A Man on the Inside: Season 1

There are two things I will always check out: A sitcom created by Mike Schur and a sitcom starring Ted Danson. Honestly, the first has kind of mixed results in my experience, but Danson is probably the best sitcom actor in the history of sitcom actors. There is a sappiness to Schur’s aesthetic that probably warms peoples’ hearts, but also engenders an inertness to its characters. Conflict is muted. Any kind of edginess is rounded off. Funny is not so funny. This was my major issue with Parks & Rec, as well as the latter years of The Good Place, where the kumbaya of it all overwhelmed the comedy. The selfish, petty and flawed characters in The Office felt so much more real in comparison, even though their inherent goodness — a hallmark of Schur’s — shone through when it came down to it. Even the cartoonish, sometimes sweet characters in Brooklyn Nine-Nine developed in a way that was broad, brash and funny and not seemingly built — as A Man on the Inside is — for an aging audience afraid of anything with any sharp elbow. Or aggressive laughs.

In terms of funny, it seems Schur has hit his nadir. Yes, A Man on the Inside is overwhelmingly not funny. Even with Danson doing his usual thing. Because Schur’s slid all the way down the schmaltz meter to the “sweet” side of his oeuvre. Past Parks & Rec, past the last season of The Good Place, all the way to the far side of that scale from The Office where the squishy, nutless version of Cocoon lives. Aw, old people. They’re so lonely. They all have stories of their younger selves and all they want is to be loved like us! The characters in this show might as well be puppies for all the personality Schur imbues them with. Because old people can be funny. They can be a little edgy. They can be human. Have we not seen The Golden Girls, people? Sassy, horny old broads.

Instead we get this milquetoast story about this incredibly pleasant, lonely ex-professor named Charles Nieuwendyk (Danson) who happens upon a job working for a private investigator masquerading as a retirement home resident. Here we get the over-educated, erudite Danson. You know, the guy who seems a little alien in every room. Tall and always perfectly coiffed, not aware of how normal people act or live. But, hey, this group of normal old folks will teach him about human feelings and having fun! Sure. All while he searches for a missing broach or necklace or something. A mystery that it’s unclear if we’re supposed to care about. Though I’m pretty sure we’re not. Especially because it’s obvious from the first episode what happened to the piece of jewelry. And yet Charles’ private investigator employer is somehow being paid to house Charles and continue to work on this case that goes on and on and seems to only exist to teach Charlie that his fellow residents, like him, are struggling with aging and familial stuff. They’re all so adorable.

One issue is that Danson doesn’t seem old. Mostly because he’s not, really. Which seems like it would be an immediate red flag for the staff and residents he’s supposed to be fooling. He also has this whole thing where he pretends his employer — who visits him at the home for some reason — is his daughter and that his actual daughter, who also ends up visiting, is his niece. He has to juggle this subterfuge, and somehow nobody is smart enough to unwind his ruse. Which you just know is going to end up being the fulcrum when his deception with his now friends is uncovered. It’s all super-low stakes. But ultimately heading exactly where we know it’s heading. And maybe that’s the thing. There are no surprises here. Nothing even remotely unexpected. The little stories about his fellow olds are sweet in a paint-by-numbers kind of way. I’m sure the CBS crowd will like their little tales. And their nice, little Nickelodeon-level break ups and make ups. Which all makes sense when all you really have is “Ted Danson goes undercover at a retirement home and learns the meaning of friendship.” And then you have to produce eight episodes within that framework. There’s just not enough meat there. Or enough jokes. Sure, it’s sweet. But that’s what I get from those short cross-species-getting-along pet videos on Instagram. I don’t need it in my TV.