Over the course of his career, writer and showrunner Bill Lawrence has grown so adept at the mechanics of good, “nice” comedy that he could write a series like “Rooster” in his sleep. Between his work in creating feel good comedies such as his recent work in “Ted Lasso” and “Shrinking,” to the touch of melodrama that sneaks into even the more irreverent episodes of “Scrubs,” he has finely tuned the mechanics of blending workplace and hangout comedies with the formidable aid of strong, ensemble casts (often with a familiar face or two from his previous works.) They’re digestible, likable, and cast a wide net on audiences looking for easy, digestible, and likable stories and characters. But the best of them challenge the narrative’s status quo, at least a little. “Rooster,” at least for now, seems a little too comfortable coasting by.
READ MORE: The 75 Most Anticipated TV Shows & Mini-Series Of 2026
Created by Lawrence and Matt Tarses, “Rooster” wastes little time establishing a tone. We are, yet again, faced with characters who are upper, upper-middle class, possessing the type of easy wealth that negates written monetary stressors. A house burns down, and it’s a mere talking point. The characters are, for the most part, likable, and even the worst of them show signs of future redemption. They’re quirky and flawed. The story pairs the ensemble to demonstrate intergenerational friendships and dynamics, strengthening the idea of community, which is so pertinent to all of Lawrence’s work.
There’s a safety to familiarity—a comfort. And yet the series goes beyond our desire for familiar beats from well-known showrunners into a quiet sense of redundancy. We’ve seen this before, and we’ve seen it done better. There’s charm and good performances, but it doesn’t hit the mark of said betters, nor does it seem to be striving to at all.
Steve Carell stars as a vaguely Steve Carell-type (a little awkward, very sincere, with a well-weaponized pair of sad eyes) named Greg, an author of a popular, pulpy novel series. When the series begins, he’s simply visiting his daughter, Katie (Charly Clive), a professor, and speaking as a guest at the school where she works. Katie is recently divorced, and her ex-husband and fellow professor, Archie (Phil Dunster), has begun an affair with a post-grad student, Sunny (Lauren Tsai). However, Greg’s calm visit comes to an end following Katie accidentally setting fire to Archie’s house. Now, he must play nice with the university and take a teaching position to save Katie’s job and livelihood, uprooting his life to maintain hers.
At a glance, there are plenty of interesting, nuanced layers to explore. Especially once the series begins to delve into Greg’s loneliness, left bereft and isolated after he dropped everything so quickly to protect his daughter. But so many of the better elements of the story go uninvestigated – at least in the six episodes offered to critics. “Rooster” is committed to light, airy narratives rather than willing to probe anything deeper than moment-to-moment grievances. Which is a shame, considering the darker roots that Lawrence’s most recent series, “Shrinking,” is all too happy to explore while still maintaining the set design and color palette of a modern romcom.
Instead, the show lacks urgency or drive. There’s no narrative propulsion. The characters exist, interact, and bicker, take steps forward before fumbling backwards, but it’s hard to discern a point. What story is “Rooster” trying to tell? Because in the opening moments, it seems like it’s going to be a story about a father and daughter learning to work around one another, with one half of the duo in the dark about just how much the other half does for her.
It then suggests, perhaps, a delayed coming-of-age story about a nearly 60-year-old man having to reckon with his own insecurities when faced with new potential relationships. It flirts with the thematic undercurrent of what it means to be in a romantic relationship that’s complicated and messy, where both parties drift. Still, only one truly sets the course for implosion. There’s no shortage of interesting concepts presented in the series, but none of them are fully delivered on.
The shining star of the series, without question, is Danielle Deadwyler as Dylan, a literature professor whose work Greg admired. Dylan is complicated and messy while still managing to have her life together, and Deadwyler is so excessively charismatic that she might’ve made for a better central protagonist. She doesn’t just demonstrate her innate ability to inject gravitas into any scene with a hint of depth; she’s also desperately funny. Perhaps unexpectedly so for those more attuned with her dramatic work.
But she and Carell share genuine, palpable chemistry that lights up the screen whenever they’re on screen together. And her back-and-forth with fellow comedic MVP John C. McGinley bursts with energy, their differing deliveries giving the back-and-forth a necessary percussive wit. Even with her limited screentime compared to Carell or Clive, Deadwyler cements herself as the heart of the series while also offering an effortless reminder of why she’s one of the best currently working today.
Conversely, the shifting dynamic between exes, Katie and Archie, lacks any friction. There’s a sense of artifice to their interactions, as if the show has to force us to believe they were once married. Dunster shakes off the specificity of what made his “Ted Lasso” character so aggravatingly charming for a character much more polished but infinitely less likable. Archie also faces varying personalities from episode to episode. He moves from remorse to a flippantly callous tone, depending on what best suits the story rather than maintaining necessary continuity in characterization.
Even Katie’s storyline is stuck in neutral despite her world being the one most in shambles. Despite dealing with the fallout of extramarital affairs and nearly losing her job, her storyline is aimless. Clive is watchable but never elevates the material the way someone like Deadwyler can. Meanwhile, Tsai as Sunny is delightful, especially as the series gives her more to dig into, allowing her more agency than simply the “other woman.” This is especially true once we meet her roommate, played with acerbic, barbed-tongued excellence by comedian Robby Hoffman.
And yet “Rooster,” for all of its faults and wayward momentum, is just fun enough to keep it from being a total dud. The writing is, to no surprise, very funny, despite some missteps with physical comedy. The actors play well off of one another, even if the writing never convinces us of each bout of camaraderie, and ones such as Deadwyler, McGinley, and Dunster are having clear fun with their roles. Between the autumnal atmosphere, the nondescript campus lifestyle, and the well-favored alt-rock needle drops, the sum of the parts of “Rooster” is likeable enough, even if it’s never challenging.
It’s just a shame because the series has all of the elements to make it a must-watch. And Deadwyler alone comes close to ensuring it is, regardless. But why introduce deeper plotlines and story beats if the effort was always going to be conversational? The dramedy nature is vital to the story’s foundation; there’s no need to venture into too dark a territory, especially since the series doesn’t call for it. But surely it’s not quite as vapid as the empty cups of hot chocolate Carell’s Greg is constantly walking around with?
“Rooster,” like its characters, is still working itself out. The HBO comedy series has all of the markings of a must-see. From a stacked ensemble cast of newcomers and veteran, seasoned players to the cozy familiarity of workplace tension and comedy, and the thematic core of what it means to heal parts of yourself to move forward in whatever direction life might take you, there are undeniable strengths to the story’s blueprint.
But there’s this nagging sense that even though Lawrence is in fact capable of crafting this type of story in his sleep, it doesn’t mean he should. Maybe, when things get too comfortable, too easy, it’s time to look in another direction or pivot into something more challenging or raw. Because if you’re going to keep producing the same kind of story, it needs to either be perfect or have an objective. Unmoored and unpolished, “Rooster” doesn’t quite clear the bar. [C/B-]
