‘Mr. Corman’ Is the Rare Show That Proves You Need to Give Great TV Time

You would be excused for wanting to turn off Mr. Corman after the first episode. Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s new show is a whirlwind of some of the most eye-rolling tropes of our current wave of sad pseudo-comedies, a series built around an anxious-depressive straight man who has become disenchanted by his own perfectly fine life. But that’s the entire point. If you give this acutely self-aware show a sincere three-episode chance, it will surprise you. Mr. Corman isn’t another sad-sack dramedy; it’s a response to the genre.

In many ways, Mr. Corman also feels like a direct reaction to Levitt’s arguably best known and most criticized film, 500 Days of Summer. There are a shocking amount of similarities between Summer‘s Tom and Mr. Corman‘s Josh. Both are single men who don’t entirely know what to do with their lives. Both are highly opinionated and confident to the point of nearly being smug. Both are looking for someone to “fix” them, though they would never outwardly admit anything is wrong. Depending on who you ask, 500 Days of Summer is either a sweet romance or an insightful reflection on how this one man uses his girlfriend as a prop for his own ego. Mr. Corman falls comfortably into the latter camp, only instead of projecting his insecurities on Zooey Deschanel, our anxious antihero sucks everyone into his self-pitying wake.

And to hear Josh tell it, he has a lot to hate about his life. When we first meet Josh he’s a middle school teacher who’s given up on his dreams of becoming a professional musician. He was recently dumped by his often mentioned girlfriend, Megan, played by Juno Temple in a role that can only be described as a grounded and authentic pixie dream girl. He’s an adult man who still lives with a roommate, Arturo Castro’s instantly engaging Victor, and he has no romantic prospects or even any real life. Just finding somewhere cool for a Friday night out requires semi-begging texts to long forgotten friends. Josh — in his own estimation of his professional, social, and romantic status — kind of sucks. But as the show unfolds, there’s a nagging sense that Josh is realizing he may suck on a personal level as well.

This acknowledgement creeps up during his arguments with his mother, Ruth (Debra Winger), or his venting to Victor. In every confrontation we’re asked to take Josh’s side. Yet more often than not, that’s the side that feels the most emotionally draining. You can only watch someone passive-aggressively bully their mom over trying her best as a single parent or whine to their friend about how their seemingly OK life is a nightmare so many times before the schtick wears thin. And that’s the entire point.

With each episode, Mr. Corman picks at this disillusioned layer of victimhood Josh has plastered onto himself. As each new character is introduced, the show’s perspective changes ever so slightly, and it picks at this, a layer at a time. And this exploration shines a light on how insufferable the antiheroes we love to watch would be to know in real life.

There’s another, more grounded takeaway from this framing. Through Josh, Mr. Corman highlights just how emotionally taxing it can be to care for or about someone with a mental illness. It’s an ode to Josh’s self-appointed caretakers as told through his dysfunction. That’s why those first few “woe is me” episodes are so critical. You have to understand just how draining Josh can be before you can fully appreciate the people holding him together.

In this day and age, asking anyone to give a show a few episodes is a big ask. There’s so much great television out there; why should anyone waste a minute on something that’s only so-so? But Mr. Corman is the rare TV exception that proves some shows need time. Mr. Corman has the potential to become something truly great and powerful, a modern-day mirror to the glorifying of perceived trauma that has come to define so many narratives. You just have to give it space to get there.

Watch Mr. Corman on Apple TV+