There’s something so frustrating about watching a show that should work but can’t quite figure out how to put its puzzle pieces together. Sometimes, the pieces just don’t fit. That’s the experience for the bulk of the six episodes of Netflix’s “Eric,” a drama that tries to do so many different things that it ends up doing too little of any of them. Its most fatal flaw might be that its conceit never feels thematically engaging, distracting from what works best about the show, a series of excellent performances that work on a scene-by-scene basis but never come together to form an effective show overall. Watch it for a reminder that Oscar nominee Benedict Cumberbatch is fearlessly talented and as a pronouncement of a stunning performer named McKinley Belcher III, but be warned that frustration will be the most common emotion produced by this strange journey into ‘80s New York City.
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Lest one thinks that period isn’t emphasized, creator Abi Morgan is constantly reminding viewers when “Eric” takes place. The rise of AIDS, the mishandling of the homeless population in the Big Apple, and even the club scene in the city—“Eric” bizarrely emphasizes so many aspects of its era that it sometimes plays like a parody. It’s only one of several tonal issues in the show, wherein it can vacillate wildly from something that feels raw and grounded to an exaggerated, performative kind of production that feels strangely removed from its setting and reality in general. Sometimes, when a foreign-born filmmaker tackles a chapter of Americana—Morgan is Welsh—it can add an interesting layer of outsider context. However, what happens here is more disjointed and disconnected from reality in a manner that always keeps “Eric” at a distance. One never forgets they’re watching a show instead of getting lost in the emotion of the piece, which is a shame because of how much heavy lifting Cumberbatch and Belcher are doing to try to connect with something pure.
The star of “The Power Of The Dog” plays Vincent, a surly puppeteer who works on a NY production that is not unlike “Sesame Street.” He’s dealing with serious issues at work and home when the unimaginable happens: His son Edgar (Ivan Morris Howe) doesn’t make it to school one day. Is he dead? Kidnapped? A list of suspects immediately surfaces, including the man (Clarke Peters) with a record in Edgar’s building, some regulars at a shady nearby club, one of Vincent’s collaborators (Dan Fogler), and even Vincent himself. Instead of partnering with his wife Cassie (an underused Gaby Hoffmann) to manage his grief, Vincent essentially has a psychotic break, diving deep into addiction while he has visions of a large puppet monster that his son Edgar was designing. He becomes convinced that if he can get Eric, the massive puppet, on the air, Edgar will see it and come home.
“Eric” splits its action pretty much down the middle between the Vincent/Eric arc and that of the investigating officer, Michael (Belcher), who brings an entirely different tone to the show as a quiet, studied cop with secrets of his own. Michael is a closeted gay man in New York in the ‘80s, managing a partner who is dying of AIDS that he can’t even tell anyone about. There’s an entirely different drama buried in “Eric” about racism, homophobia, and the toxic masculinity of the police force. There’s also a show about the political corruption of the era that pushes against both Michael and Vincent’s arcs. And then there’s some family drama with Vincent, infidelity with Cassie, and so on and so on. “Eric” is one of those shows in which everyone has a secret unearthed by the disappearance of a child.
And then there’s a big blue guy in the middle. The truth is that almost every conversation between Vincent and Eric feels like too much frosting on this show’s cake. It needed to be the thrust of the show, a way to really define Vincent’s mental break, but it ends up mostly a distraction. Cumberbatch is such a strong performer that he can sell the combination of anguish and guilt brewing in Vincent’s soul better than any interaction with an imaginary puppet possibly could. There’s a scene midway through the series in which Vincent dances in a club in which one can see every emotion coming to Cumberbatch’s surface in ways that the dialogue on this show just can’t convey.
Similarly, McKinley Belcher III does a lot more with repressed emotion than an overwritten monologue. He’s the breakthrough performer of this show, someone who could easily carry his own drama, and really does through most of “Eric.” The show is often at its best when it gets granular with Michael’s investigation, almost playing more like a “Law & Order” procedural than a high-concept mini-series.
In every episode of “Eric,” there’s something that works, usually in the choices made by the ensemble, and one certainly can’t say that about every show on Netflix. To that end, fans of this one’s multi-talented lead should probably check it out. Everyone else might just want to watch “Sesame Street” instead. [C]