What is it? The debut television series from intentionally awful internet sensation Miranda Sings.
Why you’ll love it: Traditionally, YouTubers haven’t enjoyed the smoothest transition to more established media. Witness 2010’s Fred: The Movie for example, an early attempt at a crossover so colossally bonk-headed that it made you feel as if you’d taken a cheese grater to the brain by the final credits.
By some degree – discounting Rachel Bloom, whose Crazy Ex-Girlfriend is enough of a departure from her YouTube days to qualify as a fresh start – Haters Back Off represents the best transition yet. It’s a uniformly singular sitcom about the effects of fame, and frequently a very funny one.
Miranda Sings is the brainchild of comedian Colleen Ballinger, who first came to my attention by confounding Jerry Seinfeld at every turn during an episode of Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee. Sings is a monstrous, arrogant, self-centred young woman determined to become a global megastar despite her demonstrable lack of talent. With scarlet lipstick smeared across her face, and what has to qualify as the universe’s least appealing ice-cream consumption technique, – shown in horrific close-up more than once – Haters Back Off represents an origin story of sorts.
The series follows Miranda’s quest for fame, from her off-key first YouTube upload to the moment her dreams are (in a sense) realised. Along the way, she behaves monstrously, meets people who are inexplicably even more monstrous than her and murders dozens of fish.
The biggest reference point here, happily, seems to be Napoleon Dynamite. Sings and her family live in a small, unkept bungalow in an unidentified corner of small-town America where the ground is flat and the skies are huge, all interiors are the colour of Australian cigarette packets and the only source of entertainment is the singles night at the local church. Every haircut is slightly wonky, every garment made from flammable-looking manmade fibres. If it wasn’t for the presence of YouTube, there would be no way of telling when the show is meant to be set.
How well you’ll do with the show probably depends on your tolerance for shouting. Everyone shouts here, almost all the time. Sings herself is uniquely atonal, with a speaking voice that sounds like an exploding sinus. But her supporting cast aren’t much quieter. Her uncle Jim, played with unnerving dedication by Steve Little, honks and roars whenever necessary. Her pastor, Chaz Lamar Shepherd, is a violently expressive showboater. Even her mother, played by the usually restrained Angela Kinsey, has moments of shrieking meltdown.
A point will come during this series where you’ll wonder whether any of this shouting has a purpose. Thankfully, it does. Unable to sustain this wild energy for the entire duration, later episodes start to intentionally collapse in on themselves to the point where the finale is legitimately morose. It’s a nice sign that Miranda Sings isn’t quite as one-note as she makes out, and also a perfect setup for future episodes.
As great as Haters Back Off is – and it is great, once you’ve attuned yourself to its quirks – you nevertheless hope that it isn’t the start of a trend. Ballinger deserves her own show. Someone like PewDiePie, probably less so.
Length: Eight half-hour episodes, all up now on Netflix.
Stand-out episode: The pilot. It’s just about as full-on as Haters Back Off gets, and a pretty good bellwether of how easily you can stomach it.
If you liked Haters Back Off, watch: Awkward (Amazon), Smosh: The Movie (Netflix).
