(courtesy IMDb)
Hal & Harper is one of the most rewarding series I’ve seen in quite some, full of an indie authenticity, a nuanced pace and a characters who make so much sense if you’re prepared to be honest about how exhaustingly painful life can be and yet how possible and connected it can be too.
But for all of those attractive qualities, which should have made watching an easy, endless binge, I struggled to return to it as I watched it in batches of two-to-three episodes.
That reluctance to hit “play” had nothing to do with the series itself of course.
In fact, it was because Hal & Harper, created, written and directed by Cooper Raiff (Cha Cha Real Smooth) did so much RIGHT that I struggled to dive back into each episode.
Once back into the flow, I sunk into the montages, backed by a selection of perfectly-judged songs, and scenes that moved easily, if occasionally confusingly between the past and the present and to those lingering placed in-between that seem to float chronologically rootless in all our lives.
But getting there could be tough and it was all because Hal & Harper absolutely nails, NAILS, what it feels like to have pain, deep down searing pain, visit you destructively, terribly and yet monstrously quietly when you are young, and have no idea what to do with it.
When you’re a kid, of course, you’ve barely begun to live the good parts of life and to discover how wondrously full and expansive the world can be, and so, when the truly bad stuff hits you, you are broadsided and react instinctually in ways that defy intellect and rational because at that point on life, you simply don’t grasp or understand what’s happening to you.
Harper (Lili Reinhart), one half of the eponymous siblings at the heart of this immersively compelling story, and protective, nurturing older sister to Hal (Cooper Raiff) knows exactly what it’s like when life slams you sideways, up and down and into the blender and you have no choice, even as kid, but to find a way to cope.
The traumatic incident which triggers her growing up too fast moment, a moment that lingers and lingers until her mid-twenties when she finally finds some healing, is ———- SPOILER ALERT !!!!! ———- the death of her mother when she and Hal are only about 12 and 10 or so.
The age isn’t specified so that’s just a rough guess but if losing her mum is grief enough, her father, never really named and played by Mark Ruffalo with a quiet, desperate vulnerability, folds in on himself, unable to cope with the loss of the love of his life and manifestly unable to provide a loving, consistently stable environment for his kids.
In fact, Hal & Harper starts with the two kids trying to rouse their unconscious father after they have arrived home from school, their pick-up forgotten by their neglectful dad, Hal’s panic matched almost beat for beat by Harper’s world weariness.
She isn’t so much alarmed as grimly accepting and impatience with her dad is only matched by her need to shield Hal from the worst of their emotionally negligent lives; they aren’t abused necessarily and their dad is engaged enough that they are fed and clothed and given some semblance of a normal life – though to be fair much of that likely still comes down to Harper’s almost adult attentiveness – but are dealing with two death in effects.
Their mother has actually died and while their father might be technically alive and kicking, he clocked out long ago, only coming back to life, though not without some struggle, when he meets, falls in love with and moves in with Kate (GLOW‘s Betty Gilpin).
Hal & Harper are manifestly codependent, unable to take any real steps without walking in lockstep with the other.
But as we get long, sustained looks at what drove the siblings unhealthily into each others where they formed their own desperately necessary, mutually supportive bubble, we also see Harper begin to look around and want to see what her life could be if she got to know herself, truly know herself, and made decisions to make her happy, not protect Hal or her dad.
The beauty of Hal & Harper is that these three hurt and broken people do care for each other, are connected to one another, and really do profoundly and deeply love each other.
The trouble is that they can’t find a healthy way to or from each other, and are unable to balance the good that has survived to the present day, given new vivacity by the outside force of Kate who loves them and whom they love fiercely back, and so when Harper does attempt to break free, at great cost to her relationship with girlfriend, Jesse (Alyah Chanelle Scott), her nascent connection to coworker and single mum Audrey (Addison Timlin), it causes all kinds of ructions.
Good ones in the end, as it turns out, but the path to a future beyond all that corrosive, weirdly nurturing codependent pain is not an easy one, and Hal & Harper captures it all painfully and beautifully with a visual style that allows the emotions to linger and sit with you.
If you have experienced trauma, which rooted part of you permanently in a blighted childhood – for all my therapy, part of me remains an horrifically bullied kid, both at church and school, who can’t fully trust I am loveable or worth something to others (despite all evidence to the contrary) – you will find much with which to identify with in this superbly realised show.
So well does it execute on its premise, using, as one example, Reinhart and Raiff to play themselves as kids to graphically illustrate how lost and locked in one traumatic long ago time they are – it might seem like a gimmick but good lord it’s POWERFUL as a depiction of stalled, broken humanity – that you will find it hard to watch at times, visually and narratively beautiful though it is much of the time, and that’s a good thing because it means it’s telling it’s story well, making an impact and maybe causing you to wonder what you need to do to ultimately break away and see where life might take beyond the pain which has long defined you.
Hal & Harper streams on Stan in Australia.