I got worried when Natalie Trosper told her father that he’s good at talking to people in “New Blood. There’s 5 Rons Now.” Even for a show as early in its run as The Chair Company is, hearing about a character’s defining traits is never as effective as seeing those traits displayed onscreen. And between his awkward interactions with waitstaff, bubble-necklace blow-up at Douglas, and inability to keep an unknown assailant from wailing on him with a lead pipe, the series premiere didn’t show us that Ron Trosper is good at talking to people. And besides, Ron is a character played and co-created by Tim Robinson, and historically those aren’t factors that make for an effective communicator. A loud, amusing communicator, maybe, but not someone who’s going to be able to talk his daughter’s future in-laws into forsaking a wedding-venue deposit to move the festivities to a haunted barn. (Now the “haunted barn” part does sound like Tim Robinson.)
This isn’t the only description of Ron we hear in “New Blood. There’s 5 Rons Now.” Later on, after his zeal to reach a peddler of complicated-patterned shirts nearly gets his co-worker Jamie (Glo Tavarez) killed, the newly spiritually awakened, self-described bad driver tells Ron that there’s a darkness to him—but also a light. That sounds a little more on the money. The Chair Company’s second episode eventually displays its protagonist’s powers of persuasion, in ways that also demonstrate the light that Julie notices. Even Ron himself would like us to know that he’s a good guy, all evidence to the contrary. But the episode also draws much of its power, and its humor, from a darkness, one that both taunts and beckons toward Ron as he seeks to unwind the inconsequential mystery of why his greatest professional triumph was followed by an inconsequential embarrassment.
Because even when its funniest gags arrive in the sketch-comedy like packaging of a children’s detective kit (tiny plastic fedora included) mistaken for the real deal or an upsettingly vulgar comedy routine, The Chair Company is following some tried and true structures. For their return to narrative TV, Zach Kanin and Tim Robinson are telling their own version of the classic hero’s journey. At this point, Ron has heeded the call to adventure, and he’s venturing into the unknown. Building on the peek beneath the surface that Ron’s visit to the Tecca plant gave us, “New Blood. There’s 5 Rons Now” provides a closer, longer look at all the weird worms wriggling around down there. It’s a stark, hilarious contrast to his comfortable reality. And it feels like we’re still only getting introduced to it.
We’ve met our first representative of this shadow realm, though: Mike Santini (Joseph Tudisco), the for-hire goon who smacked Ron upside the head last week. Played with nervy edge by Tudisco, Mike feels like the grimy id that Ron masks with his smiling phone-call voice and put-together TV news appearance—the darkness that slips out when he’s dealing with the worst pillow in town or the text and email spam from the menswear boutique loyalty program he was duped into joining. Dealing in shopping bags full of flip phones and handguns, Mike is both a type in a broader pop-cultural sense and within the fictional universes of The Chair Company’s creative braintrust. He’s gangster-coded, but played by an experienced-yet-relatively-obscure actor whose most prominent gangster role is Italian Mobster in Grand Theft Auto IV, an obvious tough guy who’s also given to strange tastes in fashion and what he listens to when driving. In another timeline, you can almost see him being played by the late Biff Wiff.
Ron’s immersion in Mike’s world gives us a lot to laugh about, too. The soundtrack to their ride to meet Jim X—attributed to, if the captions on my screener are accurate, Wazy Wayne’s—is a prime Robinson/Kanin non sequitur. Ludicrously profane and utterly inappropriate for the scenario, it’s made all the funnier by the fact that Mike is really into it. And I absolutely lost my mind during the visit to Jan’s Cafe, the rowdiest lunch spot this side of the Grouch diner from Follow That Bird! The Chair Company disorientation machine works overtime in that scene, the volume of the audio and the food-throwing behavior of the patrons (not to mention the fire that erupts in the kitchen) painting a picture of danger well before Mike shows his face.
As much as the energy at Jan’s, combined with the pitstop at Tamblay’s, smacks of a Dan Flashes redux, they contribute to the comedy of contrast that the show is building. There’s the relative quiet of Ron’s existence before the chair incident versus the largely self-imposed noise of life afterward, the alarming sounds in the house and the unknown jogger that make the cold open feel so off-kilter, the muscular-metal riffage of Ron’s post-Tamblay’s rage clashing with the soft-rock return to the homestead, the burner phone vibrating within the Yeti mug.
It’s something that Ron isn’t ready to face yet, hence his bailing from the Jim X confrontation to the safety of game night. It hasn’t taken The Chair Company long to create a sense of unease. Its cinematic technique has a lot to do with that, but so does the way that a POV like Ron’s can blow unrelated, minor inconveniences way out of proportion. I feel like it’s already conditioned me to look askance at any new information the conspiracy plot introduces—when Mike told Ron his name, my first thought was “I bet that’s not his real name.”
But we can believe in this: Natalie’s right about Ron being good at talking to people. And, fortunately, The Chair Company lets Ron show it. Sure, the primary display of that ability is a cliché-ridden heart-to-heart with Tara’s dad, a scene whose tenderness would feel off-voice if it weren’t for the awkward testing of loose patio stones that precedes it. (The show’s sound team is earning their keep here.) But don’t let that distract you from the funnier cherry on top of the scene: Ron beaming at the tiny hat attached to Seth’s backpack—a father’s Amazon misfire successfully passed off as the hot new trend among teens. Eat your heart out, Labubu.
The type of story The Chair Company is telling, and its sense of humor, live in the push-and-pull between honesty and dishonesty. A line like “I’m just glad it’s stupid wedding stuff that I don’t care about” is funny because Robinson makes it feel like Ron’s true priorities are slipping out—but I think he actually does care about where his daughter gets married, because we’re seeing that he cares deeply about a great many things. And if he ever stopped for one second to consider what’s actually worth caring about, or whether or not he should keep pressing on to Tamblay’s after Jamie is nearly pancaked by an army truck, he wouldn’t be making all these messes for himself. He certainly wouldn’t be getting intimidating texts seemingly sent from his entryway closet.
Good guy or no, he will not stop pushing into that unknown darkness, and that’s good for The Chair Company’s viewers and the show itself. It can only benefit the weird little hero’s journey Kanin, Robinson, and team are laying out.
Stray observations
- • If I’m reading the credits correctly, the members of Wazy Wayne’s are Lice and Pepperoni, and they’re played by regular I Think You Should Leave director Andrew Fitzgerald and frequent Robinson sparring partner (and comedic genius in his own right) Conner O’Malley.
- • My former IndieWire colleague Christian Zilko just published an essay praising the fake company names from across the Tim Robinsonverse, and between the Salisbury, Erebus, Rivers Allster Clothing, and Tamblay’s, “New Blood. There’s 5 Rons Now” provides a lot of fodder for that argument.
- • Extremely midwestern content: Ron tries to pass the cut on his forehead off as the result of Douglas messing around with a mini hockey stick in the office.
- • More gold from the Ron Trosper book of flimsy excuses: “Dropped a frickin’ Hershey’s Hug somewhere. Thing flew out and I kicked it and I’m definitely gonna want something sweet after lunch, because I’m supposed to get spaghetti.”
- • Ron transferring the photo of Mike’s shirt to his desktop by smacking his phone against his monitor is such a strange, delightful detail.
- • Congratulations to Tamblay’s member Mac Moder—he’s a grandpa!
