Ricky Gervais’s After Life is a tart and tender little wonder. The series opens with a hospital bedside testimonial by Tony Johnson’s (Ricky Gervais) late wife, the love of his life. The video, which instructs Tony on how to live without her and wafts nostalgic over their affectionate and prank-filled life together, becomes a recurring posthumous source in the six-part series. “Keep being funny,” she advises in her end-of-life state. “You make everyone laugh. Then, the next morning, you have a spiritual hangover, wondering if you’ve offended anybody.” Sounds like the story of Gervais’s Golden Globes–hosting infamy.
However, Tony is doing horribly in life after life with her. As our would-be suicidal protagonist tells his boss — in that measured, sneering, take-it-or-leave-it Gervais-ian patter — at the free paper, the Tambury Gazette, “A good day is when I don’t want to shoot random strangers in the face, and then turn the gun on me.” As for his job, supplied by his brother-in-law editor, Tony describes it as making “the fucking banal mildly interesting.” He’s that kind of guy. He is, inimitably, Ricky Gervais.
Aside from the innate pleasures, nasty fun, endearing gusts of life-affirmation (they do occur), and clever writing throughout, one of the prime motivations for checking out After Life is the rare glimpse at the human side of Gervais. Gervais, the tough-tongue boss in the original British version of The Office, and the toothy comic who brought in the cold breeze to his hosting gigs at the Golden Globes, has honed his brand as the king of constant causticity. And yet, as seen on Netflix, a human heart beats within, and there is even a penchant for sentimentality — however slight and reluctant in arrival.