This will not be your typical review. There are no spoilers, no commentary on the plotlines or the specific circumstances that would make a person not bother watching Ricky Gervais’ third season of After Life.
Because I want everyone I know to sit down, either alone or with a loved one, and watch this casual masterpiece.
The show is built upon the stages of grieving. OK fine, I’ll spoil the first two seasons. Gervais plays a widower who essentially gives up on life once the love of his life passes away. His ability to find value his own life leads him to an almost flippant attitude towards suicide, and he soon realizes that this mindset allows him to remove the verbal and behavioural filters that most of us would instinctively apply. He says what he wants, drinks as much as he wants, and basically tells death to bring it, all while becoming more and more familiar with the people in his life who worry about him.
Full disclosure; I sometimes cry when I watch this show. Gervais’ ability to traverse an almost impossible dance between laughter and tears is unlike anything I have ever seen. He says the things all of us wish we could say, which is, more often than not, the word ‘cunt.’ He drinks copious amounts of wine, something I suspect did not require a degree from Juilliard to portray, and finds himself addicted to the home videos of his deceased wife, who comes off as a salt-of-the-earth, lovely life partner who anyone in their right mind would dearly miss.
There is an aspect to After Life that reminds me of It’s A Wonderful Life, where the friends and co-workers find themselves learning from a person struggling to find their own self-worth. Tony Johnson (Gervais’ character) has a stripped-down philosophy of humanity, especially his own, but the audience is constantly being reminded that even in his self-imposed darkness, the people around him gravitate towards his almost-accidental wisdom. Tony helps people by being himself, and the juxtaposition of watching a man who has lost everything, including what the purpose of life is, impact those around him so positively is the message this viewer takes away in almost every episode.
I’ve never written a review of a show or movie where I refrain from talking about any of the specifics embedded in the storyline. With After Life, I don’t have to talk about anything other than the premise. In a way, Gervais has created a new genre, a sort of schizophrenic comedy that expertly balances hilarious moments with profound sadness that deal with the complexities of every type of relationships imaginable.
My father passed away a couple years before the series launched, and every scene where Tony would speak to his senile father in the senior’s home would propel me back to my relationship with my own father, despite my dad still possessing all of his faculties when he died. The senility, portrayed by the brilliant David Bradley, immediately reminded me of my father’s inability to communicate, and the estranged relationship it created between us. The Alzheimer’s became a metaphor for me, forcing me to take inventory of good memories, and the bad ones as well.
Tony’s relationship with co-workers, his mailman, the local prostitute, and his brother-in-law – all of these interactions serve as an endorsement of just existing in this world and how that existence will inevitably foster humanity between yourself and the people around you. There is a stoicism in how Gervais sketched Tony’s character, allowing the viewer to climb inside and find their own value, or maybe their shortcomings, and embrace those qualities until the elusive idea of self-worth is finally realized.
I often pause the show and allow the subtle, emotional pieces to sink in, allowing myself to feel verklempt before starting the show again and laughing while my eyes are still wet from the previous scene.
I have a difficult time with relationships, especially with family members who I rarely see, or my own life partner who I sometimes think is no longer willing to look at who I am today. I don’t even blame her. I’m not easy. I can be downright miserable. The point is, Tony Johnson is all of us, and through him we can better navigate ourselves so that we can better the lives of those around us, even without trying to, and even if we no longer seem to value ourselves.
Maybe After Life is the world’s first Therapeutic Comedy for cunts like me. I’ll take it.
