A septuagenarian trapped under a fridge. A new Wendy’s franchise that only sells ham. Erectile dysfunction pills that “smell like a duck.” Since Tim Robinson’s cult-classic sitcom “Detroiters,” the comedian has slowly but surely been proving himself as one of the most distinct and influential comedic minds of his generation, bringing his unique brand of deeply absurd, unmistakably original humor to a litany of projects.
Created with frequent collaborator Zach Kanin, Robinson’s new HBO series “The Chair Company” proves yet again that he can extract comedy from just about any situation under the sun while simultaneously flexing his storytelling muscles with a gripping, delightfully deranged paranoid thriller that (mostly) seamlessly blends his signature silliness with a pointed, sometimes poignant parable of Middle American masculinity.
“The Chair Company” follows Ron Trosper (Robinson), a father of two in suburban Ohio who seems to have it all: a lovely home, a beautiful wife, and a management position in the construction of a new shopping mall. Tragedy strikes, however, after he humiliatingly falls from his chair in front of his coworkers. Convinced that this seemingly innocuous fall was an act of sabotage, Ron begins to investigate the eponymous chair company and uncovers a perplexing web of crime, deception, and mystery, growing increasingly estranged from his family and work as the conspiracy begins to consume his life.
To begin by stating the obvious, the show is damn funny. Robinson’s prowess for sketch comedy, picked up from his days on “Saturday Night Live” and his own sketch show “I Think You Should Leave,” comes in handy as each episode has a handful of impeccably strange, perfectly performed jokes that had me cackling—and, I’m ashamed to admit, falling out of my chair once or twice. I made the mistake of watching one episode with my headphones on in public; every few minutes, the poor souls around me were subjected to sudden bouts of frenzied laughter as they noticed my face turning an ungodly shade of red. When describing Robinson’s work to others, I often find myself sounding like a young child, excitedly babbling about my favorite parts, barely able to get the words out as I giggle uncontrollably. To preserve whatever semblance of critical classiness I possess, I’ll neglect to elaborate on specific highlights from the show, but take my word for it: This thing is hilarious.
That said, coming from the guy who made “I Think You Should Leave,” the show is not particularly jam-packed with jokes. In line with his previous project, the feature film “Friendship,” “The Chair Company” is as much a genuine attempt at crafting a story that’s captivating on its own terms as it is a vehicle for Robinson’s comedy. Despite the admitted silliness of the investigation and the show’s setup as a whole, “The Chair Company” plays the central narrative as seriously as Ron takes it. To an extent, this tone only serves to make the whole affair more ludicrous, but as the eight episodes ticked by, I surprisingly found myself engaged enough to truly care about the plot; it is by no means a great story, at times falling into repetitive structural traps, but nevertheless, I rarely found myself bored, or waiting for the jokes to return. That may sound harsh, but balancing the over-the-top comedy with a sincere exploration of characters and themes is no easy feat.
The primary character explored throughout is, of course, Ron, who makes a fine addition to Robinson’s canon of stunted, exceptionally idiotic men, this time with an added punch of suburban dad energy. Ron is the butt of many of the show’s jokes, but is always portrayed sympathetically; in spite of its ridiculousness, we can always understand why he’s so driven to solve the conspiracy and prove himself. This sympathy and sincerity creates genuine empathy for Ron, and many of the show’s scenes—particularly those of him interacting with his two children—hit harder emotionally than I expected considering that they’re often bookended by truly novel ideas like Ebenezer Scrooge-themed pornography and a radio show that consists of two men screaming the most explicit phrases at each other they can think of. For all of its craziness and comedy, “The Chair Company” is, at its heart, a show about a sad, well-intentioned man, and it’s hard not to feel some semblance of pity for Ron. It’s a heartfelt show that remembers to emphasize the importance of heart before humor, despite occasionally sacrificing emotion in the name of comedy.
Robinson’s sincere (yet frequently sidesplitting) performance anchors the show, but the true standout is Joseph Tudisco as Mike, a sketchy security guard who becomes Ron’s co-investigator and partner in crime. A working actor for multiple decades, this is far and away Tudisco’s biggest role yet, and he absolutely nails the specific syntax and elocution that makes Robinson’s writing so distinctive. He lends his thick New York accent and wide-eyed intensity to the part, playing it straight at every turn, which only serves to make his character even funnier. As we dig deeper into Mike and learn about his woes, Tudisco lends a raw vulnerability to the part with his matter-of-fact delivery that elicits a sort of complex, reluctant empathy for him. Mike becomes a mirror to Ron, alienated from family and the real world and presenting a vision of what our protagonist could become if he follows down his current path.
Robinson has always had a knack for finding unique, memorable-looking character actors to appear in his projects, and the result here is just as wonderful as ever. In addition to Tudisco, the show gets tremendous comedic mileage out of bit players like Joe Apelian as L.T., whose two minutes of screen time had me gasping for air in between uncontrollable laughs, and Amelia Campbell as Amanda, a recurring character with one of strangest, silliest side stories I’ve ever seen. Many of the series’ best moments come from these supporting and one-off characters, and they add a prevailing air of unpredictability to every scene: You never know who could emerge from the background at any given moment and drop the funniest sentence you’ve ever heard.
“The Chair Company” is excellent, but undoubtedly raises questions about where Robinson plans to go from here. He began this generational run of spectacular comedies with 2017’s “Detroiters,” a sweet, deeply silly sitcom, and followed it up with three seasons of “I Think You Should Leave,” his sketch show that, even if you don’t believe it’s his best work, is without question the most Tim Robinson project. In 2024, he switched gears with “Friendship,” which melds comedy and deeper, more sincere melodrama in a way almost akin to “The Chair Company” (although I find the latter’s blend of the two styles a tad more effective).
This shift towards seriousness (comparatively speaking, of course; the two “serious” projects are still unrelentingly ridiculous) begs the question: What now? Does Robinson intend to shift further and further in this direction, slowly erasing the humor from his work? His comedic talent is prodigal, yet “The Chair Company” proves that he can thrive when dealing with genuine emotion, tension, and drama while threading an intricate story. Such is the burden of talent: Why do one thing well when you can do two? For now, Robinson seems content to let them live in coexistence, but it remains unclear whether this slide into sincerity is a brief detour or his new path. Regardless, Robinson has proved himself canny on both ends of the spectrum, and, like Ron, I’ll be on the edge of my chair waiting to see where he decides to take his one-of-a-kind talents next.
Lucas Chiorini can be reached at lchiorini@wesleyan.edu.
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