In a comedic atmosphere, Barry Berkman is a hit man who is asked to kill an aspiring actor in Los Angeles. When Barry get there he meets a group of eager hopefuls within the L.A. theater scene who will take Barry on their way.
Over the course of the season, Barry amounts to something, locating a hit man's shared humanity not in his competence, his guilt, or his remorse, but in his delusional belief that he's a decent person.
The series likely wouldn't have worked with one-hour episodes. But in a half-hour's time, Barry maximizes its punching power while knowing when and how to drop in a sight gag.
You root for him more fiercely than you've ever rooted for a difficult TV antihero, because what he wants is so representative of all anybody wants, in the end.
The show never strays from its down-to-earth storytelling. If it's funny because it's true (or feels true, in this case), then that same principle works for the darker, laugh-less moments.
Barry is a series where Bill Hader confirms he's much more than a mugging sketch comic. He's a compelling actor with a unique voice who's created one of the best new shows of the year.
