Television review: Amazon's CATASTROPHE, season 1
It’s hard to do a rom-com right. And if you didn’t know any better, Amazon's spiky new series Catastrophe might sound of the kind that you’d definitely steer clear of.
Aside from almost entirely borrowing the premise of Jenna Elfman’s ill-conceived sitcom vehicle Accidentally on Purpose, the show’s very fabric is riddled with the contrivances and eccentricities that we’ve been conditioned to avoid. Created by and starring Sharon Horgan (Pulling) and Twitter King Rob Delaney, Catastrophe begins with a one-night-stand gone awry. American ad man Rob visits London on business, meets Sharon, a school teacher, at a bar, and has one hell of a night. Their chemistry is intense; what should have been a night of passion turns into a week of passion, consuming virtually all of Rob’s time across the pond. He spends a few weeks back home, gets a call from “Sharon London Sex,” and is told — whoops — that she’s pregnant.
It might not sound particularly funny or romantic or original, and yet Catastrophe is all of those things from its opening seconds. Its voice is so assured that there’s never even a chance to worry about the potential triteness of its concept, or the improbability of the Rob/Sharon romance. Granted, Rob’s decision to pack it up and head to London to help Sharon through (and beyond) her pregnancy might be a tad, ahem, extreme for reality. And maybe, in the real world, there would have been a slightly longer conversation about Sharon’s options.
But Catastrophe only has 30 minutes to get rolling, and given its heightened conceit, it manages an astonishing degree of believability in that timeframe. More specifically, its characters emerge prickly and genuine, distinct and honest. It’s not hard to connect with Sharon’s belief that she should have this baby; it’s easy to understand Rob’s choice to give her, the baby and a real stab at love a chance. Because Catastrophe is never less than smooth: the journeys of its main characters flow affably, easily, enjoyably, tenderly — any positive adverb does fine, really.
Romantic comedies draw from personal experience in their humor, their poignancy and their very construction. As a result, their success is dependent on our ability to connect with and invest in the relationship and the challenges it faces. Catastrophe feels human in its humor, and that’s absolutely vital. Moreover, the romance teeters around convention, but knowingly: both Rob and Sharon are intently aware of their bizarre predicament, and aren’t afraid of making fun of themselves. Without question, a big reason Catastrophe transcends is the intelligence and self-awareness of its characters.
Plus, the show, at a brisk six half-hours, is beautifully lived-in. There’s a rugged, unconventional intimacy to it that emanates comfort. The show treats Sharon’s pregnancy maturely, and allows her to be snippy and unsexy and sedentary in a way that doesn’t diminish her character’s overall appeal. Similarly, the arguments between Sharon and Rob can get visceral and nasty before wrapping up on a moment’s notice; there’s a bracing true-to-life element in the way Catastrophe exposes the difficulties of living with someone, without it outweighing the newfound sense of purpose that Rob and Sharon have brought to each other’s lives.
Catastrophe doesn’t set its sights too high, opting for some gorgeously raunchy sex talk and relatively low dramatic stakes instead of something more quote-unquote profound. But it cuts deep as a result, with a stirring resonance and a consistently hilarious streak. Often surprisingly, this is that rare show unafraid to be sexy and funny at the same time. (In an early episode, there’s a great running gag about Sharon’s penchant for simultaneous horniness and sadness.) There’s something to be said for Catastrophe’s own sense of self, operating along with its characters and allowing everything to happen naturally. The specificity of the characters allows for unexpected pathos and varied comedy to conflate in forms truer to life than what we’re normally inclined to dub “authentic.”
So yes, there’s an invigorating sense of difference to Catastrophe. But the greatest commendation I can give the show is its comfort in simplicity and its trust in character. There are things that don’t completely work, including an uneven supporting cast that somewhat abruptly builds in prominence, but like any new sitcom it grows into its rhythms and gradually sands its rough edges.
It’s definitely the best romantic comedy of the year; it’s probably the best new comedy of the year. But this is one of those situations where such superlatives don’t even really matter. Watching Catastrophe is deeply connective, whether in recognizing its rhythms (the not in the mood for sex, let’s watch Homeland instead bit was, in the best way, all too familiar) or in taking deep pleasure in its biting sense of humor. Like the best of rom-coms, it’s personal and relatable — not to mention sexy, clever and often remarkably sweet. I wouldn’t call it groundbreaking, but I'd without hesitation say it’s the next best thing: rom-coms are hard, but Catastrophe makes it look all too easy.
Grade: A-
