Imagine stubbornly yanking on a door labeled 'push' until you snap the hinge clean off—just to avoid admitting a tiny mistake. That's the wild, self-sabotaging energy Tim Robinson channels in his hilarious new HBO series, The Chair Company, and it's the kind of unfiltered chaos that hooks you from the start and leaves you questioning your own quirks.
Right from the opening bit in his breakout show, I Think You Should Leave—a sketch comedy gem that's spawned endless memes (check out more on its cultural impact here: https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/tv/tv-features/birth-of-a-cult-comedy-meme-1235186389/)—Robinson embodies a guy dealing with the most minor blunder imaginable. Instead of simply switching tactics, he doubles down hard, claiming the door works both ways and pulling with such frenzy that he ends up a sweaty, sputtering mess. What starts as a split-second embarrassment spirals into full-blown disaster, all because he can't stomach the idea of being wrong.
This relentless grip on even the silliest grudges, escalating them to absurd levels of personal ruin, forms the backbone of Robinson's signature humor. We saw him stretch that concept into a full movie with Friendship this past summer (read the full take here: https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-reviews/friendship-review-tim-robinson-paul-rudd-1235997184/), where his character fixates obsessively on a neighborly annoyance under director Andrew DeYoung's guidance (learn more about DeYoung: https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/t/andrew-deyoung/). Now, The Chair Company on HBO (explore HBO's lineup: https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/t/hbo/) takes it to the next level: an eight-episode run of 30-minute blasts that dive deep into awkward, cringe-worthy territory. Like everything in Robinson's world, it's designed to unsettle you as much as it tickles your funny bone—a rollercoaster that's equal parts squirm and snicker. If you're already a fan of his offbeat style, buckle up for an exhilarating, boundary-pushing adventure.
The Chair Company
The Bottom Line: A mix of unease, edge-of-your-seat tension, and gut-busting laughs that lingers long after.
Airdate: 10 p.m. Sunday, Oct. 12 (HBO)
Cast: Tim Robinson, Lake Bell, Joseph Tudisco, Sophia Lillis, Will Price, Lou Diamond Phillips
Creators: Tim Robinson, Zach Kanin
This blend of comedy and thriller, cooked up alongside I Think You Should Leave co-creator Zach Kanin and helmed for the debut episode by DeYoung, kicks off in a way that's pure Robinson: a seemingly harmless slip-up at work that anyone could brush off. I'm keeping the specifics under wraps to avoid spoilers, but picture this—it's the everyday kind of goof that you might chuckle about over dinner with your partner or kids, then let fade into the background by Monday morning. For most folks, it's no big deal.
Enter William Ronald Trosper, or 'Ron' to those who know him—a quintessential Tim Robinson protagonist who's anything but ordinary. Sure, he starts by playing it cool with a quip, but it's clear from the jump that this minor hiccup is burrowing into his brain like a tick. For beginners dipping into Robinson's universe, think of it as that nagging voice in your head that won't quit; Ron, desperate to dodge the label of 'idiot,' spirals into believing he's caught in some massive plot and positions himself as the brave whistleblower ready to expose it all.
And here's where it gets controversial: doesn't Ron feel like a mirror to so much of today's headlines? As a comfortable, middle-aged white guy with a fragile ego, he's the type who'd torch his entire life just to pin his slip-ups on external villains. That drive to paint himself as the noble underdog overrides his pretty decent everyday existence, pulling him into a shadowy delusion. Sound familiar? It's hard not to draw parallels to real-world figures who've dominated the news cycles lately, turning personal failings into epic battles. But is this show critiquing them, or subtly sympathizing? That's the debate that could divide fans.
Yet Ron's rage doesn't just lash out—it boomerangs back, creating ripples that baffle his coworkers and alarm his loved ones. His wife Barb (played with sharp wit by Lake Bell), teenage son Seth (Will Price), and daughter Natalie (Sophia Lillis, bringing fresh vulnerability) watch in growing concern as his fixation grows. In the end, though, it's Ron who's truly paying the price, unraveling his own stability. Framed this way, he's not some scary outlier but a distorted funhouse echo of the doubts and frustrations we all harbor deep down. Come on, who hasn't daydreamed in the tub about plotting over-the-top payback for a small slight, or tossed and turned at night, rewriting a cringe moment as a heroic saga? These intrusive thoughts are universal, and Robinson shines a light on them without judgment, making us laugh at our shared absurdities.
But this is the part most people miss: Ron's world isn't just his alone—it's a quirky, slightly off-kilter version of ours, dialed up for maximum weirdness. You'll meet socially clumsy geeks enrolling in 'how to be the life of the party' workshops (imagine awkward role-playing sessions gone hilariously wrong), a drama instructor crashing rent-free in a pupil's extra bedroom, and a sidekick named Mike (Joseph Tudisco, nailing the deadpan vibe) who geeks out over tuning into radio shows where dudes hurl profane rants at each other. Even the polished types, like Ron's suave boss Jeff (Lou Diamond Phillips exuding that effortless charisma), teeter on the brink, just one awkward encounter from tumbling into madness. It's a reminder that beneath the surface polish, we're all one petty embarrassment away from eccentricity.
What sets Ron apart—and ramps up the intrigue—is that, unlike our everyday fantasies, he's onto something real. It's like if that iconic Hot Dog Guy from Robinson's sketches (watch the classic clip: https://youtu.be/WLfAf8oHrMo) actually tracked down the culprit behind his viral meltdown. As Ron chases clues, sifting through documents and dead ends while sidelining his career and home life, he's dogged by spooky alignments and blocked by threats ranging from shady enforcers with guns to the soul-crushing wait times on customer service lines. For those new to thrillers, this builds suspense like a puzzle where pieces don't quite fit, keeping you guessing.
As for what it all unravels to? Even after screening seven episodes, it's hazy at best—and honestly, that vagueness might not even matter. The plot's a tangled web of intrigue that's tough to unpack fully (I'd stumble through an explanation myself), with stakes so nebulous they feel almost beside the point. Yet it serves as the perfect engine for catapulting Ron into ridiculous scenarios: think heated debates over nothing or bungled brawls that leave you howling. What pushes these moments from chuckle-worthy to transcendent, just like in Robinson's past projects, is the delivery—courtesy of a roster of lesser-known actors who nail the eccentricity with exaggerated grins, manic glares, and quirky inflections that feel endearingly human yet otherworldly.
At times, the whole cast comes off like extraterrestrials in disguise, fumbling through earthly customs with hit-or-miss results. I'm talking strictly about the series here, but let's be real—who hasn't had days feeling like an impostor in their own skin, or eyed the world suspiciously as if it's all a simulation? That's the magnetic pull of The Chair Company. The secondhand embarrassment and surreal vibe can make it a challenging watch, no doubt. But for viewers synced to Robinson and his team's oddball frequency, those elements are precisely what render it addictive. Ron and his saga capture that persistent mental itch—the irrational fixation you can't dismiss, even knowing it's folly, even as it makes you wince.
So, what do you think? Does The Chair Company nail the absurdity of modern egos, or does it risk glorifying delusion? Have you ever doubled down on a dumb mistake like Ron? Drop your takes in the comments—I'd love to hear if this show hits home or misses the mark for you.
