You know those godawful American domestic sitcoms? The one where the central male character surrounds himself with a crew composed of extended family, and they all go off on zany adventures while his long-suffering housewife, the wet blanket voice of reason, rolls her eyes and deals with the fallout of their antics?
Imagine that, but Breaking Bad.
Kevin Can F Himself is the result. It stars Annie Murphy, aka the daughter in Schitt’s Creek (that makes this the second show she’s been in with an implied profanity in the title, so she gets two nickels), as the housewife, Allison, with the emphasis on the long suffering.
The lead character of the sitcom is Kevin, which is why he gets his name in the title of the show, but it’s what happens when he’s not on screen that explains why he can F himself.
The sitcom is brightly lit, based around the classic sitcom house (door at one end that opens into a living room where all the armchairs face the fourth wall, with stairs going up along the back wall, and a door leads through to a kitchen with chairs around only three sides of the kitchen table). The cameras are stationary, switching to other characters through cuts. Characters deliver their lines with an emphasis on clearly announcing the next scripted joke in preference to conveying deep emotion, and the studio audience laughs uproariously at every one of them, even if the joke was lame. Nobody swears.
Kevin holds two parties, one sophisticated for his boss, and one trashy for his friends.
Kevin and his idiot best friend Neil start a band.
Kevin gets into a feud with an unseen neighbour.
Kevin decides he wants to start a family with Allison.
Kevin stands for election to the city council.
They reuse the ‘two parties’ plot, in the same season, one for a meal with Allison, the other at the arcade with Neil.
It’s a bad sitcom, written perfectly as a bad sitcom.
But the moment Allison is alone, everything changes. A darker, more natural lighting emerges. Shadows appear. Characters no longer talk like they’re just there to entertain an audience. Allison swears.
The camerawork closes in as handheld cameras catch every twitch of the fingers and every crease of the forehead.
You see the fourth wall. The set literally has a wall where the studio audience supposedly was a second earlier.
This sudden shift signals the other half of the show. You know I mentioned Breaking Bad? Allison breaks bad, except instead of dealing meth, her bad is plotting the murder of her emotionally abusive, narcissistic manchild of a husband.
But it’s not just a show of two halves. The crime thriller side of Allison’s life keeps interfering with the sitcom, even if Kevin is largely clueless. First of all, the token chick of Kevin’s gang, Patty, gets drawn into Allison’s plot, drifting away from Kevin’s orbit, and we discover there’s a lot more to her than the two-dimensional sitcom version. Other overlaps occur, including a deadly serious storyline late in the series that leaves Kevin traumatised within his brightly coloured world, even if he gets better as soon as he thinks of a new any scheme.
In trying to break free from her old life as a domestic sitcom housewife, Allison is destroying the lives of those around her. Sitcoms have no consequences for the actions of their characters, but the crime drama is all about the consequences of bad decisions.
The first season ends with a shocking act of realistic violence taking place involving a sitcom character in the sitcom world, before that character is yanked, apparently permanently, into the dramatic world.
The technical aspects of the show are brilliant. The syncing up of a stupid comedy with a gritty crime drama shouldn’t work, but it absolutely does.
Season one is included with Amazon Prime in the UK, but the second season needs paying for. I’ll be doing that just as soon as payday arrives.



