Half Man

Often, the monologues feel better suited to a play than they do to television. But the density and layered nature of the writing win the day. “Half Man” makes one thing abundantly clear: Everyone else churning out scripts for TV is a writer. Richard Gadd is a bloody artist.

Gadd’s drama is brave and blazing. It leaves you with that rare and precious feeling that everyone involved – Gadd, of course, who has once again pulled out his viscera, spread them over the page and taken a scalpel to every bloody organ, but every actor too (Bell is on career-best form and then some here) – has given us the very best of themselves.

In “Half Man,” Gadd’s treatment of these themes [internalized homophobia, the sexual assault of men, and the evasion of blame] is richer and more mature. .... The show’s plotting and Niall’s exquisite complexity more than make up for Ruben’s relative flatness. .... The sad but realistic turns in their lives are engrossing, as is their slow convergence.

What saves the show from feeling gratuitously dark is the richness of the way it weaves all the sorry elements of the two men’s lives together. That, plus the feral brilliance of the two central performances from Bell and Gadd himself.

The ways in which “Half Man” acutely understands that dynamic make it a must-see series even in spite of a few misgivings along the way, ultimately presenting itself as a singular experience that sticks with you.

“Half Man” is an excellent but difficult watch. A viciousness runs through the narrative, and countless acts of violence depicted. For those who stick it out, the final episode features one of the most emotionally shattering scenes on television.

Their sordid cycle of disappointment, humiliation and bitter recrimination is riveting, but also at times predictable, as we nervously begin to expect the worst even in rare moments of harmony, and creator-writer Gadd never fails to deliver on that threatened promise.

It’s tough to say how Half Man is going to connect up what happens in that room that night to what happens at Niall’s wedding decades later. But once again, as with Baby Reindeer, Gadd has delivered something so explosively charged that it’s hard to look away.

Half Man can be emotionally obliterating, and some of the particularly brutal sequences may permanently burn themselves into the viewer's brain. But the series is artful in its approach, avoiding using violence simply for the sake of shock value.

Built around four performances of almost feral intensity, “Half Man” is the rare series that I wish had stayed just a little bit longer. That means I was drawn deep into its unflagging intensity, and I also wanted it to stick a smoother landing.

Grim, claustrophobic, nihilistic, deeply unpleasant — this is all these things. But it’s beautifully made and shot.

Perhaps Half Man‘s biggest flaw is the heavy-handed way in which Ruben menaces over the entire series. There are moments when Gadd is so ominous as Ruben it almost takes you out of the show’s dramatic atmosphere. .... Niall and Ruben’s journey together is worth sticking around for.

Despite several flaws, which include the fact that the series barely has any female characters who matter at all (aside from Lori), Half Man is still masterfully tense, shining most when it centers around its two leading characters and their complicated relationship.

Gadd remains a first-rate talent; anything he does is worth watching. But it's hard to sit through this one.

Gadd proves he’s not a one-trick pony (or reindeer), but “Half Man” never entirely takes flight.

The acting is first-class even when this Richard Gadd series shifts catastrophically from shock value to misery porn and murder.

Half Man is both more ambitious and less accomplished than Baby Reindeer.

A show designed to sit in the gray of moral complexity, the central dynamic is compelling — though some incohesive narrative choices stop Half Man from reaching its full potential.

I came out moved—devastated, really—but ambivalent about whether its payoff had been worth the pain.

A slight and transparent tale of closeted torment and co-dependent craziness.

Despite some strong writing and the undeniable energy between the two central performers, “Half Man” loses itself, succumbing to a tired necessity to evoke pain without justifying it. It’s misery for the sake of misery.

Half Man is most provocatively compelling when it paints in shades of gray, when Ruben and Niall are young and their instincts are unclear to each other and to themselves. But as the miniseries exits adolescence, Half Man feels increasingly afraid of the messiness it initially embraced, and increasingly didactic.

Not only does “Half Man” end without attaining the same level of lived complexity as Gadd’s past work, but its conclusion also ensures the only way to read their story is as an allegory. They’re half-men who add up to even less.

Gadd has a knack for creating appealing, recognizably human side characters. But they can’t make up for the lack of substance at the center of “Half Man.” .... It’s probably not a good sign when the only people you care about in a show are the ones your hero mistreats.

I can respect the lines Gadd is drawing between nature and nurture, destiny and self-determination, trauma and healing. I just can’t say I found the unveiling of those truths to be especially enjoyable or revelatory.

Half Man is a weaker piece of work but, once again, it leaves a nasty taste.

It feels like a show in search of meaning, a plot looking for a story – and, frankly, it’s a huge misfire.