'Barry': Trauma, Lies & Inherent Darkness Make For A Terrific Season 2 [Review]

There’s not that many films in the hitman’s-existential-crisis-comedy subgenre— “Grosse Point Blank,” “Analyze This,” “Matador,” “In Bruges,” even “Pulp Fiction” has some shades of it— but the very specific crisis of confidence and the moral toll of murder in a comedic setting feels limited and well documented by now. It doesn’t seem like there should be that much ammunition left in the cartridge by now, really, but HBO’s terrific dark comedy “Barry,” created by Alec Berg and star Bill Hader, not only proves otherwise, but demonstrates with murderously capable skill and precision that the crisis of faith in the career of the expert assassin is actually a stockpiled arsenal full of all kinds of deadly weapons.

To paraphrase Judd Apatow, comedies should be approached like dead-serious dramas and should work just as well without any jokes. It’s not necessarily a revolutionary approach, but Hader, who developed at least one unmade screenplay with Apatow and starred in “Trainwreck,” seems to apply this exact methodology to “Barry,” and the results are superb show about identity, trauma, morality mixed with genuinely emotionally wounded characters and hilarity that makes the show a cut above what’s on TV right now (and right out of the gate it won two Primetime Emmy Awards for Comedic Lead Actor and Supporting Actor in a Comedy Series for Henry Winkler).

In Season 1, “Barry” introduced the dilemma of dissatisfaction and the slow awakening to a finding your purpose on life. Barry Berkman (Hader) a depressed, low-rent hitman from the Midwest, lonely and discontented in life is sent to kill to execute a hit on an aspiring actor by his boss, Fuches (Stephen Root). But during his infiltration into the LA theater scene to find his “mark,” Barry finds himself accepted by this small acting community and finally loving what he’s doing. After years of dispassionately killing for money, the killer finally feels alive. The struggle, of course, was whether Barry can successfully walk away from this life as his criminal past tries to pull him back in from all sides and could a balance of both worlds be actually struck?

At a brief and well-paced eight episodes, “Barry” Season 1, which featured excellent directing from Berg, Hader and especially the inventive Hiro Murai (FX‘s “Atlanta“), was tremendous, approaching and contemplating the idea of an assassin who wants something more out of life, very seriously, intimately, emotionally, but of course, it’s also quite darkly funny. (One of the show’s aces in the hole is the moody and melancholy score from David Gordon Green regular David Wingo and when’s the last time you remembered the score on a TV show?)

Season 2 picks up where last season left off and doesn’t lose a step. Barry’s acting teacher Gene Cousineau (Winkler) is mourning over the disappearance of the detective he was dating (Barry killed her when she caught on to him), Barry parted ways with Fuches, killed the Chechens mobster Goran Pazar (Glenn Fleshler) who was threatening his life, and now it seems like smooth sailing to give up the hitman life, explore acting and date his self-involved, but well-meaning acting friend Sally Reed (Sarah Goldberg).

God laughs at well-made plans though and the writers take this to heart. Detective Loach (John Pirruccello) wants to avenge his partner so he starts sniffing around, the new Chechen boss Noho Hank (the hilarious Anthony Carrigan) keeps asking Barry for hitman favors, and Fuches, while out of the picture, gets drawn back in and is blackmailed by Loach to finger Barry.

Overall, however, as funny as “Barry” can be, it’s really the emotional stuff that truly resonates. “Barry” Season 2 is an intimate look at trauma and the lies we tell ourselves to survive. Barry is a former United States Marine and sniper in Iraq and what he experienced there through murdering jihadists and innocent civilians is not anguish, but a sense of belonging, camaraderie, and acceptance. This darkness—Barry realizing how much happiness and purpose killing brought his life—is its own trauma for the actor wanting to make for a better, cleaner life. Barry recoils when he hears Gene discuss his “inherent darkness” as a human being and his sole goal is to be a better person. But the intrinsic paradox of keeping his dark past a secret from those he loves and the elaborate lies needed to keep these deceits afloat is its own kind of moral morass and pain for Barry.

There’s no escape it seems from the darkness and Season 2 plays with this idea in every form, comedically, psychologically and otherwise. Already a well-deserved Emmy winner, it still can’t be understated how outstanding Hader is on this show and the melancholy tinge he brings to the character is fabulous. It’s his best work by far, some seriously great, convincing acting on every level and has arguably raised the bar for this kind of black comedy in the era of Peak TV. As mentioned, Anthony Carrigan and his desperate-to-be-your-best-friend Hank character is sidesplittingly good and one of the best support sidekicks in recent memory. The supporting cast all around is strong (D’Arcy Carden, Darrell Britt-Gibson) and direction by Murai (who directs the first two episodes this time), Minkie Spiro and more is as clear-eyed and effective as ever.

“Barry” is effortlessly easy to watch. Never too prestige-TV-serious and dark, because f*cked up, disarming jokes are around every corner. And at the same time, “Barry” and its writers respect the notion of trauma and treat it so that it cuts deep. Reflecting on shame and anguish, the complicated notions of what provides fulfillment, the demons we wrestle with and what’s missing in our lives, “Barry” is rich and the series continues to examine the difficulties of being honest with who you are deep inside and the elusive questions of whether we can change. Ultimately, Hader’s hit show is about what it means to be deeply human, killer instincts and all. [A-]