TV Database Barry (2018)

I haven’t seen much of Bill Hader’s work outside of a few stray appearances. Being from Singapore, Saturday Night Live was never exactly staple programming. I vaguely remember him from IT: Chapter Two, and I guess Tropic Thunder if you really stretch the memory. I also found out he voiced characters in Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs and both Inside Out films—which I did watch—but to be honest, nothing he’s done ever particularly wowed me. Maybe it’s my general detachment from Western comedy. It just doesn’t always hit.

So how did Barry end up on my radar? Mostly through my ongoing hunt for shows that portray anxiety and depression with some kind of sincerity. Having lived through both (the anxiety's still hanging around like an unpaid intern), and being someone who liked Dexter—well, the first four seasons—I figured Barry might be worth a shot. People spoke of it like it was a hidden gem. The premise seemed quirky enough, even if I walked in with a raised eyebrow.

Now that I’ve seen the pilot, let’s just say… that eyebrow’s still hovering.

There’s definitely something relatable about Barry’s situation. He’s numb. Drained. Going through the motions. That part, I get. I’ve worked clerical jobs for two decades. They paid the bills, but slowly chipped away at everything else. Being single on top of that just turns the existential silence into a full-blown stadium echo. Barry, a hitman, might technically have more blood on his hands, but the emotional erosion? That’s painfully familiar.

When he wanders into an acting class mid-hit and experiences a spark of purpose? That part works. There’s something powerful in expressing yourself through art. Even when it’s mediocre, fumbling, overly theatrical—which there’s plenty of in that acting class—it’s still yours to own, and it can be particularly cathartic when that little piece of the world you created is validated by others, even if those people are just as painfully average as you. It’s a weird, touching little truth, buried inside a show about a guy who kills people for money.

That said, for the gag of the contradictory premise to land—for us to believe that Barry is drawn to something he’s a complete amateur at, over something he’s allegedly a professional in—we first have to buy that he’s a professional killer. But I don’t buy it.

The show tries to sell it, sort of. There’s an off-screen kill early on that’s supposed to set the tone—but the guy was asleep in bed, so not exactly John Wick. Everything else Barry does feels half-hearted, borderline sloppy. He leaves messes. He lets things escalate. He doesn't seem careful, tactical, or even that experienced. So when the episode starts laying out the stakes for what might happen if he keeps derailing his assignments, it doesn’t feel like a sharp turn—it feels like the natural result of his own amateur hour.

I get that it’s intentional—he’s burned out, slipping, running on fumes. But wouldn’t it have been more impactful if we’d seen that he was once competent, once terrifying, before the decline? Instead, the pilot skips the rise and jumps straight to the fall, which makes its subversive anti-glorification of violence in antihero crime drama feel more academic than engaging. Conceptually clever, sure. Visually? A little muted. A little “the idea of tension” rather than actual tension.

Still, I’ll give the show credit for at least nudging at genre expectations. There’s a layer of self-aware commentary on the contract killer trope, even if it doesn’t cut too deep. There’s just enough narrative propulsion to keep me around—for now. But let’s not pretend it’s brimming with insight. It’s about as intellectually stimulating as your average 2025 episode of SNL, which feels fitting, since Barry basically grew out of Hader’s own burnout from that very machine.

So yeah, I’ll keep watching. But I’m watching with one eye open—and a finger near the eject button. Let’s hope Barry doesn’t burn me out faster than it burned him.

“These feelings that you're having right now, these are the paints in your acting toolbox... It's called ‘being human.’ That's what acting is.” – Sally Reed

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Alright, I’ll admit it—after feeling pretty tepid about the series pilot, this second episode does start warming me up to Barry. Not a full 180, but enough to make me sit up and stop checking how much time is left. It finally feels like the show’s getting a grip on its tone, which—let’s be honest—isn’t an easy ask when you’re juggling murder, acting classes, mafia threats, and a lead who stares into emotional trauma like it’s a math problem he forgot how to solve.

What works here, and what feels sharper than the pilot, is the show’s unflinching dive into performance. Not just the theatrical kind—the emotional performance everyone does to make sense of their lives, their image, their grief, and their relationships. Whether it’s the acting class students transforming a memorial into an unsolicited talent show, or the Chechens leaning into cartoon villain theatrics (complete with aprons and dramatic monologues), the episode is constantly playing with what’s real and what’s just someone’s idea of “how you’re supposed to feel.” As someone who's been around creative circles (joined an acting class once, but my experience stemmed mostly from my scriptwriting class), I could tell you that creatives can be about as phony as they come, on or off-screen, so this episode at least nailed that right.

And then there’s Sally, whose character might very well have coined the term of “Nice Girl™”. I’ve met her. You’ve met her. Anyone who’s spent time around the arts—or frankly, just the kind of social scene that thrives on performative empathy—knows this type. She talks like a beacon of emotional intelligence but steamrolls others, centers herself in every shared experience, and still manages to act surprised when people don't meet her halfway. Even in grief, she manages to curate the aesthetic of caring while maintaining center stage. Many actors can come off as narcissistic, but right from the pilot, I just couldn't feel much connection with her due to how self-entitled she feels like, even with the way she feels disappointed by Barry's lack of interest in sleeping with her. Classic. She’s not evil, not even insincere necessarily—just... curated. And exhausting.

That said, there is something borderline endearing about her chaotic messiness, especially paired with Barry’s equally fractured emotional interior. If she's a storm of self-importance, he's a void pretending to be a functioning person. Which, surprisingly, makes them kind of a weirdly fitting match. Or at least an interesting disaster waiting to happen.

Speaking of the emotionally voided protagonist, Barry’s arc is the real meat here. He’s the guy trying to learn how to “feel” without realizing he’s been numb for years. The irony is delicious: in a class full of people faking emotion to land roles, Barry is the only one who literally cannot fake it. The emotions that hit him—the grief, the guilt, the awareness that killing someone actually affects other people—come too late, and too fast. Suddenly, he’s drowning in feelings he doesn’t have the tools to unpack, while Sally stands there offering advice like it’s a TED Talk titled “So You Accidentally Had a Breakdown.” That disconnect between what Barry wants acting to be (a mask, an escape) and what it actually is (a mirror) is probably the show’s sharpest angle so far.

And honestly, it hits home. As someone who’s been through therapy (in various shapes, forms, and failure rates), the idea of killer using acting as therapy is kind of fascinating (especially when it gives the series a different flavor from something like Dexter). It’s messy and sometimes exploitative, sure, but when it works, it’s like sneaking medicine into your food. The episode touches that nerve without making it too precious, which I appreciate.

Visually, narratively, it’s still a little clunky in parts. Some of the tonal shifts wobble—there’s a brand of humor here that still feels like SNL writers playing dress-up in an HBO drama. Not always bad, but you can feel the schlocky sketch-show DNA peek through sometimes when the absurdity gets a little too on-the-nose. Still, this episode shows signs of confidence. It’s leaning into its themes. It's not trying to be likable—it’s just being honest. And that’s enough to keep me watching.

“Use It” may not be a perfect episode, but it’s a compelling mess. It finally starts to show what Barry can be when it digs into the blurred lines between performance and personhood, comedy and crisis. If the pilot felt like a rough draft, this is the first real take.