After Life

    Ricky Gervais and Brandy in “After Life.” Netflix image via IMDB

It's a comedy about death, depression, suicide and loneliness. When it contemplates God and religion – which it does a lot – it comes up with cynical wisecracks in place of anything more hopeful. Several characters are foul mouthed beyond belief; luckily their London accents are so thick you miss half of what they're saying. True, it surprises you how often it makes you laugh out loud – but rarely without crying, too.

God, I love this show.

After taking a cheap shot at Ricky Gervais in a recent blog about the Golden Globes, I wanted to set the record straight here. I am, in fact, a huge fan, among the legions who really love the guy, no matter how unlovable he keeps trying to be.

The third season of “After Life” debuted on Netflix a couple of weeks ago, following a long hiatus after season two. It picks up the sad life of Tony Johnson (Gervais), a feature writer for the tiny Tambury Gazette who's been disconsolate since the death of his wife Lisa (Kerry Godliman) from breast cancer.

By disconsolate I mean happy to try heroin if it eases the pain. That was in season one. He's so suicidal, when he says good-bye to friends, they're not absolutely sure they'll ever see him alive again. He spends his evenings seriously – seriously – drinking. His German Shepard Brandy's head is on his thigh as they both watch videos of happy times with Lisa on his laptop.

Tambury is a quaint, picturesque hamlet inhabited by an aviary's worth of loony birds – seemingly the setting for every British comedy that reaches our shores. (“Ted Lasso” was wise enough to borrow the blend of eccentric and silly that constitutes the English mentality as far as American audiences are concerned.)

Tony's coworkers at the paper – led by Tom Basden as Matt, Diane Morgan as Kath, and especially Tony Way as Lenny – pick up the vibe Gervais created in “The Office” – ordinary (wouldn't want to say pathetic) Everymans, and Womans, living lives of quiet desperation … hilariously. 

The deadpan humor goes into overdrive whenever Tony goes out on assignment to interview Tambury's utterly ridiculous citizenry for human interest stories. He's always accompanied by Lenny, his photographer, who has a point-and-shoot, and never takes more than one shot. Maybe it's an in-joke for anyone who's ever known the joys of small town journalism, but each interview is a gem. And Tony Way, who's funny looking to begin with, gets some of the best punch lines in the show without saying a word in his reaction shots.

When he wants a break from work Tony goes to see his not-exactly-a-girlfriend Emma (Ashley Jensen). She works as a nurse in the Autumnal Leaves Care Home where Tony's dad spent his last days in a past season. Jensen was Gervais' terrific co-star in an earlier series “Extras,” which is definitely worth checking out if you get the chance. This time around her duties are more subdued, surrounded by so much impending death that provides “After Life's” thematic undercurrent.

The performances are so natural, so unadorned, so quirky that you have to watch the blooper reel to remember that the cast members are all, in fact, superb actors. There's a warts-and-all feeling to them that makes their poignancy as rich as their comic moments.

And guiding their steps is the writer-director-star. Behind the camera Gervais may be the ringmaster, but in front of it he's a tightrope walker, fearlessly revealing his fears, mercilessly exhibiting his flaws, powerfully demonstrating his weaknesses. Tony claims that his numbness since his wife's death gives him the “superpower” of not caring. Despite the other characters' efforts to show him his true goodness, it's anyone's guess whether he's going to get the message.

Like most cynics, there's a wounded romantic hiding behind the mask. It's worth binging “After Life's” three seasons (the episodes are short) to watch Ricky Gervais finally come clean and admit it.