Anybody who has ever confronted the deepest, darkness and most hideous aspects of the human condition – in other words, anybody who has worked in retail – will probably relate to situations depicted in the goofy Australian comedy Rostered On. Created, written, directed and produced by Ryan Chamley, the show launched a pilot in 2016 and a YouTube web series last year. In a fortuitous turn of events for the film-maker, it has been acquired by Netflix and relaunches on the streaming service provider this week.
In another, vastly superior version of reality, it would be unthinkable that the scenarios the series depicts could transpire in real life. A dissatisfied customer would never, for example, return a toaster to the store they bought it from, claiming it is broken when it is clearly not – bringing burnt toast with him as “proof”. And this person would never, after being told they could exchange the appliance for any other toaster in the store, attempt to instead swap it for an Xbox.
Nevertheless, this scenario feels truthful in Rostered On, which is set in a fictitious whitegoods store called Electroworld (and it is white indeed; I can’t recall having ever been to a store populated by so many white staff and customers). It’s clear Chamley has a potentially never-ending well of absurd situations to draw on. It’s equally clear he doesn’t hang it together as a consistently entertaining and interesting work – though from the point of view of frugality, the Geelong-shot show is impressive, to an extent, reportedly constructed on a virtually non-existent budget.
The yakety-yak strewn throughout Kevin Smith’s retail films (such as Clerks and Mallrats) and other classics of the genre (such as High Fidelity) both enhance and exemplify their prosaic settings. In Rostered On, tasteless dialogue makes an ordinary location even more ordinary. And in Chamley’s hands, the temptation to resort to juvenile humour proves irresistible.
Take, for example, the following interaction between two male Electroworld employees. We are abruptly thrust into this scene, not knowing the context of their discussion, just hearing the following:
“What if I choose neither?”
“Then they both die.”
“Fuck!”
“Come on dude, just pick.”
The person delivering that last line then brings the, er, punchline: “Look, your mum and your girlfriend have swapped brains, and you have to bang one for them to swap back.”
This philosophical conundrum might be a great noodle-scratcher to bring up after a couple of bucket bongs or a bag of goon, but you’d be hard-pressed to find anybody who’d consider such sleazy adolescent posturing to be good comedy. It reminded me of another cheaply produced, slapdash show: Stan’s The Other Guy, which similarly felt like bad-mannered amateur theatre.
The Other Guy at least had a likable lead in Matt Okine. Rostered On doesn’t have that, which is less a flaw in the actor (Paul Moore) who plays the protagonist (Shaun) than it is a major problem in the writing. Chamley struggles with even the basic task of establishing Shaun as the protagonist.
At the end of episode one, apropos of nothing, Shaun breaks the fourth wall and literally says to the audience: “Well, here we are, at the end of another day in retail.” I thought, huh? What on earth is going on? Why did it take an entire episode to learn that he is the lead character? And why does he break the fourth wall here, but almost never again?
The sketch-like nature of the show relies on a group dynamic, with only a couple of the characters emerging as distinct personalities. One, Brett (Lliam Murphy), because he is a skirt-chasing imbecile, and another, Gary the manager, because he is a little older and more pitiful than the rest, buoyed by the most interesting performance in the show – from a baggy-eyed Stephen Francis.
Characterisation is important, even – perhaps especially – when characters are saying and doing stupid things. In the heady, toilet-bowl comedy genre, colour and energy also help (the work of Paul Fenech, creator of Fat Pizza and Housos franchises, is so colourful and energetic that he is, love or hate him, without doubt one of the most distinct voices in Australian comedy). There isn’t much of either in Rostered On.
Some of this can be addressed with a bigger budget, the show’s (presumably better-funded) second season commencing production next month. Even the simple addition of more human activity in the frame (there are rarely more than three or four people on screen at any time) would bring a greater sense of life. The conceptually similar, supermarket-set British comedy Trollied stuffs its background with constantly moving extras, providing an ongoing sense of activity.
Other issues will need to be addressed with sharper execution and a more focused screenplay. Triggering memories of working in retail – however vivid, horrifying and occasionally funny – isn’t enough to taper over amateurish writing and bush-league production values.
• Rostered On is showing on Netflix in Australia now
