Damo Reviews: The Good Place

This show was recommended to me by a close friend whose opinion I trusted, a fellow writer with a similar sense of humour. We are not friends any more.

If I can praise The Good Place for anything it's that it very accurately portrays my own personal hell. This show is as bland as a communion wafer and as invigorating as a long taxi down the tarmac after a 16-hour flight in economy.

Is Ted Danson's charm enough to salvage the television equivalent of headbutting a table until the Xanax kicks in? No, no it is not. Sorry, Ted.

The Good Place is an excruciating exercise in onanism, where you can almost hear the tendons in the writer's shoulders pop with every line as they contort to pat themselves on the back for being so clever.

"I don't belong here" says Whatshername

"Something something Immanuel Kant" replies puppet number 2

"I don't get it" responds Kitchen Utensil Bell

Fart noise, sad trombone, humanity devolves.

This show is The Big Bang Theory without a laugh track.

The writing is tedious and inane to the point of being offensive. Kristen Bell is so stiff and plastic you could easily replace her with a Furby taped to a dishmop and free up 80% of the show's budget. The rest of the cast act as though they were recruited wholesale from the local amateur production of Twelfth Night, thus explaining the remaining 20%. The writers, presumably, work for free - being liberal arts majors who won't ever find a real purpose.

The acting is so hammy and the scripting is so cheesy that you could close the show down and open a deli. Then they could make some double entendre about the meaning of epicureanism, only no one would be forced to listen to it.

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