By John Serba

Even after one episode, Widow’s Bay (now streaming on Apple TV) looks like a hit. Created by first-time showrunner Katie Dippold (whose writing credits include Mad TV and Parks and Recreation, as well as comedy films like The Heat and Snatched) and ushered along by director and executive producer Hiro Murai (who did the same for Atlanta, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, and others), the series aims to bullseye the sweet spot between comedy and horror. The setting is a New England island thirsty for tourism dollars but shrouded by a bizarre fog representing its freaky-superstitious history; the exasperated and skeptical mayor is played by Matthew Rhys, surrounded by primo-eccentric supporting players, Kate O’Flynn, Dale Dickey and Stephen Root among them. And here’s my REVIEW SPOILER ALERT: I wasn’t hooked by the first episode – I was hooked in less than 10 minutes.

WIDOW’S BAY: STREAM IT OR SKIP IT? 

Opening Shot: Nighttime. Light shimmers off water. Ominous vibes as we pan up to a lonely boat floating on the water. 

The Gist: That’s Shep (Tom Kemp) on that lonely boat, bitching about how his wife kicked him out over the radio to Wyck (Root). Suddenly, the power on the boat goes out. A fog rolls in. A large flock of Apocalypse Birds urgently squawks and flaps overhead. You know – Apocalypse Birds. The type you see in movies when big, mean stuff is about to happen and all the animals flee from the source of the big, mean stuff. We cut to three teenage boys in a Volvo smokin’ a doob, then to Tom Loftis (Rhys), asleep in bed. But not for long, because the power goes out and an earthquake shakes the town and he dashes into his son’s room and he isn’t there, because he’s one of the tokers in the car. 

The next morning, we learn that Tom is the mayor of Widow’s Bay. Power’s still out. And on top of that, Shep’s missing. Total crap timing: Tom worked his heinie off to get a New York Times travel reporter to visit the island and attract summer tourists who hopefully will bring in revenue and allow the town to have decent wifi and cell service and all the other stuff that might make the place not look like it was left behind in 1982. I mean, what with the landlines and CRTVs and smoking inside, one is prompted to press pause and try to make out the year on the calendar in Tom’s office. The first hint that it’s actually the 21st century is the reporter’s (Bashir Salahuddin) fashion sense, but then he pulls out his smartphone and confirms it.

Right: The reporter, Arthur, is here now already, perusing the museum full of lore about cannibalism, ghost ships and witch hunts (the museum curator: “Great source of pride. We caught ’em, we burned ’em.”). Tom meets him and gets to spinning, spinning, spinning. Just before Arthur goes off to explore on his own, Tom blurts out, “F— Cape Cod.” Not very mayorly, but that’s Tom.

Meanwhile, Wyck, spooked by Shep’s disappearance and the lurking fog, is ready to sound the alarm: “It’s a haunt,” he gravely intones. Tom insists Shep is somewhere sleeping off a bender, until he stumbles into the inn, soaked to the bone. He flops on the floor and is taken to the hospital – and his story doesn’t end there. In fact, it ends very disturbingly right smack in front of Tom. Various folk, including Tom’s staff – which includes Rosemary (Dickey) and Patricia (O’Flynn) – drop vague references to boogeymen and The Old Hospital. This island is full of this kind of shit. Inexplicable weird phenomena just seeps out of the cracks of the earth or something. Tom has dinner with Arthur, who says he loves Widow’s Bay, and tourists would love it too. Tom’s ELATED. He shouts with glee. Then the power goes out and Tom sees some not-nice fog outside the window and when some men get up to leave the restaurant Tom screams, “THERE’S SOMETHING IN THE FOG!” I wonder how that Times piece is gonna read now.

What Shows Will It Remind You Of? Small-town comedy a la Schitt’s Creek crosses with supernaturalish mystery-comedy like Severance maybe, with some Stephen King thrown in for good measure (perhaps Castle Rock?), because has cornered the market on scary stuff in the Northeastern U.S. for a half-century now. Oh, and the influence of John Carpenter’s semi-classic scare flick The Fog floats in like a… cloud that’s too low to the ground? Sure. 

Our Take: There’s a dozen withering one-liners in the opening stretch of Widow’s Bay, and they pop delightfully like fireworks. Rhys sets the tone as a local leader trapped between the rock of skepticism and the hard place of believing that this island town is, indeed, cursed. Around every corner – narrative or street, doesn’t matter – is another bizarre tale comprising the Stephen King short-story collection that is the town’s history. The sheer volume of weirdness ingrained in Widow’s Bay is itself funny, but the way Dippold funnels that weirdness through a cast of eccentric characters gives the series another rich layer of comedy. 

Case in point: Arthur brings up to Tom that the locals believe if you’re born in Widow’s Bay, you can never leave. Anecdotal evidence supports the claim – so-and-so died of a stroke a day after hitting the mainland, etc. Tom’s response is smiley and skeptical but his reasoning is soaked in flop sweat. Not even he believes the bullshit he’s spewing. Dude’s clearly in denial. All this inexplicable nuttiness can’t merely be coincidence, can it? 

Meanwhile, Tom deals with some normal stuff, e.g., his son Evan’s (Kingston Rumi Southwick) delinquency, which seems tied to the loss of their wife/mother by as-yet-unrevealed means. Let’s hope it wasn’t a Chthulhu living in the sewer that got her, or something. Actually, that would be fun! Sad. But fun! Better than cancer or a car wreck, for sure. Where was I? Right – Widow’s Bay is a rewind-because-you’ll-laugh-too-hard endeavor mixing bits of dysfunctional-workplace comedy (the mayor’s office is full of wackies!), crime procedurals (I assume a brief intro to the local sheriff means he’ll soon investigate untimely deaths) and small-town-eccentricity dramedy (everyone knows everyone else, and how everyone else else died) that immediately immerses us in the setting. You can smell the salt in the air and you can feel the dread in that salt in the air and you’re probably going to binge the living shit out of this show. 

Performance Worth Watching: Rhys is spot-on perfect as a guy doing his best to keep it together and be the calm and reasonable representative face of Widow’s Bay – as he tries to keep his inner conflict about the reality of the situation under the surface. I’m not sure it’s working. And that’s why he’s so damn funny.

Sex And Skin: None so far. 

Parting Shot: A room deep underground: Is that an old electric chair? And what’s behind those ominous rusty cellar doors? 

Sleeper Star: O’Flynn uses her exquisite deadpan to steal what seems like a half-dozen scenes just in the opening episode.

Most Pilot-y Line: Wyck gets this one, and it’s right smack on the nose: “It’s startin’.”

Our Call: Haven’t laughed this hard since Pluribus. Which means Apple TV might have another smash on its hands. STREAM IT.

John Serba is a freelance film critic from Grand Rapids, Michigan. Werner Herzog hugged him once.