masterful uncovering of why she did it propels the plot forward, the heart of The Sinnerlies in its stark character study. All eyes are zoomed in on Cora, the camera acting as the unrelenting eye of God as she bares her soul, asking for salvation but never accepting forgiveness.

The atmosphere and cinematography always finds the uncanny in the everyday. As Cora begins to unravel her repressed memories, simple things like a water tower or a school bus take on sinister meanings. Shots often hinge on stifling contrast, like the overbearingly vivid blue of the ocean that seems to consume the frail, translucent white of Cora's back. Cora herself wavers between appearing raw and naked, then suddenly aloof -- always just out of reach of being knowable.

And that's really what makes The Sinnerunmissable TV: it is at once entrenched in the reality of the human condition, and suspended in the eerie unreality of Cora's ordeal. Understanding the events that lead to her to that unforgivable act also forces us to confront the complexities of female trauma, sisterhood, redemption, youth, illness, religion, but -- most of all -- the psychological function and universal experience of guilt.

From the first shot of Cora to the last, Biel's performance never ceases to mesmerize. Easily, Cora's character could've fallen into the trappings of Unassuming White Lady Prisoner ala Piper in Orange in the New Black, where our empathy for her relies on the intrigue of not usually seeing women like her behind bars.

Instead, Biel delivers an achingly relatable performance. She might look like the perfect picture of an innocent white female victim, but she's colored in shades of conflicting gray that make her feel like an actual person -- perhaps even unusually familiar. You can't comfortably pin clear cut labels on Cora, her usually quiet, repentive demeanor often subsumed by moments of incredible boldness.

Cora Tanetti is captivating because of her contradiction. Even as her story becomes increasingly unrealistic, you never stop seeing yourself in her. That could be me, you keep thinking, even if the exact details of her life couldn't be further from yours. Because, like the detective who takes a unique interest in getting to the bottom of her strange case understands, Cora's story embodies that undefinable feeling of shame weighing so many of us down.

When detective Ambrose finally explains why he couldn't help but get invested in her case, he tells her that, during their first interview, "The way you were blaming yourself -- I realized it felt familiar. Because I do that too." Continuing with difficulty, he assures Cora as much as himself that, "What they did to us when we were young... I know it wasn’t our fault. I know we didn’t do anything wrong. But I don’t know what to do with it all."

The uncertainty of not knowing what to do with it all is exactly what carries The Sinnerhome, and what makes it much more than just a riveting murder mystery.

So do yourself a favor this weekend. Absolve yourself of the sin of not having watched The Sinner. We promise your soul will thank you for it.

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