From The Human Library, a non-profit organization that enables visitors to “rent” the time of another person in the interest of hearing their life story, to Humans of New York, a series of interviews and photographs in which individuals are asked questions about their lives on the streets of New York City, it’s evident that many of us crave the ability to gain insight into the diverse lives of those around us. As wary as I am to give any credence to the legitimacy of words created among internet communities, many of us might also be familiar with the concept of “sonder,” a word that is proffered to describe those strange, fleeting, out of body moments during which we suddenly become distinctly aware that all those around us lead intricate and unique lives. While the consumption of film and television is, by nature, a means by which we attempt to briefly enter the lives of others—fictional or not—there is evidently a ravenous desire among media consumers to see more, to meet many distinct characters and individuals and see the world through their eyes. Despite this, however, we must tread carefully, lest we become overwhelmed by the complexities of humanity; I think we’ll need a guide. Enter “The Guy,” the protagonist, for lack of a better word, of HBO’s High Maintenance, and your new favorite nameless, mysterious, charmingly humble, and humbly charming drug dealer.
Prior to being picked up by HBO in 2016, High Maintenance began as a web series. If you’re like me, you might immediately begin to shy away from the show upon hearing the term “web series.” Don’t—the quality of High Maintenance is consistently excellent from the very beginning, and the only notable difference between these two iterations of the show is the length of their respective episodes. HBO’s generous funding, luckily for us, permitted the show’s creators to begin producing full length episodes of the already stellar series. High Maintenance is an anthology TV show—or so I contend. The show follows The Guy as he travels throughout New York City between his diverse range of clientele; but to suggest that High Maintenance is about this individual, who remains unnamed throughout the show, is the equivalent to suggesting that Pulp Fiction is about an unusual briefcase. I dub the show an anthology because The Guy, much like that leather-bound attaché of mysteries, is simply the means by which we navigate between and enter the lives of dozens of different characters from all walks of life. Few episodes feature The Guy's presence at length, and fewer still are about him.
Rather, each episode of High Maintenance plunges us into the life or lives of individuals living in New York City: an asexual magician coming to terms with his lack of sexuality, an agoraphobic man who has covered an entire wall of his apartment with LaCroix cans, a cancer survivor attempting to reenter the dating sphere. In the majority of one episode, we follow a dog that develops an emotional bond with its walker, has its heart broken when the walker is fired, and subsequently runs away to live with a group of street performers—it's like Homeward Bound (1993) for adults, anthropomorphism included. Most of these characters only get one chance to shine, to tell us something about their lives and experiences, a single episode in which they might elicit identification, alienation, or anything in-between from us as viewers. You’ll never know what to expect from the show, and you’ll enjoy it more for that fact.
The Guy is a weed dealer, and that is doubtlessly fundamental to the show; but I caution you to refrain from making any assumptions about the series given that weed is the thread that links all of these characters together. This is not a stoner comedy à la Workaholics, nor a niche series that trades its heart and soul to cater only to those who have recently taken a bong rip. I promise you won’t hear Seth Rogen’s laugh rumbling toward you like a delayed comedy train from 2009 in any episodes. Were there another grassroots means by which The Guy could temporarily enter the lives and homes of dozens of characters, some of whom he considers friends and others that he clearly cannot stand, it could easily be substituted within the show without changing the narrative of most episodes. He could be a vacuum salesman for all it matters.
High Maintenance is unassuming, nonjudgmental, and eye opening at points. You’ll find, among the many fictional citizens of New York City introduced in the show, characters that you'll consider completely insufferable, and some you’ll grow to love; stories that will break your heart, and redemptions that will leave you smiling; individuals grappling with problems that you will never have to, and others fighting battles that may be uncomfortably yet potentially cathartically familiar to you; and a great deal of insight into the complexities, intricacies, struggles, and joys inherent to the lives of others. And yes, fine, the show is fictional; yet it becomes necessary to reiterate that fact because High Maintenance is cogent, poignant, and encapsulate of our current era to such a degree that one can easily forget that the characters it features do not truly exist.
The show presents a reality not unlike our own, and its power as a piece of media content stems from its ability to cause us to consider the lives of those around us—our neighbor, classmate, barista, drug dealer, dog, aunt, or any given passerby on the street—and understand that their experiences and lives are as beautiful and foreign to us as ours are to them. High Maintenance encourages, in other words, a profound sense of empathy and wonder on the part of its viewers. In return, the show asks only that we persist in keeping an open mind once the credits fade out and our lives resume.
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