Coming from Judd Apatow, Lesley Arfin, and Paul Rust, Love feels distinct right from its opening moments. Timelines and expectations are immediately in flux. It’s not long before the series juxtaposes its two flawed protagonists. Gus (Paul Rust) and Mickey (Gillian Jacobs) are shown going through breakups, weeping in tandem, and experiencing ennui together. This bifurcated perspective asserts its presence strongly in the first episode in order to naturalize this division line between Mickey and Gus. So often episodes are showing the two of them as reactions to one another rather than actually having them be together. Their equilibrium is constantly in flux, so when Gus is out enjoying himself on a date, Mickey is alone and bored out of her gourd, accordingly. Their dueling perspectives compliment each other well. They feel like two sides of the same coin. Each gender gets its own honest take on the topic at hand.

This “Rashomon technique” that Love employs can point out very obvious differences between Mickey and Gus, but it also allows much deeper introspection into relationships. Exploring areas like misreading text messages and party etiquette become fascinating when one of these characters is super chill and the other is extremely tense. Episodes play with the idea of one character being endlessly optimistic towards the progress being made in a relationship, while having no idea the other person can be having sex with someone else all day. This pathetic fallacy is constantly present and is cleverly paired with parallel thoughts like how you can’t really know someone, or how tortured and stressed our enemies can be. While Master of None helps an audience empathize with minorities, this very much does the same thing. Only here the minorities are our antagonists or the people on the peripherals of our life; the people that we deal with, but don’t want—or care enough—to get to know any better.

It’s also crazy how much of Mickey and Gus’ communication is via text or some sort of messaging system. Their jobs and schedules largely keep them apart so it’s actually exciting when these two are occupying the same space. It works in the show’s benefit to take this relaxed, slow pace to Gus and Mickey’s relationship. The series is much more interested in showing you what similar lives they lead and how they are equally broken, rather than showing connection through them hooking up right out of the gate. That’s the direction that you’d expect for a show of this nature. It makes Love’s slow burn storytelling feel all the more unique.

The times when Gus and Mickey are together are magic. Watching them bond, riff, and get to know each other as they share their dreams with each other is really endearing. There are Before Sunrise pangs, which is always high praise in my book. You can’t help but smile and enjoy the chemistry that Jacobs and Rust share, and while Jacobs has been proving her worth for over six years on Community, it’s nice that Rust finally has a vehicle that shows him off for the masses. Watching his earnestness clash with her ruggedness is the perfect cocktail. Something as simple as them getting high together suddenly becomes an all-too-real scene that’s not concerned with anything other than being casual and hanging out.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ym3LoSj9Xj8

There’s a scene, for instance, where Mickey watches the John Candy vehicle Armed and Dangerous in bewilderment due to Gus’ love for the film. It’s eerily reminiscent of the pitch perfect scene from Freaks and Geeks where Bill Haverchuck simply watches Garry Shandling stand-up, eats grilled cheese, and just is. It’s pages of characters crammed into an efficient vignette. At other times their union turns into this corrosive substance in such a natural, unassuming way that it speaks volumes on the volatile nature of relationships, too. You can feel so completely in sync with someone one second, and like a complete stranger the next, and Love taps into that feeling perfectly.