We are all tormented by our past mistakes. In fact, in case I generalize to feel better here, I am tormented by my past mistakes. It’s not uncommon for me to reignite a harmless conversation or email, maddening to expose myself in some way as petty or deaf, self-important, or one of a thousand overwhelming traits. Just this week again I found myself squeaking in the shower thinking about how I botched an order at a fancy cocktail bar More than a year ago. I’m not saying it’s rational, I’m just saying it happens.
Yet of all the little flaws that my brain likes to pick up on, only one is something I’ve written. And today is his birthday. In a track about Netflix comedies on this site exactly two years ago, I found it plausible to claim that Tim Robinson’s series of sketches I think you should go was not “particularly good”.
In case I haven’t clarified it yet: I was wrong. Very, very badly.
Since I think you should go first arrived on Netflix on April 23, 2019, I’ve watched it – and that’s a conservative estimate – 100 times. Admittedly, the season alone only has six episodes, with their total 29 skits spanning 100 minutes. It’s a short film. But I revisited this short film, or at least the vast majority, every week or two. Malcolm Gladwell looks like I overpowered it, although he’s probably also wondering why I did it.
Fortunately, the “why” doesn’t take a Malcolm Gladwell to figure out. That thing my brain does, where I can’t shake off embarrassments both real and imagined? Either way, he finds a cognate spirit in I think you should go. Of his 29 sketches, almost each one relies on a character who is gloriously, spectacularly wrong, but refuses to budge for fear of being humiliated by tackling his own mistake. The show opens with a man trying to open a door after a job interview, then insists it go both ways, drooling with effort as he finally cracks the door frame. . His latest episode stars Reggie, a guy who is so desperate to be able to play “name your favorite funny youtube clip” games with his coworkers as he comes home and creates his own and then tries to get across the horrible result. for a virus. video. Both men are played by Robinson, who is so attuned to our worst self-preservation impulses that he rarely plays foil.
Instead, he’s the guy who attends a baby shower planning meeting with his girlfriend and will keep suggesting that the gift bags include the substandard props from his failed mob movie. It’s the guy in the hot dog costume who smashes his wienermobile in a men’s clothing store and clings to his innocence, warning customers to watch porn on their phones while he steals an armful of costumes. He’s the guy at a group dinner who chokes on a jalapeño popper but refuses to admit it in front of a pop star guest, instead delivering a throaty, insane toast. It is, in our worst ways, all of us.
Streaming has reinvigorated sitcoms like Office and Friends, providing them with new fan bases and making them the insane comfort watch of generations. He turned Key and Peele in a YouTube juggernaut. But it also allowed I think you should go, with its feverish parade of clumsiness and proxy self-flogging, to snowball into a whole new genre of comedy phenomenon: a cult hit that has reached an inordinate level of cultural impact, at least in terms of memes produced per minute of runtime. Even if you’ve never watched the show, you’ve consumed it.