Kevin Can F ** k Himself Breaks Borders


Only a few episodes have been made available for review.

Talk about your favorite sitcom. Perhaps you are visualizing the Kyle family from My wife and children, or you are in Tim’s Flat at Do not exit. Maybe you’re browsing the shelves at Kim’s Convenience, or the Alvarez clan of One day at a time instantly appears in your head.

They map four divergent and geographically dispersed groups who grapple with their own challenges as they weave their way through the individual and specific worlds their creators sketched out. They have their own unique personality and tone, serving as characters unique to their respective environments, each with their own peculiarities. But basically, they all share the same DNA. They exist to entertain. Their goal is to make you giggle and scream and ultimately make you feel good. Some also manage to impart a bit of wisdom or perspective along the way, but that’s a bonus, not a driving force.

They want you want to to spend time with these characters, and not for the plot points, but because they are also your friends. These are warm, safe spaces you can snuggle into when you’re feeling fragile, and like your real-world, flesh-and-blood friends, you return to them again and again.

Kevin can fuck Himself takes the concept of the sitcom and shatters it in two compelling ways.


AMC’s black comedy, which has no UK home yet, centers on Allison, played by Schitt’s Creek Annie Murphy, a disillusioned woman who wants more. She’s essentially a glorified show-off to her husband Kevin (Eric Petersen), who stays firmly planted on the couch as she goes to get her meals and picks up her dirty laundry from the bedroom floor. After protesting Allison’s wishes for a birthday dinner and hosting her annual “Anniversa-rager” instead – a party that has nothing to do with her marriage and everything to do with him drinking beer with his bonehead homies – he gives in, but Allison is again were expecting to organize their feast, because Kevin.

All of Allison’s interactions with her husband take place in a sitcom, with canned laughter. He spins along, barely stopping to catch his breath, the tone easy and airy and bright. Every time Kevin is away, the show becomes a whole different beast.

The laughter stops and the hues are muffled and dull. Kevin’s absence gives Allison the peace of his relentless buffoonery. There are times of silence where the expectations she had for her life taunt her as she confronts her reality: a broken coffee table cobbled together with duct tape, because Kevin. This is when we see the toll that her husband, with his contempt, his chauvinism and his egocentricity, has taken on her in every detail. It’s as if someone had stuck a pin in her and she was deflating before our eyes.

Kevin can fuck himself


These moments are where the most engaging conversations and developments in the series occur. We struggle to escape the fictional world of Kevin’s sitcom so that we can really tap into Allison, whose actions in these scenes propel the narrative. Her fearlessness is built with each action taken because these are choices that serve her rather than her husband. Her need – not her urge – to flip the script bleeds across the screen as she comes to the conclusion that yes, she wants to murder her husband.

It remains to be seen if she will go all the way in the real world as she does in her fantasies, cutting his carotid artery with a broken mug of beer.

Kevin can fuck himself


Kevin can fuck Himself uses the sitcom as a gateway to more. He is the support player and never the main draw, and therefore we are always itch to leave those settings and quickly come back to Allison. Kevin is not convincing, endearing, or funny. You don’t want him to be successful, and you definitely don’t want to spend time with him, unlike the characters in the aforementioned sitcoms. Not that we’re advocating murder, but if Allison is successful, we won’t be wearing black.

It also puts a series of classic male-dominated sitcoms in front and behind the camera in the line of fire. What was going on in the minds of his female characters (and the women who played them)? How did they really to feel when they moved away from painted smiles and nonsense?

“In the sitcom world, so much sexism, misogyny, racism, homophobia and bigotry is masked by this laugh trail,” Murphy said. Vanity Show.

Kevin can fuck himself


She remembers a “gag” from the series to illustrate the first: “My goal in the scene is to have something spilled on me or to spit on me, or just, I’m covered with some sort of grime over and over, over and over again. She’s just the butt of this joke over and over, and a really crass joke. And I really can’t imagine the frustration that so many people have [conventional-family-sitcom actresses] must have felt – who are just as talented if not more than the men they play with, but don’t have the opportunity to show that talent. ”

It’s an intelligent concept, which provokes an equally stimulating and critical dialogue. And while what is happening on screen falls short of expectations in places, the conversation it will inspire off-camera and the momentum it will give women in the industry to demand more, makes it worthy of its reputation. place in the TV list.

This month, Digital Spy Magazine is counting the 50 greatest LGBTQ + TV characters since the Stonewall Riots. Read every issue now with a one-month free trial, only on Apple News +.

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