Stream It Or Skip It: ‘Ex-Addicts Club’ on Netflix, a Wacky Indonesian Sitcom About a Support Group for Heartbroken Sad Sacks

Among Netflix’s burgeoning array of content from Indonesia is Ex-Addicts Club, a comedy series led by actress/singers Agatha Pricilla and Rachel Amanda. It’s a multi-camera sitcom about five friends, all single and obsessed with their exes, who come together to whine about their seemingly perpetual state of brokenheartedness. Whether it’s a healthy support-group environment that promotes healing or a situation that only further enables them to wallow in their own rancid emotional juices is the question; my money’s on the latter, because it’s a scenario far more ripe for wacky situational comedy.

EX-ADDICTS CLUB: STREAM IT OR SKIP IT?

Opening Shot: A close-up on Raysa (Agatha Pricilla), tears in her eyes, a dumbfounded, shocked expression on her face.

The Gist: Raysa’s upset because she’s just been dumped by her boyfriend. He takes the bicycling helmet from her head and leaves her, squatting in the park and sobbing. And so she’s inspired to form a support group of fellow brokenhearted types and they meet in the cafe she runs, and the intro sequence gives us an idea of who these sad-sack weirdos are: Tina (Rachel Amanda) is a slightly ditzy tarot card reader. Asep (Andri Mashadi) is a barista with a short temper. Kori (Chicco Kurniawan) is a sensitive artist. And Kevin (Hafizh Wada), who won’t show up until the end of the episode, is a rich guy. This is the Ex-Addicts Club, a title that appears to be a play on words because, you know, they’re addicted to their exes.

I think their goal is to help each other get over their breakups, but for now, there’s just a lot of incoherent wailing and pathetic expressions of pseudo-comic despair. Defaced photos of their exes sit on the coffee table. Asep delivers a five-alarm whinge during which he says his ex’s name three times, a no-no policed by a wacky little robot, who prompts him to put money in a jar for his offense. Tina blithers on about planet alignments and karma, and the robot penalizes her for “mentioning your ex’s name with all of your feelings.” Kori acts like a lunatic, and the robot calls him out: “Denial! Denial!” And while I understand that the robot is trying to keep these people on a healthy track, I must assert that it needs to be drop-kicked into the sea.

Just then, some wacky neighbors bust in the door, accusing Raysa of forming an “anarchist cult.” Jeepers! She tries to explain that it’s just a support group and that any violent rhetoric is just hyperbole and all that, when all of a sudden, a spiritual guru arrives to curtail the argument. He’s Mr. Wind of Zephyr, and he’s obviously a scam artist. He goes on about auras and junk, then shakes our protags down for all the cash in the “swear jar.” His solution for the group’s psychic pain? Essential oils. Yes, feel free to sad-trombone that one. The next day, they’re forced from the cafe by a power outage, and just as they’re finally getting a breath of fresh air and enjoying the outside world and all its welcome distractions from their heartbreak, Raysa’s ex bikes on by and she turns to moosh. They retreat to the cafe and see news reports that Mr. Wind of Zephyr has been arrested for being a fraud. And then Kevin walks in, disheveled and crying. It’s clear he doesn’t want coffee. He wants to join the Ex-Addicts Club.

What Shows Will It Remind You Of? I dunno, an American sitcom about a handful of unlucky-in-love men and women who hang out in a coffee shop all the time. I forget the name of it. But they’re all, you know, pals. Compadres. Anyway, this is sort of an Indonesian version of that, except with a more specific premise, and an annoying robot instead of a monkey.

Our Take: Fifteen years ago, Ex-Addicts Club would be filmed in front of a live studio audience and be punctuated by persistent canned laughter. It’s bright, cheery, artificial and one step away from positioning Mrs. Ochmonek at her window, spying on the principals with binoculars. As pilots go, this one is shabby and inconsistent; it’s awkwardly paced, with clunky comic timing and not much in the way of conflict. Sure, series-debut episodes always face the challenge of establishing characters within the larger premise, but this one hops gracelessly from moment to moment without much dramatic momentum. That, and the robot is a bridge too far into Wackyville. I understand how this group of characters needs someone/thing with an objective perspective to shake them from their navel-gazing, but this rickety bleep-bloop smacks more of desperation than inspiration. 

Structure is the main issue with this episode. I’d punch it up like so: Introduce Kevin sooner. Make everyone skeptical of adding him to the group. Bring in the guru character, and let Kevin be the one who exposes him as a fraud, therefore saving his new friends from being ripped off, and earning his place. The cast, especially Pricilla and Amanda, seems game and likable, but they need better writing to support their work. Ex-Addicts Club needs to tighten up its scripts if it wants to be a winner.

Sex and Skin: None so far.

Parting Shot: The four principals comfort poor Kevin as he flops on the couch.

Sleeper Star: I know Pricilla is the lead, but she’s the only cast member in the pilot who isn’t subject to overly goofy outbursts. She may be the series’ much-needed calming presence.

Most Pilot-y Line: Asep voices his frustration with the group: “Locking us in here just makes me keep thinking about my ex!”

Our Call: Ex-Addicts Club offers a decent comic premise, but its pilot lacks competent execution, so I say SKIP IT. Promise me you’ll punt the robot, and maybe I’ll reconsider that assessment.

John Serba is a freelance writer and film critic based in Grand Rapids, Michigan.