Netflix is famous for withholding its viewing data, but it’s probably not a big stretch to say that “Love“ isn’t bringing in huge numbers, like say “Stranger Things.” For one thing, the Judd Apatow-produced series has quietly been on for three seasons, with very little fanfare. Which is unfortunate, because “Love” is an endearing, romantic modern sitcom that deserves better.
Over the course of the first two seasons of “Love,” Mickey and Gus (Gillian Jacobs and Paul Rust) will-they-or-won’t-they’d around each other while simultaneously navigating their work lives, and, in Mickey’s case, alcoholism and sobriety. Given the series’ shortened lifespan, season three mostly dispenses with the will-they-won’t-they drama in favor of the inevitable “will they?” and the answer is, as you might expect, yes. Season three is all about how Mickey and Gus function as an official couple.
Spoiler alert: they function well. “Love” has always been at its best when it’s just Mickey and Gus hanging out; Rust and Jacobs have all the chemistry in the world. There’s a definite Apatowian “hot girl falling in love with nerdy-looking dude” wish-fulfillment aspect to their whole relationship, and your tolerance for this show likely hinges on your tolerance for that unlikely trope (for what it’s worth, both Apatow and Rust seem to be living actual versions of that trope). But regardless as to the likelihood of their pairing, watching the show’s two romantic leads flirt as they peruse through a thrift shop, or eat a mango, or misrepresent themselves at an open house is always a joy.
Rather than contriving elaborate, sitcommy fallings-out between Mickey and Gus, this season is content to examine minor relationship conflicts that arise between our leads. However, things start to unravel towards the antepenultimate episode. Gus brings Mickey home to meet his extended family in middle America, leading to an overly-telegraphed fight that threatens their relationship. But the audience can sense this is some last minute drama and the tension doesn’t track; instead, it just means two full episodes of bad cringe-comedy and unpleasantness. “Love” has always straddled the line between wincing laughs and sentimentality, and while it tends to get it right, it’s a real shame that its last few episodes are so preoccupied with an unbelievable drama.
The season also takes care to resolve both Mickey and Gus’s professional storylines. Mickey’s old boss, Dr. Greg (the tremendously funny Brett Gelman), continues to be a thorn in her side until the radio station they work at finally decides it’s had enough of his bullshit. Gus, who works as an on-set tutor for privileged teen actors (including Arya, played by Apatow’s daughter Iris) on the set of “Witchita,” a supernatural CWesque series, continually endures the disdain of his showrunner, played by Tracie Thoms, until she conveniently forgets about all of his mishaps so as to give him a happy ending in the series finale.
The patness of the finale is a problem here; while in previous seasons the show at least pretended to have more stakes than a traditional sitcom (considering Mickey’s alcoholism and sex addiction), it’s as if Apatow is throwing his hands up in the air and giving up by just allowing everything to turn out peachy for Mickey and Gus. The last few episodes of “Love” undo a lot of the goodwill established by previous installments.
Another odd aspect of Mickey and Gus’s work lives is this: over the course of the show’s first two seasons, both of them had, at one point or another, been sexually harassed by their boss. Mickey even went so far as to sleep with Dr. Greg, thinking that she’d lose her job if she abstained. And yet, the show likes both Dr. Greg and Thoms’s Susan Cheryl, wordlessly forgiving them of all wrongdoing by virtue of them both being generally fucked-up people. It seems like a particularly strange track to take, considering #MeToo and all, not least because of Apatow’s vocal support for said movement.
Regardless, the show’s leads are excellent, Rust in particular. No one had any doubt that Jacobs could lead a series like this; she’s a conventionally attractive actress who was great for years on “Community” and has been working regularly since. Rust, on the other hand, has had a substantial presence in the alt-comedy world (New No Nos, anyone?) for years now, and has had success as a TV writer, but hasn’t had a mainstream acting role since “I Love You, Beth Cooper.” He’s consistently delightful on “Love,” funny, charming, romantic, vulnerable and upon reaching the series finale, one feels the wistful sensation of saying goodbye to this character for good.
While “Love” doesn’t necessarily always do narrative justice to its central duo, Claudia O’Doherty has a truly fabulous season as Bertie, Mickey’s roommate and girlfriend of Mike Mitchell’s Randy. O’Doherty is an amazing comic performer and hilarious person, and she’s always been one of “Love’”s best selling-points. Bertie has always deserved better than Randy, a fact that she begins to realize over the course of the final season. Eventually, she has a meltdown where she finally lets loose and tells Randy what’s been bothering her. It’s a bravura performance from O’Doherty, one of the funniest TV scenes I can recall, and I fully expect to rewatch it regularly until some hacker destroys Netflix in twenty years or whatever.
The work behind the camera has been stellar too. Apatow and Rust have amassed an amazing array of indie-film talent for their show’s farewell. Episodes are directed by—among others— Apatow himself, the great Michael Showalter (“The Big Sick,” “Hello My Name Is Doris,”), Lynn Shelton (“Outside In”), and one of my personal favorite working directors, Janicza Bravo, who directed last year’s astounding “Lemon.” (Bravo actually gets to direct a Bertie-centric episode, which is unsurprisingly the season’s standout episode.) And while TV comedy directors don’t tend to have a huge impact on the feel of a show, the influence of these professionals is felt throughout. Shelton, for instance, directs an episode that is half a Mickey-Gus hangout episode, and half a showcase for one of the show’s most popular running gags: Gus’s band that writes theme songs for movies that don’t have them (one of the show’s all-time best sequences involves the band’s take on “While We Were Sleeping”). Shelton is known for her indie-sentimentality, and her distinct sensibility significantly elevates both halves of the episode.
One can’t also help but mention Harris Wittels too, the late comedian and “Parks and Recreation” writer even though he had absolutely nothing to do with “Love.” Aside from being one of the funniest people in the world, Wittels was one of Rust’s best friends and his bandmate. Rust’s theme-song band in “Love” seems at least partially modeled on “Don’t Stop or We’ll Die” the (genuinely great) band that Wittels was in along with Rust and their pal Michael Cassady. Wittels died tragically from a heroin overdose before “Love” was even a thing, but it’s all-but-certain that he would have been a regular presence on Rust’s show if he were still alive.
Uneven as it might be, “Love” still engenders a lot of affection. From Rust’s performance to O’Doherty’s, to the show’s refreshing lack of cynicism, to Gus’s group of friends who are played by an impressive bunch of alt-comedy figures. While the final episodes do veer into unnecessary melodrama, the final season is mostly content to simply enjoy its character’s happiness. And that’s a mature, almost bold choice. Thankfully toning down the cringe-comedy in favor of something warmer, more earnest, “Love” may not entirely stick the landing in its final, crucial episodes, but its winsome characters and endearing manner still leaves enough to wholeheartedly recommend. [B]