Punching below the belt: ‘half man’ delivers brutal, but ultimately empty, blows

Richard Gadd’s sophomore series starts with a shocking act of violence – a brutal, unprompted assault that sets the stage for six hours of uncomfortable, and largely unrewarding, exploration of masculinity and trauma. Jamie Bell’s character sustains significant injuries, yet the motive remains frustratingly elusive until well into the final episode.

A descent into discord: the series’ core problem

‘Half Man’ meticulously traces the toxic origins of Niall Kennedy’s (Bell) fraught relationship with his stepbrother, Ruben (Gadd). The narrative flashes back to their teenage years, revealing a pattern of abuse and manipulation fueled by Niall’s desperate need for validation and Ruben’s unsettlingly domineering presence. Initially, the arrangement – a warped form of dependency masquerading as camaraderie – echoes the disturbing dynamics of Tony Soprano and Dr. Melfi, a chilling parallel Gadd masterfully evokes through an episode reminiscent of ‘Employee of the Month.’

But where Melfi’s restraint offered a glimpse of strategic navigation, Gadd’s narrative consistently prioritizes spectacle. The repeated beatings, initially presented as a complex exploration of power and control, devolve into a repetitive cycle of abuse, punctuated by a growing sense of futility. Bell’s face becomes a stark visual representation of this diminishing impact – a testament to the series’ failure to deliver on its initial promise.

The series’ central conceit – a brutal, escalating conflict fueled by repressed trauma – quickly unravels. Niall's actions, though born of desperation, are consistently self-destructive, leading to a catastrophic downward spiral. By the third episode, the viewer is left questioning not just why Ruben inflicts these blows, but whether there’s any substantive insight to be gained. It’s a relentless barrage of punishment, mirroring the tragic trajectory of Sideshow Bob relentlessly attacking Simpson. Niall’s life becomes a litany of misfortunes, culminating in a final, devastating act of self-sabotage.

Ultimately, ‘Half Man’ feels less like a profound meditation on male vulnerability and more like a protracted exercise in inflicting pain. Gadd’s ambitious allegory – exploring the shadow self and the consequences of unchecked anger – gets lost in the melodrama. Ruben, essentially Niall’s dark reflection, doesn’t offer a nuanced critique of regressive attitudes but simply embodies a destructive force. ‘This is all your shit, son,’ Ruben finally declares, and, disconcertingly, he’s not entirely wrong. Niall’s culpability is undeniable, a grim reminder that even in the face of overwhelming violence, personal agency remains paramount.

The series ends not with a cathartic resolution, but with a chilling sense of inevitability. It’s a brutal, exhausting experience, leaving the viewer with the uncomfortable feeling that they’ve witnessed a prolonged, pointless beating – a severe case of misdirected energy. Gadd’s attempt to excavate a deeper truth about masculinity is buried beneath layers of excessive drama, leaving ‘Half Man’ a hollow victory, a bruised face, and ultimately, a considerable waste of six hours.”n