Hands barely touching. Glances stolen. Full-on stares boring longer and harder than expected. Bodies saying one thing, minds saying another, hearts doing backflips in between the two. Run, the new HBO romance-thriller-comedy from Vicky Jones (Killing Eve) and Phoebe Waller-Bridge (Fleabag), puts its two stars, Domhnall Gleeson (Star Wars 7-9) and Merritt Wever (Marriage Story) through all of this unbearably intimate sexual tension and more, giving the rat-a-tat pacing and mysterious plot construction an eagerly delicious seasoning of potential energy. After watching the five episodes provided for review, I can confidently conclude that Run is, in no uncertain terms, the horniest television show I've ever seen.
It sure as hell feels like Ruby (Wever) is living the suburban dream. A loving husband, cute children, trips to Target in her SUV. But when she receives a text message simply saying, in all caps, "RUN," Ruby responds identically, and then, well, runs. To a train station, to meet Billy (Gleeson), her college ex, to travel across America. Why, exactly? Jones and her writing staff are keen on dangling hints of certain answers while provoking many more questions throughout the episodes, but there does seem to be a much deeper purpose at play, one rife with potential love, definite lust, and nefarious motives in the form of a mysterious woman from Billy's past (Archie Panjabi, The Good Wife). Everyone is running to and from something simultaneously -- and it's a thrill to tag along for the sprint.
And now, a clinical discussion as to what makes something "horny." There are plenty of "sexy" options for your viewing pleasure, but "horny" is an entirely different beast. In my humble, horned up opinion, being "horny" is inherently defined by a lack of release. When one is horny, one's desire is never fulfilled. It stays fiery, lit by constant physical churnings, a nagging itch that simply won't go away (not even through, as happens in the pilot twice, certain "self-love strategies"). It is the desire, the potential promise of sex, rather than sex itself. And it walks a fine line between being "fun" and "frustrating."
I call Run a horny show not just to be silly or attention-grabby (emphasis on just), but because it describes the engine of our central characters' motivations, decisions, and thermometer-busting chemistry. Wever gives a career-making performance here. Her work is fearless, highly physical, desperately vulnerable yet expertly layered. She wallops you with precise comedy, intense anger, raw feeling, and demure control, all within the same scene. Her performance makes Ruby a helluva compelling protagonist, one a viewer will be glued to watching, even (especially?) when her decisions grow increasingly desperate and volatile. Ruby's conflict -- sorry, her out-and-out horniness -- is rampant, and it is transparently labeled. At times, it gives her the jolt out of boring complacency she needs, and at times it flings her into old and new dangers without a safety net. Wever plays both shades, often simultaneously, at the peak of her powers. Give her the Emmy, already!
Gleeson plays a character more eager to keep his cards close to his chest, but whenever his Billy does start to crack, he either erupts in bursts of anger or despair. Despair is a great look on Gleeson -- it's unbelievably cathartic to see Billy come to terms with the rash decisions he's making colliding with the unhealed traumas of his past, and Gleeson plays these moments with a refreshing lack of a mask. But, hey -- horniness ain't defined by release, it's defined by something being just out of reach. And so, for a large chunk of these first episodes, Billy stays hidden behind his motives and his madness. Unfortunately, this sometimes yielded problematic results for me -- it is hard, and even a little triggering, to watch a man so often resorting to physical aggression (busting a handle off a bathroom door, grabbing a woman's phone without permission, screaming at people close in their face) be seen as an object of desire, of horniness. I believe we're supposed to find these explosions to be "pathetic" more than "genuinely fearful," and I believe that Jones is purposefully playing with old-fashioned tropes of "masculine desire," but the icky feelings I felt are the icky feelings I felt.
The plot machinations of this genre-bending, half-hour work are purposefully slow and withholding until they suddenly aren't. And while the front half of the show, despite (because of?) this sense of not telling us much about the "why" of the main narrative hook, retains its sense of fun in large part due to the joys of watching Weever and Gleeson horn after each other, I couldn't help but yearn for a little more clarity, or at least more promise of clarity. It's the central mystery, yes, but it's the central mystery -- and at times, I felt the corners of the show sag under a lack of plot momentum despite its obvious character momentum. But then, things are revealed around episode four that click, with ferocity, many plot details into place. And suddenly, the show's pace whirs into a churning clip that felt perfect, marrying everything we know about these desirable characters and their desires perfectly with a suddenly pressure-fueled plot. And I realized how deep the levels of horniness went. The characters weren't just horny with each other -- the narrative had a level of meta-horniess to it all along. I was -- and I'm desperately sorry for what I'm about to write -- horny for a stronger plot, a mystery explanation. And Run knew that, and purposefully withheld it until it could no longer. And it results in gripping, appointment television, one offering an end of a season that will likely explode. Would I have preferred it offer some more micro-explosions along the way? Likely, yes. But I can't deny the power of what happened via its patience in delaying gratification.
Run, like its main characters, has a lot on its mind. The joys of reconnecting with optimistic adolescence, the fears of becoming obsolete in adulthood, the growing worries that you cannot repeat the past, the growing worries that you cannot outrun the future, the wild mood shifts that come with being brazenly, uncontrollably horny. It plays with all of these elements in nearly every level of craft, from its peerless character work (especially Wever) to its narrative construction, with excitement, engrossment, and delight. You may not know exactly where you're heading at first, but Run promises -- and plays with how much it wants to fulfill -- quite the captivating treasure map along the way. In other words: Horny is good.
Rating: ★★★★
Run premieres on HBO on April 12th.