So, are we renewing High Fidelity?
The case for bringing back a queer Zoë Kravitz to television.
In one of my favourite scenes on Hulu’s too-quickly cancelled dramedy High Fidelity, Rob (Zoë Kravitz) leaves a financial district-esque club on one those nights where you have to really force yourself to be the most fun version of yourself. She puts on her headphones, hits play on “Nikes” by Frank Ocean, and takes a long walk back to her apartment. The sound transition is delicious, from rambunctious drunk woo-girls at the club to complete silence as the song starts. Rob finds a moment of peace. It reminded me of the many nights out when I’ve left early, my social battery on empty, when I come back to myself once again while walking alone back to my apartment.
If you can believe it, I’ve been watching less television than usual (relatively). I can’t stop being out and about in Vancouver, experiencing the summer heat and new friendships over cocktails and craft beer, wandering home with sweaty thighs and a fast food burger in hand. For a few weeks mid-summer, I would settle in bed with my cat and rewatch an episode of High Fidelity after one of these nights out, feeling the show wash over me like a warm blanket. What is it about this damn show that makes me feel seen? Is it from characters grounded to a sense of place (Brooklyn, the record shop, their go-to dingy bar)? Their deeply personal relationship to music? Kravitz speaking to me directly through the camera lens while I shove another yam fry in my mouth?
I think I’m always searching for shows that meaningfully explore the existential plight of the single millennial. For a while, it felt like they were everywhere across genres—Girls, Fleabag, Search Party, The Bold Type, Ramy. Then, as many of these shows ended, millennials started getting married and having babies, both in my real life and on-screen. These millennials stopped having time to sift through record shops and argue over their favourite album B-sides while sipping rooftop beers, they became occupied nursing new life. High Fidelity is a delicious time capsule that felt as relatable to my mid-20s as it feels to my late 20s, and probably into my 30s, about queerdos figuring out friendships and relationships, staying out too late and leaving parties early, avoiding influencers and mainstream content at all costs. I would argue it’s a contemporary Sex and the City meets Fleabag, with more grunge than glitz.
On High Fidelity, Kravitz plays Rob Brooks in a gender-reversed re-imagination of the film by the same name (which co-starred the actress’s mother, Lisa Bonet) released twenty years prior. Rob is joined by her two friends, Cherise (Da’Vine Joy Randolph) and Simon (David H. Holmes), who work for her in a too-hip semi-basement record shop in Brooklyn. The cast is rounded out by Rob’s love interests, Clyde (Jake Lacy) and Mac (Kingsley Ben-Adir).
I recently came across a tweet asking when we would have a Black version of Fleabag, and dare I say, we had it and let it slip through our fingers. High Fidelity aired on Valentine’s Day 2020, but was brutally axed after its inaugural season a few months later in August. “They didn’t realize what that show was and what it could do,” Kravitz told Elle magazine last February. She’s been open in her criticism of Hulu’s cancellation, calling it a “big mistake” and pointing out the lack of shows starring women of colour on the streamer.
The show aired at a time when we seemed to be inundated with lowkey dramedies on TV. Atlanta, Better Things, and Shrill were all fighting for eyeballs, and my friends were texting me saying High Fidelity is a bit pretentious and boring in comparison, that Kravitz seemed to be modelling more than acting, that it felt like lookbook television. She’s Gotta Have It, another series adaptation of a film also starring a Black, queer protagonist with a music-focused angle, had just finished airing its second season. I don’t know if I, or many others at the time, properly registered how special High Fidelity might be and where the series could grow if given the opportunity. My rewatch confirmed this, and nothing on television since has really filled the gap.
High Fidelity and Fleabag have a lot in common from the way both break the fourth wall. Rob memorably narrates her thought process to the camera, and both shows star a lonely, existentially seeking protagonist. On High Fidelity, she happens to be Black and queer. Rob, like Fleabag and Carrie Bradshaw, can be frustrating to watch as a protagonist, as she narrates us through her all-time heartbreaks and tries to detach herself from how she might have contributed to the end of her relationships. She Instagram stalks her ex’s new girlfriend, has a bend toward selfish behaviour, and treats any new dating subjects (poor Clyde) with casual disregard.
The show loves a cameo, a fond nod, a gratuitous reference, an underlined citation. Rob is appealing as the spirit of rock and roll. Her excellent taste in music is asserted by a soundtrack that ranges from deep cuts to big hits and that perhaps leans too hard on the viewer’s ingrained response to classics for its own evocations of feeling. Nothing can stop Rob’s lonely tears from falling. (The New Yorker)
She’s definitely endearing, although not the most likeable, which is perhaps why some viewers were rubbed the wrong way. For me, those elements make for a compelling character. But the show was hardly on long enough to allow for her to go to therapy or unpack her life further, as the above The New Yorker review alludes to, “it flinches from emotional difficulty.” We also never get to see Cherise pursue her music career at long last, or the results of Simon’s new dating life after a bottle episode dedicated to his first gay relationship.
So, what now? I can’t pretend to know the mechanics of how a show would get saved or picked up again two years after a cancellation, or if it’s even possible. Kravitz has The Batman and Big Little Lies, and the series co-creator Veronica West has the new Apple TV+ drama Surface. Even the supporting players of the cast have moved on to other, bigger projects.
That said, to the surprise of many, Showtime’s American Rust (2021–) was recently saved from a first season cancellation by Freevee, Amazon’s new streaming service (previously IMBD TV). It got me wondering about the possibilities of saving High Fidelity in our current streaming era, particularly knowing the creators and stars felt there was more story to tell—and not to mention, based on the Instagram response I get every time I post about the show, a built-in audience who adored the show. I, for one, would relish additional episodes to watch in my slightly tipsy, late night state, on those nights I feel just a little lonely and ready to be comforted by Rob’s existential musings.