HBO’s Somebody Somewhere has the sweetest of sendoffs

An almost too-painfully-obvious-to-type question that’s hovered over Somebody Somewhere since it debuted in 2022 is: Who is Sam’s (Bridget Everett) somebody—and is that somewhere where they’re hiding in, of all places, her hometown of Manhattan, Kansas? In other words, to mangle a quote from Joel (Jeff Hiller), Sam’s ever-ready-to-giggle BFF, in the show’s upcoming third and final season: Who is her person? Songwriters have been exploring this very question to tug at listeners’ heartstrings throughout the history of popular music, in everything from George Gershwin’s “Someone To Watch Over Me” to Mikal Cronin’s “You Gotta Have Someone” (and, yes, “Somebody Somewhere,” from the ’50s Broadway musical The Most Happy Fella). Which is fitting, really, considering not only Sam’s musical bent and talent but also, despite her self-deprecating deflections and fuck-it exterior, her clear need for something more, even, say, a romantic partner (although she’d be the last to admit it).

But before the gentle, big-hearted HBO dramedy, which was created by Hannah Bos and Paul Thureen (of the Brooklyn-based theater company the Debate Society) and produced by Duplass Brothers Productions and Mighty Mint, gets into any of that mushy stuff, it throws us back into the sort of banter the show has leaned into since its premiere. Sam is now an assistant of sorts to her sister, Tricia (Mary Catherine Garrison), whose pillow company (the items, per Sam’s suggestion, are emblazoned with phrases that creatively use the word “cunt”) has taken off online. (The clear winner, in our opinion, is: “Knock, knock.” “Who’s there?” “You. You’re still a cunt.”) “It’s a little divorce present to me from my cunt pillows,” Tricia tells Sam, showing off her new Cadillac SUV. Without missing a beat, Sam chimes in, “Holy shit. Damn, that’s a lot of cunts.” But just as quickly, the show, in another of its classic moves, tempers all of this feel-good joshing and positivity with pain, underlining that Sam is unhealthily needy and always one piece of bad news away from breaking down, whether that’s from learning that Joel is moving in with his boyfriend Brad (a fantastic Tim Bagley, who gets a lot more to do this season) or that the shelter dog she fell for was adopted by a young couple.

It’s the sort of show that for every joke-filled STD subplot (yup, there is one here, and it boasts one of Sam’s standout lines: “Let’s get those horse pills for your diseased twat”), there’s a teary-eyed confession about self-doubt just around the corner. Honestly, early in the season, this switch happens so much with our protagonist that you’d be forgiven for uttering to your TV screen, “Sam: Go. To. Therapy.”—but as it presses on, problems and curveballs are wisely thrown at other characters, too. Joel, always the infectious ray of sunshine, has to confront a bully from his high-school days and desire to have children. (“I haven’t seen you like this since we saw Mr. Holland’s Opus together,” Sam comforts after a weepy, martini-spiked confession.) Meanwhile, Trish, who was often presented as Sam’s comedic foil and opposite on the show, gets close with her sis and finally becomes overwhelmed by grief that’s long been bubbling underneath the surface. And some in the series’ tight-knit friend group start to realize that the new bride of Fred (Murray Hill), Susan (Jennifer Mudge), is, to reference a quote from Karen on The Office, “kind of a bitch.”  

But the highlights of this final season—the moments that will stick with you after the credits roll—don’t come in the form of these highs or lows, these giggle fests or friend-to-friend therapy sessions. There are a few genuinely sweet scenes—not too many to dull the emotional wallop—that will surely make you well up, notably a performance of a song Brad and Sam wrote for Joel and a few key, strategically placed interactions with a new character, a bearded, stoic dude who’s renting Sam’s childhood home who’s simply dubbed Iceland (a great Ólafur Darri Ólafsson). 

Which brings us back to the question that kicked off this review: Who is Sam’s somebody? The answer may not be found in a crush or her beaming bestie or this town or this friend group. Maybe it’s a combination of all of that—and all of that past joy and trauma and baggage that made Sam who she is right now. As Brad puts it when confronted with a particularly painful chapter from his past during Thanksgiving dinner: “I’m very grateful to whatever brought me to this moment.” As this show takes its final bow, it’s worth pausing to celebrate just how refreshing it’s been to have a series with such a soft spot for humanity that feels neither cloying nor reductive—and one packaged with a confident, indie-film aesthetic, complete with lovely piano interludes and calming establishing shots of its Midwestern setting. In today’s TV landscape (hell, in today’s world), that sort of optimism and empathy is its own kind of radical—and indeed worth toasting.   

Somebody Somewhere season three premieres October 27 on HBO