Jamie Bell and Richard Gadd in ‘Half Man.’ (Photo courtesy of BBC1/HBO Max)
In 2024, when Richard Gadd’s “Baby Reindeer” became a stock-boosting hit for Netflix, there were few Americans who knew his name.
In the UK, however, the Scottish writer/comedian/actor had already emerged as a talent to be reckoned with, blending autobiographical stand-up comedy with theater to create a reputation as an edgy and provocative creator whose shows tended to be equal parts divisive and successful. One of these, his fictionalized true-life story of being stalked and sexually harassed by a female fan, became an Olivier Award-winning hit in the London theater; that was “Baby Reindeer,” and – in the form of a seven-episode miniseries adaptation – it became the vehicle that carried him to wider fame.
Two years later, Gadd has returned with another high-profile miniseries, this time for HBO Max, and like its predecessor, it’s a story that deals with queer sexual repression, unhealthy attachments, and a central relationship that can safely be described without exaggeration as “toxic” – and it’s an even darker (and more twisted) ride that stretches across decades.
“Half Man,” which debuted on April 23 and continues with one episode per week through May 14, is the story of two “brothers” – Niall (Jamie Bell) and Ruben (Gadd) – whose mothers (Neve McIntosh and Marianne McIvor) have become a lesbian couple after leaving their relationships with the boys’ respective fathers. They are seeming opposites in personality; Niall is quiet, sensitive, and secretly unsure about his sexuality, while Ruben is tough, rebellious, and prone to violence – and unsurprisingly, it’s a match made in hell.
We meet them at the top of the first episode as adults, on the day of Niall’s wedding, when Ruben shows up without warning; his appearance triggers what looks like fear in his “brother from another lover,” and a private meeting between them in a barn at the wedding site turns ugly, launching a flashback format that takes us back to their schooldays, when young Ruben (Stuart Campbell) – already in trouble with the law and trying for a new start – comes home from juvenile detention to become roommate, protector, and bully to young Niall (Mitchell Robertson), all in one.
It’s the dawn of a new and epic relationship, despite a history that has made Niall terrified of the older boy; their seemingly opposite qualities somehow mesh into a kind of symbiotic bubble, in which a tense equilibrium turns them into unlikely allies. Ruben makes sure Niall has nothing to fear from the sniggering schoolyard homophobes who target him, and Niall helps Ruben pass the tests he needs to pass in order to stay in school, Nevertheless, their dynamic is equal parts surprisingly tender and alarmingly lopsided. Though they form a bond, it’s a volatile one, and by the end of episode one – after an uncomfortable-to-watch late night incident that amounts to a sexual assault – there is little doubt that Ruben is a psychopath. By then, however, it’s too late; Niall has become hopelessly ensnared by his manipulations, and their dangerous attachment has taken permanent root.
In episode two, the timeline moves the past forward several years (while rolling the wedding-day story back a few hours as well), bringing Niall forward to his college years. Ruben is once again absent from his life, but the bond is still deep. He struggles to make connections in his new setting – including with another student, the openly gay Alby (Bilal Hasna), who recognizes a side of him that he has still yet to accept for himself. Though he gradually begins to adapt to his new social circle, his insecurities get the better of him – and despite warnings from his mother not to do so, he calls Ruben to come and visit. His arrival triggers another escalating series of incidents, this time entangling Niall’s new friends and culminating in a shocking, jealous-fueled explosion of violence.
Without going on with the story – after all, the two remaining episodes have yet to be released, so we wouldn’t want to spoil anything – it’s safe to say there’s a pattern here, and it’s intentional.
Gadd has already been public about his own struggles with repression, which were directly explored (albeit fictionally) in “Baby Reindeer,” and it’s clear that he had more to say about the effects they had on his life and identity.
As he put it himself, in an interview with the Hollywood Reporter, “Themes of, I guess, masculinity, or what it means to be a man, or ‘I’ve gone through a masculinity crisis’ come into [the show] probably because I’ve been through that in my life, and I feel I can write to it and speak to it.
“I always think that the best kind of art is kept close to your chest, kept close to your heart, kept close to your experiences, and I guess with ‘Half Man,’ there’s a lot in it that I relate to. It’s not an autobiographical piece by any stretch, it’s purely fiction, but it certainly borrows from themes and struggles and issues that I understand.”
That understanding translates to the series through its focus on tracing the roots of Niall and Ruben’s relationship by methodically tracking the cause-and-effect chain that links the major events of their lives together. It explores the contradictory combination of worship and terror, the transgressive eroticism that intertwines danger and desire, the power of the forbidden to make us want it more, and the self-loathing that punishes itself through violence toward others. The inverted framework of the storytelling, which works both forward and back to meet at (we assume) some definitive point, makes following it a bit like putting together a puzzle, which also has the effect of building suspense as we wait to see the “moment of truth.”
Of course, those who prefer a more straightforward narrative might not appreciate the additional challenge, especially when the subject matter – which revolves around experiences, feelings, and behavior that might be entirely unfamiliar to many audiences – is challenging enough by itself, in its own way. Likewise, and for much the same reason, there will be viewers who are unable to relate to its characters, as some of the show’s less-favorable reviews have pointed out.
But it would be naive to assume that the themes in “Half Man” – of fragile masculinity, internalized homophobia, misdirected rage, nihilistic rebellion, conflicted desires, projected shame, and the other ingredients that infuse this shadow-boxing psychodrama with such a distinctive musky odor – do not apply to more men in today’s culture of incels, “looksmaxxers,” and “the Man-o-sphere” than any of them would like to admit. We’d wager that its portrait of a same-sex, sub/Dom, borderline incestuous relationship might resonate more urgently there than within a queer community that has been grappling with those issues for generations already and are just waiting for everybody else to catch up.
In any case, Gadd’s newest variation on a theme is a solidly crafted, well-acted, and hypnotically fascinating (if sometimes uncomfortable) exercise in the kind of “can’t look away” drama that makes for a perfect binge watch. Or, at least, it will once all the episodes drop.
The National LGBT Media Association represents 13 legacy publications in major markets across the country with a collective readership of more than 400K in print and more than 1 million + online. Learn more here: NationalLGBTMediaAssociation.com.
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