The Heart, She Holler

If someone dared David Lynch to make a show about rednecks that would be the weirdest, silliest, most salacious production ever, it would be this show. There's gore galore, sexual depravity, and rapid fire wordplay that will make your head spin (watch with subtitles so you don't miss any of it). The cast does a great job, especially Kristen Schaal -- but her replacement, Amy Sedaris, is even better. She can do grotesque like nobody's business. And Judith Roberts as Meemaw -- OMG, hilarious AND terrifying!

In short: You will either love it or hate it. Is it utterly brilliant or utterly stupid? Yes.

The stuff you'll see in this 15 minute show will tear open a part of your psyche that was used in primordial times to defend against the creeping darkness of nonexistence. It's not for the faint at heart or the strong at heart but for the cowardly pond scum that need the answers to the great mysteries of the universe but are afraid to raise their hands in class for fear of losing them to ceiling fans. It's terrible. It's wonderful. It's full of groaning puns, devilish wordplay and scene after scene of Lynch/Cronenberg body horror and mysticism but like scribbled in an eight grader's notebook and set on fire in a trashcan filled with Sloppy Joe leavings. . . It's a grotesque gargoyle baby. It's also funny, and unwatchable. What I'm trying to say is PFFR. You should already know if this is worth watching from the title alone.

I was all set to write a "legit" review of "The Heart, She Holler," but after reading the jaw-dropping first entry, then many of the subsequent offerings, I feel that I only have one unique thing to contribute:

Although this show is meant to be comedy, albeit of the creepy, weird voodoo variety, I find Patton Oswald's performance of the character Hurlan, the man-child raised in complete isolation, punctuated with moments of true and genuine heartbreak, as he tries time and time again, to connect with somebody... anybody. The show is interesting, but when either Hurlan or the witch Mother are on the screen, it simply jumps,erupting into new life. It is then that the show leaps to a completely new and higher level.

ADDENDUM: After viewing the third season, I just have to say that this trippy, hypnotic project is a thing of beauty and true genius.

This magnificent epic is a landmark in America's ongoing struggle to define, and comprehend, it's own sexual identity. Patton Oswalt makes Brando look like a piker with his portrayal of the man that every woman wants to be, and every man is in love with; truly the greatest masterwork of the Twentieth Century. Also, I have a thing for Kris Schaal.... like America. So slaughter the fatted Gemberling, light the comic candles; prepare for a New Season.... Sure, this kind of comedy isn't for everyone, but to say that there's no overarching plot; that is pushing it a bit. Acquired taste, anyone?

It's true that while Pat Oswalt ( "Big Fan" ) is a Liberal, an overripe pudding of a man, an empty hole of nihilistic nothing; it is also true that the character he has created has changed the culture forever. We will never be able to look at ourselves, our neighbors, their surprisingly hot wives and girlfriends, or their dogs in the same way ever again.

America; "Uncle Sam", That delicious Brunette "Lady Liberty" from old-time recruiting posters, or just a big, green, suspiciously mannish copper strumpet fro France? Watch with an open mind, perhaps learn to ask the right questions.

This show is all at once avant garde,transgressive, satirical, but also a spoof of avant garde transgressive satire. Its blue and smart and dumb and raises questions that make you thing as well as making you think ", did a show this poorly constructed actually make me think so deeply". If you're strapped for time but want to watch something of quality but need it to be easy and make help you wind down at the end of the day then you need to plug this show in once or twice a week. I wrote this review drunk, but as a final last pitch, I would describe it as basically what it would be like if George Saunders huffed gasoline and was dropped off in Eastern Tennessee and had a savant/autistic kid with Steve King. Sold yet? Glad I could sell you on it.