Sylvia and Will are old college friends, without benefits, who have reunited in their 40s. They’re very close without being romantically interested in each other, and she has a habit of meddling in his relationships. Hmmm. We’re accustomed to onscreen chemistry of the explosive kind, which is generally used to exploit a heteronormative set-up. We see a man and woman getting along, and can’t help but wonder when they will burst into flames.
Platonic (Apple TV+, from Wednesday), which stars Seth Rogen and Rose Byrne and returns for a second series, is flame-retardant. Will and the married Sylvia do not pine for or want to roll around on each other, but they do rely on, delight in, irritate and deeply understand each other. It’s a worthy addition to what we might call the Ephroniverse – the slim canon of stories about whether straight women and men can be friends. As their titles suggest, Platonic comes to a different conclusion than When Harry Met Sally. It’s the correct conclusion – so why is the question still interesting?
Platonic digs into situations we’re more used to seeing in WhatsApp group chats. Sylvia is horrified that Will’s male friendships are more ribald than theirs is. Will realises he has incompatible personalities when he’s with his fiancee and oldest friend, so tries to avoid socialising with them together. Can a man and woman stay friends if his fiancee does not like her? Where do his allegiances lie? While these dilemmas could arise within any friendship, the gendered aspect has a specific thorniness.
Despite the title, this is no philosophical treatise. It’s a comedy, occasionally a brilliant one. Rogen made his name in stoner-bro buddy-hang movies, but has elevated himself since. Watching him, I’m mostly wondering: which Muppet am I thinking of? Cookie Monster? Grover? Fozzie Bear? He’s actually a comic straight man, albeit one in whom silliness gleams. Take his pronunciation of Veuve Clicquot, which in Rogen’s mouth delightfully becomes “Voove.” (He’s trying to replace all the bubbly at his engagement party, after a friend of his misplaces an LSD-laced flute. “You’re saying this is a champagne problem?” smirks the shop assistant.)
Byrne has proved equally funny, usually playing against her Audrey Hepburn looks. She’s nimble, intelligent, good with detail, able to play big or bone dry as required. She’s at her best when squashing discomfort. In the first episode of the new series, the engaged Will admits he has a crush on a young sandwich-maker. It’s a typical Platonic scenario, pitting Sylvia’s friendship obligations against her feminine solidarity. Byrne squirms as a reluctant wingwoman, yet manages to steer Will wisely, without preaching. “The thing about that girl in there that you have to remember is … she has a Deadpool tattoo. It’s terrible.”
Platonic is a comforting watch – low-stakes but precisely observed and full of mischievous turns. The best of its cameos may be Saturday Night Live alumnus Beck Bennett as former party animal Wildcard, friend to both Sylvia and Will. (A laugh-out-loud scene in which he and Will discuss Sydney Sweeney has, against all odds, a kind of magical innocence.) Sylvia’s Jeopardy-loving husband and their sardonic children make welcome returns, alongside her acerbic mom-friend Katie, played by Carla Gallo.
The show’s writing is equally weighted to its male and female stars, and it soars on their shared scenes, their bickering zephyrs. When all is said and done, it is a love story. TV has, in the past, contributed to a culturally threadbare understanding of that word. We should welcome this widening lens, a better aspect ratio to understand ourselves.
If Platonic had solely been a Larry David-esque examination of friendship’s minutiae, it would have been perfect. There is a higher stakes romantic storyline running through that feels more generic, and may struggle to sustain 10 episodes of interest. Friendship, though, is something we can watch indefinitely, along with peppery dialogue, relatable dilemmas and absurd scenarios. It’s also a healthy reminder that chemistry doesn’t only mean combustible. More often, it’s about fizzing merrily along.
