HBO’s “Neighbors” is America… But Not in the Way It Intends to Be

To watch HBO’s new docuseries “Neighbors” is to experience the extremes of the human condition. As grandiose as that may sound, it’s true.

The series creates gripping drama, shocking humor, and unbelievable images that together make you laugh, cry, cringe, and throw up (not a joke). However, exceptionally watchable as it may be, I was left with a bitter taste in my mouth by the end of the first episode. And it only grew as the series progressed. For all of its shock-value charm, the series seems entirely unconcerned with any sense of morality. It mocks its strange subjects at every opportunity, to the point where one can’t help but wonder: Is the point of this show to make fun of people?

The series, directed by young filmmakers Harrison Fishman and Dylan Redford and executive produced by Josh Safdie, was inspired by neighbor dispute YouTube videos during the pandemic. Each episode zeroes in on sets of neighbors embroiled in bitter feuds around America, prompted by everything from taking in stray cats to Halloween decorations to tiny patches of grass. 

As disappointed (and horrified) as I often was by the show, I would be remiss to not give it the praise it deserves. The show is, in no uncertain terms, utterly electric. Rarely am I as engrossed in petty drama as I was while watching each episode progress, delving into the psyches of the peculiar people at the heart of these disputes. I found myself unable to look away from the screen. It’s frequently hilarious, often poignant, and consistently surprising. The filmmakers excel at withholding information and slowly doling out nuggets that fill in the gaps for each of the eponymous neighbors, which often results in stunning twists and turns over the course of each 30-minute episode. If the principal objective of the series was to elicit an emotional response, it sure as hell succeeded.

Unfortunately, emotion seems to be more of a byproduct than a goal for Fishman and Redford; the prevailing creed of the series seems to be simple cruelty. The filmmakers devote time and effort to presenting the series’ subjects in the most humiliating manner possible. Each episode begins with an introduction to the dispute, and around the 10-minute mark, the focus shifts towards pointing and laughing at the characters’ personal quirks and flaws without a hint of remorse or sympathy, and they only seem to double down as the episodes progress. The fifth episode, for example, features a montage with the sole purpose of making fun of the way one of its focal neighbors says the word “hey.” 

The season finale feels like the perfect instance of the casual cruelty on display. Following an elderly man who moves to a nudist community in Florida and subsequently falls in love with a (much) younger woman in search of a sugar daddy, its “protagonist,” Danny Smiechowski, is without question a strange and deeply flawed individual. Instead of making an effort to flesh out the inherent humanity within him, the episode is jam-packed with condescending and merciless editing that makes him the butt of the joke. After his young lover ghosts him, a frenzied montage featuring the series’ signature extreme-fish-eye cinematography depicts Danny’s devastated spiral.

The fundamental tension between the sympathy induced by these pitiful, heartwrenching images and the casual disdain with which they’re depicted is impossible to ignore. Perhaps if the editing team were slightly more discerning (or at least subtle), they could have slipped this egregious mean-spiritedness by us, but they simply make no illusions as to what they’re aiming for: laughs at the expense of the poor souls who signed up for the show.

I can’t deny that many of its subjects are flawed at best and outright bad at worst, but surely they didn’t sign up for the show to be eviscerated in this way. You’d think the filmmakers would make at least a modicum of effort to make their subjects feel relatable, but instead, they alienate and dehumanize them at every turn. It’s not a docuseries; it’s a circus. 

It’s particularly informative to consider “Neighbors” in the grander scheme of documentary ethics. When I think about similar documentaries purporting an “elevated” sensibility, I can’t help but become more frustrated. They prove that a good docuseries presents its subjects, warts and all, without reaching the point of abject sadism like “Neighbors,” which makes its flaws ever more apparent. “How To With John Wilson” (also on HBO) deals with similarly complex subjects, but never feels mocking or mean and never seems to be passing an objective judgment on them. “Nathan for You,” one of my all-time favorites, even totters towards disrespect for its characters on occasion, but is consistently conscientious enough to pull the humor back to Nathan Fielder. More than anything else, “Neighbors” reminded me of the works of my favorite documentarian, Lance Oppenheim, who produces both similarly strange accounts of the odd souls who live one door down while also combining humor with a prestige sheen. At times, Oppenheim indulges in using the same sorts of caricaturization that “Neighbors” does, but never forgets to emphasize the inherent beauty and humanity of his subjects in the way that “Neighbors” seems to willfully neglect. 

It’s entertaining; damn, it’s really, really entertaining. And yet, for all its purported class and sophistication, the series ends up feeling just like one of the YouTube videos on which it’s based: two idiots running around with cameras, depicting the saddest sides of humanity for shameless entertainment. I can’t shake the feeling as a viewer that I was a part of something amoral. It feels as though Fishman, Redford, and I just made fun of someone behind their back, and that I somehow did something wrong by indulging in this treat. At the same time, I can’t deny that I laughed at these people, cringed at their oddities, and ogled at their strange, sad lives. The filmmaking is only half of the problem; the audience has a choice whether to play along with their game or to stand up and refuse the temptation. I bought into their cruelty, and much to my revulsion, I enjoyed it.  

Since I finished the series, I haven’t been able to shake the fact that several glowing reviews have referred to the series as being something more than its simplistic surface would suggest, that its odd, combative subjects form a startling microcosm of the chaos and insanity that defines modern America. In a nation of bullying, contempt, and everyday hatred, I can’t help but agree that “Neighbors” captures this spirit to a tee. Hell, it’s as American as apple pie and the Fourth of July.

Lucas Chiorini can be reached at lchiorini@wesleyan.edu.