I am – Hercules!!
It’s a laughtrack-happy sitcom, created by the husband-and-wife writing team of Jeff & Jackue Filgo (“That ‘70s Show”), about a pair of new roomies who enjoy getting hammered. It stars John Sloane (“The Triangle”), Lex Medlin (“Rock Me Baby”) and Beth Lacke (“Mr. 3000”).
I found it very poorly written and acted and directed - yet not appreciably worse that “That ‘70s Show”! (I would have enjoyed the “I can see your balls” gag more had it not already been better utilized on “The Larry Sanders Show” something like a decade ago.)
Lacke, who is both supersized and superhot, seems like she’d be able to sell a joke if she were ever given a good one - and should be assigned to a better show as soon as it’s convenient.
But what matters Herc’s opinion?
Variety says:
… Each pilot season delivers at least one real head-scratcher of the "How did that get on?" variety, and "Happy Hour" is certainly it -- a witless comedy throwback that can't be easily described in high- (or low-) concept terms. Painfully familiar and virtually laugh-free, the series has one character with potential, but beyond that, it's hard to imagine Fox won't be yelling "last call" relatively soon. … As for the writing, it simultaneously peaks and valleys when Amanda tells Henry, who is wearing shorts, "I can see your balls." …
The Hollywood Reporter says:
… Looking for a fresh new comedy with three-dimensional characters and laugh-out-loud jokes? You won't find it in "Happy Hour," a sitcom based on a group of unsatisfied and occasionally pathetic twentysomethings. … leaden dialogue and cookie-cutter characters … In the premiere, the only episode made available for review, the comedic high point is when Henry, wearing shorts, interviews with Amanda for a job. "I can see your balls," she tells him. …
USA Today gives it one and a half (out of four) stars and says:
… As a full-figured woman who rails against the tyranny of the super thin, Lacke is Hour's best but only asset. Otherwise, there's not a moment or character that rings true, and the only joke you're likely to remember is an anatomical gag you'd probably rather forget. …
The Washington Post says:
… "Happy Hour" is more like "Happy Hour in Hell." … Frankly, a kick in the head might be preferable to sitting through this desperate, depressing, reactionary ordeal. Brad meets an amusingly ferocious giant of a woman named Amanda (Beth Lacke), applying to her for a job but noticing, as anyone would, her ravenously ravishing predatory prowess. The ultra-formidable Lacke could run away with the show in a heartbeat but only (A) if it had a heart to beat and (B) if she weren't saddled with weak dialogue such as repeatedly informing Brad that his testicles can be seen peeking out of his Bermuda shorts. What kind of idiot wears shorts to a job interview? The kind you hope only to encounter in a sitcom as pitifully sad as "Happy Hour."
The New York Times says:
… Having broken up with “Arrested Development,” then, the edgy woman who seemed fancy, Fox has gone sniffling back to its old unhip girlfriend, who is also everyone’s old girlfriend: the big smiley multi-camera comedy. It’s a good reunion. “Happy Hour,” which starts tonight, makes no effort to disguise its two-steps-back quality, thematizing it instead, with Frank Sinatra music, 4 o’clock martinis and three or four unforced guffaws. Maybe I’m just not feeling lazy, but that seems like enough. … With the exception of Mr. Sloan, whose acting-class stiffness keeps him aloof from the fun, this intelligent cast seems poised to enjoy the show’s sound architecture. “Happy Hour” is the sitcom equivalent of a brick house, without quartz backsplashes or solar panels, but it might last longer that way.
The New York Daily News gives it one star and says:
… "Happy Hour" (at 8:30), by real-life marrieds Jackie and Jeff Filgo, isn't tired. It's comatose. … Lacke is the only person, or thing, in "Happy Hour" that made me laugh, and I came to resent the overuse of Dean Martin's "Ain't That a Kick in the Head." Love the song. Hate the show.
8:30 p.m. Thursday. Fox.
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