TV review
Horror comedy is a tricky hybrid to pull off; most efforts tend to veer too far toward one side or the other. Such is the challenge faced by “Widow’s Bay,” the new 10-episode Apple TV series created by Katie Dippold (whose credits include the 2016 “Ghostbusters” movie and the beloved TV comedy “Parks and Recreation”). It starts out genuinely funny, though to be precise it’s more character comedy than laugh-out-loud jokes, but as the episodes meander along, the wit starts to get left behind. That would be fine if the scary stuff was a little scarier, but ultimately “Widow’s Bay” feels a little underbaked.
The story takes place in a promising setting: the atmospheric (and fictitious) title island, set 40 miles off the New England coast and popularly believed to be cursed. The island’s ambitious mayor, Tom Loftis (Matthew Rhys, of “The Americans”), scoffs at doomsayers and is determined to attract tourists to Widow’s Bay, to help the struggling local economy and build a better life for himself and his teenage son Evan (Kingston Rumi Southwick).
In the opening episodes, we meet the small-town folk surrounding Tom: earnest staffer Patricia (Kate O’Flynn), superstitious local Wyck (Stephen Root), sensible sheriff Bechir (Kevin Carroll), gossipy records clerks Rosemary (Dale Dickey) and Dale (Jeff Hiller), Tom’s octogenarian assistant Ruth (K Callan). Many of these people, it turns out, have secrets — including Tom himself, a single dad who has a way of looking desperately haunted on the rare occasions when he’s alone.
Tom’s efforts to talk up the island are quickly successful — listen for Rhys’ enchanting whoop of delight when a New York Times reporter compares Widow’s Bay to Martha’s Vineyard — and soon the place is teeming with tourists, despite its lack of Wi-Fi. But that doesn’t stop strange events from occurring. Mysterious figures appear in the dark fog; ghostly sounds are heard in a historic (and thoroughly creepy) hotel; references are made to a horrific crime on the island a few decades ago whose effects still reverberate; and a pale, tangle-haired female wraith — “the hag,” Wyck casually tells us — seems to be haunting Tom. All is not well in Widow’s Bay, a place where ghosts, both real and psychological, seem to lurk in every corner.
“Widow’s Bay” is at its best when it leans into character comedy, particularly in the early episodes. The town hall seems to be a place where time has stood still — everything in Tom’s office looks like it’s been there since the ‘70s, particularly the well-thumbed Rolodex — and the people seem like they’ve been there forever as well, a funny blend of competence and cluelessness. (In the opening episode, Tom yells to his assistant to get a local restaurant on the phone. “What’s the number?” is her unfrazzled reply.)
O’Flynn’s Patricia, in particular, is a wonderful comic creation; she’s got a sad-owl, wide-eyed deadpan, stomping around in her sensible flats and looking at Tom in perpetual disappointment, like she’s waiting for him to say something that he’s never going to say. Her moods change instantly, like she’s consciously switching gears. “This place freaks me out,” she says darkly to Tom, outside the haunted hotel where he’s about to spend the night, then adds a cheery chirp, “OK, good luck!” As the series progresses, we learn more about Patricia’s backstory and she becomes less funny and more poignant — and, eventually, heroic.
But even as it settles decidedly on the horror side of things in the later episodes, “Widow’s Bay” feels disjointed — a blur of ghost story, slasher movie, period thriller, “Jaws”-like shriekfest and father-son drama, as Tom and Evan confront their family demons. A few good jump scares turn up, but nothing truly terrifying (unless Patricia’s sad-sack wardrobe counts). But I won’t say it’s not worth watching — there’s pleasure to be had in hanging with this small-town community, where the history center volunteer and the convenience store cashier and the local drug dealer (“I’m a shaman,” he insists, rejecting the label) all have known each other for ages. It’s cozy horror, and these days there’s something appealing about that.
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