In a comedy atmosphere, this drama series, follows Rob, a young smart girl, who obsessed with pop and music and owns a record store in Crown Heights, where she struggles against breaking up with her true love, the thing that challenges her, as she can't deal with his loss.
[It] does, refreshingly, correct the exclusionary spirit that went with the original's lack of diversity. Yet crucially, the series retains the assurance that music preferences reflect something individual, ineffable, soul-deep, and in need of sharing.
Aside from being a fun, likable show, High Fidelity takes on the often difficult task of examining what it means to be a bad person, and when, and how much, that makes someone less deserving of love.
Hulu's High Fidelity is more fun, more forgiving. Not necessarily better, but kinder, and more suited to the weeks after a breakup when you've picked up a new hobby, changed your hairstyle, and started to move on.
You walk away with the sense of High Fidelity as a justifiably living document, as a series of reboots and remakes in legitimately jarring and fascinating conversation with one another, as the ongoing chronicle of an awful person's rebirth...
That track is, mostly, very lovely, a searching and sweet love song anchored by wonderfully unshowy performances from Kravitz and Holmes and a wonderfully showy one from Randolph.
Rob is not perfect by any means, and it's a huge credit to Kravitz's performance and innate charm that she remains likable despite revelations of past wrongs.
High Fidelity gets at least one part of the record store experience right: the surprise and delight of a great discovery-not necessarily new, yet not where you expected either.
