‘The Chair Company’ Review: Tim Robinson Trains His Eye on the Big Chair

Tim Robinson’s comedy stands out for its unique bridging of the banal and the bizarre. In shows like his breakout sketch comedy I Think You Should Leave, he heightens both modes simultaneously, so that the most absurd conflicts play out against the most comically drab backdrops: office building hallways, obligatory social gatherings, stilted infomercials. Robinson’s characters all seem to inhabit one very specific and highly entertaining circle of hell, and The Chair Company offers us our best glimpse of it yet.

Co-created with frequent collaborator Zach Kanin, the series begins much like an I Think You Should Leave sketch, with project manager Ron Trosper (Robinson) suffering a workplace humiliation that he simply refuses to let go. Rather than fulfilling his perfectly vapid duties as part of the construction of a new mall in Canton, Ohio, he grows obsessed with righting the apparent wrong that he’s suffered, lashing out at co-workers and withdrawing from his family. But what Ron finds isn’t just greater depths of humiliation, though he certainly finds that too. He stumbles upon a genuine conspiracy that involves, yes, an office chair company.

Given the nature of its sketch comedy, I Think You Should Leave presents award social interactions that read as disconnected incidents, but The Chair Company forces us to consider them within a cohesive universe of needy, abrasive weirdos, a catalog of human disasters all causing havoc in the same vicinity. An irritating co-worker (James Downey) with a bubble wand isn’t just a one-off distraction; he exists in the background of other scenes, and when he comes back into focus in later episodes, he comes back with an even more preposterous fixation.

In its depiction of pro-forma websites, outsourced customer service solutions, and team-building exercises, The Chair Company creates a hilariously bland atmosphere that’s also a little bit unnerving and sad. The series hums with the sort of existential despair that people only dare voice in YouTube comments for some old song they remember from happier times.

There are stretches of The Chair Company that steer close enough to convention that you may be reminded of plot threads from any number of TV shows: Ron begins to express the inner darkness he’s bottled up for so long, starts hiding things from his wife (Lake Bell), and struggles to connect with his son (Will Price). Here, the interpersonal drama becomes an intentional part of the wallpaper, for as familiar as these particular beats may be, they’re also as banal as office small-talk. The Chair Company not only finds Robinson delivering some of his most gleefully inspired nonsense to date, but it’s also a vicious parody of so many TV conventions.