Somehow, the Netflix original series Love manages to take the tired “nice guy gets the bad girl” trope and spin it on its head. Not only did writers Judd Apatow and Lesley Arfin manage to create a show with both authenticity and dimension, they did it without demonizing or gold-plating the two very human principle characters of this story. It features nerdy lil’ screenwriter wannabe Gus Cruikshank, played by Paul Rust (co-creator of the series and husband to Arfin) alongside badass, cut-the-crap, alcoholic classic beauty Mickey Dobbs in a performance so real you cannot help but feel the same giddy nervousness that Gus does because you, too, are falling in love with her.

There are aspects of the show that can be grating, to say the least. It hooks you with that familiar aggravation as you watch the characters make poor decision after poor decision. Then, you get stuck watching the next episode to find out if it all works out when you really should be using these last precious hours of the night to get some sleep. With its kooky campy style that is part of the show’s charm, and it’s secondary characters that represent to the viewers both who we’re afraid of turning into and what kind of people we might truly need in our life, the show makes light of what could otherwise be some very heavy content to work through. At times, however, the writers make too much light of the subject matter. Some episodes will leave you writhing in frenzied annoyance while the characters you’ve become so involved with hurt each other over and over again. There is often the urge to grab them like dolls and knock their heads together while screaming, “Communicate!” yet Gus and Mickey are always honest with each other at the end of these periods of frustration – a welcome relief in that scratch-itch-scratch sort of way.

The first episode is a work of art that lays out these characters flaws in their entirety. Once you really get to know Gus and Mickey, they hit you with the second episode which is a satisfying display of everything you want the series to be. For the rest of the season, the relationship between these two volleys between varying levels of disappointing. But you can’t say that they don’t warn you. The two’s departing sentiments at the end of the second episode foreshadow the breakdown of events that follow when Mickey assures Gus that, “Dude, I’m the queen of eating s***. You should never be embarrassed,” to which he responds, “I’ve been waiting for somebody to say that to me my whole life.” Perhaps their correspondence is disappointing because it honestly portrays the shortcomings of human relationship instead of the cookie cutter, us-against-the-world portrayal of love we’re used to being fed. Our duo will spend the rest of the two seasons deciding how far they’re able to push the other person, and realizing that they can’t fix the other nor should they run away for fear of being fixed. This is what makes the show so rewarding to watch. There is pain and there is pleasure as Mickey and Gus’ characters unfold into people willing to better themselves as a result of the acceptance that they’ve received and learn to give in return. Are they meant for each other? Eh. But there is something to be said for those beautiful scenes that capture their dynamic when they have each gotten out of their own way.

Love is a show that finally forces the nice guy to realize his own manipulative tendencies and irrationalities – a bit of character development we seldom see in today’s TV landscape. At the same time, it portrays the man-eating alcoholic/sex addict as someone who is able to make strides towards controlling herself and work toward her goals. The beautiful thing about this series is that it’s honest. It shows two people, aware of their issues, and willing to put in the effort required to make it work. These are characters that we, as viewers, are proud to see ourselves in. Gus shows us the side of ourselves that is scared to give too much, scared of rejection, and scared that the person that has captured our affection could never love us for who we really are. Mickey, in a RIV-ET-ING performance by Jacobs, shows us that side of ourselves that is afraid to burden those that we care about with a load we fear is too big for them to carry. Mickey says to a fellow sex and love addict at the beginning of season two, “I don’t want to binge on him,” and this seems to sum up their dilemma in a glorious way. Both have plenty of baggage that would make it easy enough for them to split, which is the viewer’s fear during the entire two seasons. However, something draws them together. Every now and then we catch a glimpse of what it’s like when they aren’t trying so hard to be what they think the other wants or running away out of fear. Gus and Mickey share a genuine connection, and it is a connection that they deem worthy of preserving. This time, it’s worth getting right.

4 out of 5 nervous break-downs