‘The Paper’ Review: Season 2 Can’t Deliver Its One, Big, Diabolical Idea

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In the second episode of “The Paper’s” second season, a fantastic idea emerges — fantastic in that it’s both really clever and impossible to imagine fulfilled.

The unlikely source is Enervate’s ~~company stooge~~ corporate strategist, Ken Davies (Tim Key), a moron by any measure. But after pretending to be Esmeralda’s (Sabrina Impacciatore) “live-in British lover” for reasons I don’t need to get into, Ken shares an enlightening anecdote about what he’s learned from his fake office romance. “There is a certain satisfaction that you can get when you work with someone, and you may mistake that for love,” he says. “But in actual fact, it’s just that you’re working with someone.”

Eloquence clearly isn’t Ken’s strong suit, but his clunky commentary gains pertinence when the scene cuts to Ned (Domhnall Gleeson) and Mare (Chelsea Frei). As Ken blathers on, our lead characters and new couple are filing a story. They were supposed to be on a weekend getaway, discovering how they get along outside the office, but the demands of local journalism dragged them back to a shared desk.

Despite their ruined plans, the editor-in-chief and his top reporter seem happy. He steals a glance at her and smiles. She’s as proud of the results as she is to have someone to share them with. Neither are in a rush to wrap up — hurriedly slapping words together so they can jump back into bed — and when the work is done, they go their separate ways… until Ned comes back to the office, kisses Mare, and they start fooling around on the nearest sofa.

Ken’s accidental insight hovers uncomfortably over the scene (embodied by a sleeping coworker who goes unnoticed by the canoodling couple). In Ken’s mind, he’s simply explaining why he and Esmeralda will never be a real item (an exercise in redundancy for everyone but Ken, since she’s clearly not interested). But to “The Paper,” he’s also defining the tension within a very real relationship. Are Ned and Mare meant to be more than colleagues? Do they share a genuine attraction outside the newsroom, or are they conflating the thrill of a rewarding professional collaboration with that of a budding romance?

Are they falling in love, or are they making a mistake?

It’s a gutsy question for a mainstream comedy like “The Paper” to center, but it’s borderline sabotage for a spinoff of “The Office.” After all, oodles of fans still worship at the altar of Jim and Pam, the shaggy-haired salesman and timid receptionist who became a generation of besotted worker bees’ Ross and Rachel — the couple to root for who became the couple to emulate.

But if “The Office” gave us the greatest office romance ever, can “The Paper” really succeed by playing out one of the worst?

We may never know. As much as I admire co-creators Greg Daniels and Michael Koman for piloting a kamikaze mission — “What if what you thought was love was really a lie?” is a hard-sell for “Office” addicts still buying PB&J 4eva merch — their initial conviction comes crashing down once the plane’s off the ground. Merely introducing the train of thought isn’t nothing, but like so much of “The Paper,” it doesn’t lead anywhere all that meaningful or amusing. If anything, for those who see a toxic romance where a rewarding one could be, the shift in perspective undermines Ned and Mare individually, in ways that dampen any interest in keeping up with their lives — professionally or personally.

It’s clear a collapse is coming when the second season doesn’t grow as much as it goes on. Ensemble comedies rarely kick off fully formed, and “The Paper” wastes its chance to expand on what’s working while scaling back what isn’t.

The supporting cast is weirdly stagnant, whether they’re underutilized (like Adam, Alex Edelman’s endearingly drained doofus) or over-exposed (like Esmeralda, who carries far too many solo B-plots, building to an eye-rollingly preposterous spin on “21 Jump Street”). Tonal issues persist, with too many big, absurdist swings coming up empty (funerals, parties, tornados, oh no) and too few relatable or perceptive gags to balance them out. (A good one: The paper puts up a billboard to drive subscriptions, but it ends up reminding existing customers to call and cancel.) Then there are the season-long arcs that bomb, hard. (Ramona Young’s Nicole gets the worst of it.)

But at the center of every disaster is Ned, which is both by design and very much not. In the first season, Ned’s characterization is all over the map. He’s simultaneously a former toilet paper salesman who succeeded by telling customers whatever they wanted to hear and a journalist ready to fall on his sword before sullying his principles. He’s at once a symbol of integrity and valor, inspiring a rag-tag team of accountants and typesetters to meet the standards of the Fourth Estate, as well as a rich, goofy, nepo baby who lacks the necessary self-awareness to hold others accountable.

In Season 2, he’s still all those things at once (yikes!), but now he’s also the romantic lead — a romantic lead, mind you, who we don’t know what to do with. Sometimes, Ned’s the Jim to Mare’s Pam. He can be sweet, attentive, and humble. He whisks her away to a remote retreat. He tries to protect her from any blowback at work. He’s quick to apologize and even quicker with compliments. In the fifth episode, when confronted with a disastrous dude who’s an affront to men everywhere (and a literal threat to women), Ned distinguishes himself with ease and clarity by clocking the toxic traits he’s inadvertently defending before rejecting them outright. “I’m not bad news,” he assures Mare. “I’m good news, I think.”

But… is he? Ned’s doubt over his effect on Mare is appropriate, considering his intentions don’t always line up with his actions. After their kiss in the finale, Ned spends their entire first day back in the office acting like nothing happened. He’s so convincing, Mare thinks he’s moved on before their relationship even began. When he finally explains that it’s just a cover to avoid suspicion around the office, she says, “What the fuck? … Just because we have to keep this a secret doesn’t mean you need to keep it a secret from me.”

“You didn’t know?” Ned says. “I thought you knew.”

“You are a psychopath,” Mare says, with a smile.

The misunderstanding is played for laughs in the episode, just as it’s laughed off by the couple, but the rest of the season forces you to consider if Ned’s unhinged behavior represents a legitimate heel turn. To use “Office” parlance, he doesn’t reflect Jim Halpert’s dream boyfriend or even Michael Scott’s well-intentioned fool; he’s closer to the uglier aspects of David Brent.

Ned’s harmful qualities are clearest in his impact on Mare. Once they’re dating, Ned becomes an anchor to his ace reporter. He dismisses her protests over his plan to “create a journalistic crusade” in order to chase more awards — “Isn’t that yellow journalism?” Mare asks. “Making news instead of reporting it?” To support Ned’s publicity stunt for the paper’s 125th anniversary, she dresses up like a newsboy to pose for influencers — even though she’s the only person capable of getting the old printing press working again. There’s an incident at a gun range where Ned’s fear of looking emasculated requires his army vet girlfriend to fall for his very dumb, very obvious lies.

Not only does this make Ned look bad (or, at least, like a bad boyfriend), it’s also unfair to our understanding of Mare. She’s an award-winning reporter who’s smart and observant. She’s former military vet who’s experienced dealing with all sorts of men. She’s the character the camera cuts to whenever someone says or does something idiotic or odd, like it does with Jim when Dwight’s being obnoxious or Michael’s imagination runs wild. Mare is no fool, so when Ned treats her like one, it speaks poorly of him and the show.

Then comes the finale. Without getting into spoilers, Ned gives Mare crucial career advice that could be read a few different ways, depending on your impression of Ned. If you think he’s a good guy who’s destined to be with Mare, then he nobly sets his own best interests aside to help her make a difficult choice. If you think he’s a bad guy who’s noxiously clingy, then he puts his own needs in front of hers while actively impeding her progress.

Maybe he’s a well-intentioned idiot. Maybe he’s a jealous nutjob. Maybe he’s somewhere in between. The point being, the ending could land anywhere between two extreme poles, and that’s not the way “The Paper” drew it up. Season 2 isn’t sharp enough to paint a damning portrait of a misguided affair, nor is it sincere enough to create an imperfect romance that can still sweep you off your feet.

Modern TV rom-coms typically don’t trade in uncertainty. Either you’re rooting for a couple or you’re not. Jim and Pam, Ross and Rachel, Jess and Nick, even Jimmy and Gretchen were always going to end up together. You may not like it, you may not like them, but you understand the series is building toward these two people walking into the sunset holding hands.

In “The Paper,” it’s impossible to tell what path we’re on, let alone where it’s headed. Walking the opposite road as “The Office” is a fascinating idea. If only it was realized.