Warning: Spoilers Ahead for Kevin Can F**K Himself
This post contains some spoilers surrounding my thoughts on the amazing 2021/2022 AMC show Kevin Can F**K Himself, created by the brilliant Valerie Armstrong. Netflix has recently released both seasons, and I had no idea what I was getting into when I hit play. Though it only spans two seasons of sheer brilliance, this show deserved more recognition than just a handful of editing and casting nominations. The powerhouse cast—Annie Murphy, Eric Peterson, Raymond Lee, Mary Hollis Inboden, Alex Bonifer, and Candice Coke—delivers performances that will leave you both captivated and unsettled.
I urge you, right now, to watch it on Netflix: Watch Kevin Can F**K Himself. I binged the entire series in about two days, then spent the following two weeks re-watching favorite scenes, interviews, and other media. This show has lived rent-free in my head, and I had to share my thoughts.
At first glance, Kevin Can F**k Himself appears to be your run-of-the-mill bright lights, laugh-tracked sitcom, complete with the goofy, possibly problematic husband, Kevin, and his long-suffering, nagging wife, Allison. But here’s the twist: every time Allison steps out of Kevin’s orbit, the cameras switch to a dramatic and muted format, and the laugh track fades away. This jarring transition exposes the ugly truths lurking beneath the cheerful facade.
This ingenious visual metaphor reveals the disconnect between Kevin’s rose-colored worldview and Allison’s grim reality. In Kevin’s world, his antics are met with chuckles and eye rolls; in Allison’s, they become the stuff of nightmares. As the show toggles back and forth between these two realities, it becomes clear that the sitcom veneer is a flimsy cover for the emotional abuse that Allison—and the rest of the people around Kevin—endures day in and day out.
At the heart of the show is Allison, a character who shatters the stereotypes of the shrill, harpy sitcom wife. She’s flawed, complex, and achingly relatable. Her struggles to break free from Kevin’s manipulative grasp reflect the experiences of countless individuals trapped in abusive relationships.
What makes Allison so compelling? She’s not perfect or above making similar mistakes. She makes morally questionable choices, like cheating on Kevin and plotting his demise. Yet through the lens of her painful past, Allison’s choices are portrayed as profoundly human.
One of the show’s greatest strengths is its mastery of visual storytelling. Rather than relying on heavy-handed exposition, Kevin Can F**K Himself trusts its audience to read between the lines. The shifts in lighting, the strategic use of the laugh track, and the lingering shots of Allison’s pained expressions all work together to create a rich, nuanced narrative that rewards close viewing.
Towards the end of the second season, a significant revelation comes to light, literally mirrored in the lighting whenever Allison’s mother enters the scene: the familiar sitcom lighting returns. We discover that Allison has experienced a relationship with her mother that mirrors her toxic dynamic with Kevin. Confusion between love and abuse has been ingrained in her psyche. She feels trapped, equating her painful relationship with Kevin to the only form of love she has ever known.
Allison’s choices stem from deep-seated trauma and hurt. While it’s easy to judge her actions from a healthier perspective, they reveal the struggles of someone who has faced lifelong emotional abuse. The background information provides context for her behavior without seeking forgiveness or permission from the viewer.
Allison’s character is unapologetically human, embodying the raw realism of someone navigating the complexities of their trauma.
The show specifically illustrates Allison’s character in context, avoiding heavy-handed messaging. The past abuse is nuanced and depicted through lighting, set design, and color palettes. The viewer is invited to interpret Allison’s actions as they wish, judging her according to their own worldview.
