Harbour also plays himself in the present day, working to uncover more information about his father and his theater career, a question that’s neither funny nor revealing. His putative father’s theater isn’t bad in an interesting or funny way; it’s just increasingly dull, wasting the great comic talent Kate Berlant at that. (Berlant recently appeared in Netflix’s “I Think You Should Leave,” a superlative variety series from which this program might have learned something about restraint; the sketches were tight and brisk and the episodes a mere 15 minutes apiece.) And the introduction of theater jokes about, say, the principle of Chekhov’s gun, come to rankle: If writer John Levenstein is so willing to show off what he knows about the principles of theater, why does so little of this work as anything other than the broadest sort of slapstick? Ultimately, the presence of quite so many preeningly presented references to theater and to Harbour’s fictional family history with so few genuine laughs makes the whole enterprise feel indulgent, a vanity project for one of Netflix’s biggest stars and not one that demands in any real way to exist.