Devi Vishwakumar (Maitreyi Ramakrishnan) is 15 years old, a sophomore student at Sherman Oaks High School. At the start of the new school year, she wants two things: a boyfriend and the tag of “cool”. Her close friends – Eleanor (Ramona Young) and Fabiola (Lee Rodriguez) – are as dorky.
Devi’s parents moved to California nearly two decades ago. Like the child of most immigrants, she’s caught in a tug of identities. At school, she’s American, at home, Indian, leaving her clueless about who she is – and more importantly, who she should be. The new Netflix 10-part series Never Have I Ever, created by Mindy Kaling and Lang Fisher, blends two familiar genres: the coming-of-age drama and the immigrant experience, topped by the confusion of a teenager who can’t wait to become an adult.
Devi’s reeling from a major shock: her father, Mohan (Sendhil Ramamurthy), died eight months ago of a heart attack. She sees a therapist, but always deflects any questions related to him. Devi is too young for grief; it only makes sense that she doesn’t know what to do about it.
And then there’s John McEnroe. Yeah, the tennis legend. I’ll get to that in a bit.
Never Have I Ever opens with shaky acting and muddled storytelling. Apart from Ramakrishnan, who is excellent throughout the series, the rest of the actors, at least initially, do precious little to hold our interest. Young and Rodriguez are saddled with unimaginative parts and, underscoring their dorky-ness every other scene, they struggle to make them convincing.
Besides, school kids wanting to be cool – a trite plot point – is hardly the kind of hook befitting a series so sure of being ‘quirky’. Poorna Jagannathan, playing Devi’s mother, who is otherwise a credible performer, is a big letdown here. Delivering staid lines, meant to characterise her as a ‘serious’ Indian mother, Jagannathan’s trapped in a dull role. But worse, her dialogue delivery, especially in the first few episodes, is remarkably stilted.
McEnroe’s near-constant voiceover – he was Mohan’s favourite tennis player and, in a way, a father-figure presence here – is quite jarring. It’s one thing for a voiceover to tell the story, but McEnroe does much more: he also explains Devi’s feelings and motivations, reflashes scenes to establish context (which weren’t difficult to remember in the first place), acts as her cheerleader. McEnroe isn’t a voiceover as much as a commentator, and his ubiquitous presence – even though entertaining at times – overwhelms the show, bogs it down.
Self-aware, awkward, and testy, Devi is an engaging presence. But the show is often looking to slot her as a sad, whiney type: someone who doesn’t have her shit together. So, the first few episodes frequently end with her meltdowns or overreactions. It feels repetitive and doesn’t add anything new to the show. The first five episodes are a blur of mediocrity, with only a few redeeming elements: some intriguing performances (Ramakrishnan; Richa Moorjani, playing Devi’s cousin, Kamala; Jaren Lewison, as Ben Gross, Devi’s arch-nemesis in school), a brief glimpse into the politics of the judgmental and insular diasporic world replete with random aunties’ jibes, and Fabiola’s confusion about her sexual orientation.
The show gets much better from the sixth episode onwards, which is also the best segment of the lot. It’s also refreshing, as we get a break from Devi’s antics in lieu of understanding another character, Ben.
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Nerdy, competitive, and trying to be cool, Ben is a mirror image of Devi. No wonder that they keep sparring, always looking to outdo each other. This episode though solely concentrated on Ben and narrated by Andy Samberg, also portrays him as a sad, lonely teenager. Son of a famous, affluent lawyer, Ben lives in a mansion almost all by himself. His parents have no time for him; his only companion is a house help. Alone at home, Ben spends most of his time online, making friends on Reddit, bonding over Rick & Morty. This episode, exploring a sensitive yet superficially brash teenager, adds new dimensions to the series, makes it rounded.
Subplots that merit intrigue
There are other subplots that merit intrigue: Fabiola coming out to her friends and family; Eleanor’s mother’s eternal confusion, choosing between being an actress and a mother; Devi’s realisation that she can’t lie anymore or take her friends for granted. By the end of the series, the overall level of acting also improves (including Jagannathan, Young and Rodriguez’s). There are still a few unconvincing plot turns though – especially those centred on Kamala. She sneaking her boyfriend multiple times into a conservative household, only to get eventually caught, makes little sense. So does her conveniently breaking up with him and almost falling for a boy arranged by her parents: an episode that weirdly seems to conform to societal norms – the very norms these rebels seem to deride.
The final episode of the series does an impressive job of tying several loose ends, and intentionally leaving a few gaps to be filled in the subsequent seasons. But Never Have I Ever hardly feels compelling. There’s nothing in the show that justifies its long runtime too (10 episodes of almost 30 minutes each). Given its premise, the chances are high that you won’t find the show annoying or tedious; it’s just that it is insipid. For a show centred on young girls figuring out their lives’ meanings, it’s disappointing that Never Have I Ever doesn’t extend the same helping hand to itself.