Feeling alone and adrift, an aging widower goes undercover to work as a spy who infiltrates a retirement community in the Netflix comedy "A Man on the Inside." Played by Ted Danson, Charles is an elegant, charmingly awkward ex-professor whose days have become too empty. When his daughter suggests he find something to do, he answers a want ad from a private investigator. Next thing you know, Charles is moving into the very comfortable-looking Pacific View, where he is tasked with finding out (unbeknownst to anyone there) what happened to a fellow resident's missing jewelry.
Creator is Michael Schur, whose previous efforts, including "Parks and Recreation" and "The Good Place," were fundamentally about yearning to connect -- even, sometimes, with the crankiest among us. That's true here as well, though "A Man on the Inside" (loosely based on the 2020 Chilean documentary "The Mole Agent") has less of a sitcom quality in its look and rhythms, and especially in its willingness to tackle the tougher realities of aging.
Before sending Charles out on assignment, his new boss (Lilah Richcreek Estrada) asks him: Are you ready? "Well, I don't know but it hardly matters. What matters is you think I'm ready." Oh, you're not remotely ready, she says. "Be that as it may, you put your faith in me and that gives me confidence." She stares, then tells him: "I think you are the best option in a sea of not-very-good options." Charles: "That's all I needed to hear!" He's an eternal optimist, and as such, it's a foregone conclusion that he will establish real friendships at Pacific View, despite the job at hand.
Once Charles familiarizes himself with his surroundings and ingratiates himself with his new neighbors ("All the people here are cliquey and they're rowdy and they're horny!"), his efforts to sniff out a thief aren't half bad, but often border on the ridiculous. I like that Charles is a distinctive personality. He's the kind of guy who wears a jacket and tie every day. He's legitimately interested in other people and sharing time with them, but uncomfortable with vulnerability or forging meaningfully intimate relationships (including one with his daughter). A year after his wife's death, there's still so much pain that lingers just under the surface. She had Alzheimer's and he was her caregiver; that experience has made him especially sensitive to what it means when dementia affects a fellow resident.
Stephanie Beatriz plays the approachable and dedicated administrator who runs the retirement community. She's overworked, but never over it. With her hair cut short and a voice that's higher than the one she used on "Brooklyn Nine-Nine," Beatriz is almost unrecognizable at first. It's fun! The show has a sense of humor about aging and tremendous compassion. But as universal as these themes may be, a place like Pacific View likely costs in the double digits per month. Watching fictional retirees living financially stable lives, where their biggest concern is finding ways to fill their days -- in a pricey city like San Francisco, no less -- feels utterly detached from the reality that I and so many others will be facing.
As sweetly gentle comedies go -- particularly those premised on strained relationships and earnest attempts to bridge that divide -- it's a far better show than something like Apple's "Shrinking." It's also frankly wonderful to see a cast filled with actors in their 70s or older, who most viewers will recognize on sight, if not by name: Margaret Avery, Lori Tan Chinn, John Getz, Stephen McKinley Henderson, Clyde Kusatsu and Sally Struthers.
It's not unusual to see older actors in supporting roles. But as a series lead? Rarer. And yet so many shows are bucking that trend right now. In addition to Danson, there's Kathy Bates ("Matlock"), Martin Short and Steve Martin ("Only Murders in the Building"), Kevin Kline ("Disclaimer") and Michael Douglas ("Franklin"). That's not even an exhaustive list. The quality of the shows may vary, but there's something notable about this happening in an industry where ageism is too often the default.
The physical and mental demands of starring in a series can be significant and not everyone is up for at this life stage. That so many are is notable and I have a theory that may explain this trend. A recent story in The Hollywood Reporter noted that back in the '70s and '80s, the TV and movie business used to be run by young hotshots in their 20s and 30s. Now all the decision-making executives are well past retirement age. That's closed out some important opportunities for generations that have come up behind them. On the flip side, there's now an abundance of executives willing to back actors who are their peers, age-wise.