HBO’s ‘Somebody Somewhere’: TV Review

The very title of Somebody Somewhere suggests self-effacement, and in some ways the series seems to live up to that impression. Though it wades into painful topics like grief and addiction, it does not wallow in the depths of despair. Though it’s billed as a half-hour comedy, it inspires more smiles and chuckles than belly laughs.

But it would be a mistake to assume such gentleness translates into a show that feels subdued or shallow. Blessed with an eagle eye for detail, a laid-back sense of humor and a disarming sense of compassion, Somebody Somewhere is a mostly low-key delight that occasionally spills over into sheer exuberance.

Created by Hannah Bos and Paul Thureen, and inspired by autobiographical details from star and executive producer Bridget Everett‘s own life, the series follows 40something Sam, who’s still reeling from the death of her big sister Holly some months prior. She spends her weekdays toiling at a tedious test-grading job, and her weekends drinking wine alone in her underwear. We get the sense she’s been drifting along this wave of loneliness so long, she can hardly bring herself to mind anymore.

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Then a nascent friendship with coworker Joel (Jeff Hiller) slowly brings her out of her shell and into the embrace of outsiders — some older, some younger, some queer, some not — who find community and cathartic self-expression singing, drinking and dancing at not-officially-sanctioned “choir practice” parties hosted in a local church.

The above paragraph might already make Somebody Somewhere sound more plot-driven than it is. Though serialized arcs weave together the season’s seven episodes (directed by Robert Cohen and Jay Duplass), the series moves at a meandering stroll rather than a focused sprint. A storyline about Sam’s mother (Jane Brody) fades in and out of focus until it reaches a tipping point late in the season. Joel’s romance with coworker Michael (Jon Hudson Odom) simmers perhaps too much in the background, to the point of pushing some of its most significant developments offscreen. The season’s most propulsive storyline, about Sam’s determination to uncover whatever secret her brother-in-law Rick (Danny McCarthy) is hiding, still makes room for half an episode of Sam and Joel hanging out in the car, cracking jokes about bodily fluids or singing raucous duets while tailing Rick around town.

That’s hardly a complaint. The heart of Somebody Somewhere lies in the easy, spontaneous chemistry between characters who feel not like they were created but like they’ve always existed. I don’t know how much of the dialogue is improvised, but it’s a compliment to both the performers and the screenwriters that it feels like much of it was. Everett may well be more comfortable in Sam’s skin than Sam herself, who softly admits to Joel that she’s not sure she’s “friend material,” seems to be — she laces her scenes with a sly sense of humor, particularly when she’s opposite Hiller’s dorky but surprisingly self-assured Joel.

And while most of the supporting players manage to make an impression with limited screen time, Murray Hill makes the biggest splash as Fred Rococo, the cheerful choir practice emcee. His ability to effortlessly cast a warm, festive glow about him feels akin to a superpower.

Such vivid characterization doesn’t just make for better times. It turns Somebody Somewhere into something quietly revelatory, able to cast off stereotypes and formulas without fuss. Even in the age of Peak TV, when more shows have meant more opportunities to see different kinds of stories onscreen, it’s exceedingly rare to see a series centered on a fat middle-aged woman — let alone one with a farmer family and mostly queer friends.

Yet you wouldn’t know it from the show itself, which wastes no time justifying its choices or calling much attention to them, and instead simply lets these characters get about the business of living their lives. Nor do their plot lines hew to the usual formulas of, for example, small-town misfits dreaming of moving to the big city; Sam and Joel carve out spaces for themselves right in the heart of Manhattan, Kansas. Somebody Somewhere doesn’t bother with political soapboxing, but it doesn’t need to. It makes a statement simply by owning the stage it’s on.

In the glare of that spotlight, it finds something worth celebrating. Sam’s first choir practice comes in the second half of the first episode, and it feels from her vantage point and ours like a cool jug of water offered to someone who didn’t realize until that moment just how parched they were. By the end of that night, she’s been goaded into a performance of Peter Gabriel’s “Don’t Give Up,” her face lighting up with passion and pleasure for what must be the first time in months.

Hell can be other people in Somebody Somewhere, as we see in explosive confrontations with family members or in the more mundane irritations of overstepping coworkers or noisy neighbors. But in scenes of Sam belting out Janis Joplin’s “Piece of my Heart” to an adoring crowd of new friends, or Joel being moved to speechlessness by a gift from Sam, we’re reminded that heaven can be, too.