In Season 2, HBO’s Somebody Somewhere Is Ready to Be Found
Photo courtesy of HBO
Somebody Somewhere is an oxymoronic show. Its title conveys a vague, wandering sense of an everywoman caught adrift, unmoored to a time and place we may know and belong to ourselves. But Somebody Somewhere is about Sam, a specific, fully inhabited forty-something woman played breathtakingly by Bridgett Everett. She lives in Manhattan, Kansas. She wears colorless t-shirts and elastic-waist pants. She boasts stringy, unstyled hair and rarely dons makeup. She’s the type of woman you likely know but have rarely if ever seen on screen, driven not by motherhood, her career, or anything these types of roles would normally focus on, but by a congenital desire to do right by her family and friends. And yet, she is wholeheartedly never just somebody, somewhere.
In its second season, HBO’s understated gem picks up where it left off, using small moments to ask big questions and solidifying its place as one of modern TV’s best-kept secrets. Sam and Joel (a career-best Jeff Hiller) have committed themselves to getting their 10k steps in, but they every once in a while might cheat on their “designated non-drinking” days. Sam’s uppity sister Tricia (Mary Catherine Garrison) has closed down her shop and shipped off her daughter to college. And though their screen time may have lessened, the presence of Sam’s parents still lingers: mother Mary Jo’s (Jane Drake Brody) rehabilitation stint has taken a rebarbative turn, and father Ed (the great Mike Hagerty, who passed away pre-production) has departed on a boating voyage to Corpus Christi, leaving his daughters the duty of cleaning out the family farm.
Sam’s roots in her hometown have grown stronger at this point, and Somebody Somewhere continues to deliver laughter and tears with little stylistic or tonal difference from the last time around. Created by Hannah Bos and Paul Thureen, the show retains the low-fi, unfussy dramedy vibe in which executive producers Mark and Jay Duplass specialize. Stalks of corn dance in the wind in the opening credits, and characters go to work, run errands, and lounge about in their underwear. For a show that dabbles with such matters as grief, alcoholism, and small-town desolation, its aims are decidedly modest, negating bitter ironic detachment and cosmopolitan smugness in favor of sly optimism and naked truths.
Small addendums to the formula do resound. If its first season was about repelling loneliness by forging connections with new friends and old family, the second season is about the ways in which loneliness creeps up on us when we least expect it. Sam and Joel talk through their dream weddings, play “pound it or pass” while eyeballing strangers at the park, and gawk at steamy sex scenes on TV (“This is why we pay for premium”). But while their love for one another as friends is incomparable, the gap that romance can fill in a person’s life dangles wordlessly in front of each of them.