Since Charlie “Winning” Sheen’s infamous sacking from the show a few weeks ago at the hands of Warner Bros, after his drunken rants, his personal harem of pornstars and declaration that tiger blood runs through his veins hit the headlines, the producers have actually expressed an interest in wanting him back. The fact that they’re willing to forego his obvious personality disorder and multiple addictions to flog him for more episodes should tell you a little about the moral standards of the people that want to splatter your eyelids with this oozing pile of televisual diarrehea.
Now, in its eighth, octogenarian series, the show is tired. So, so tired. If it was your gran you’d be buying it Dignitas tickets. The ‘half’ man of the title, once a chubby cheeked youth, has grown into a towering teenager who pops up infrequently only to justify his appearance in the title sequence. Overpaid and overindulged Sheen – who frequently swigs from bottles of gin “in character” – is only ever required to read a couple of lines from his sofa, with Jon Cryer doing literally all of the work as Alan, a ponzi-scheming chiropractor. The only other actor with a full call sheet is Melanie Lynskey as Rose, Charlie’s paramour, a woman pretending to be married to a manequin in order to hold Charlie’s interest.
The writing is p*ss-poor, with each flat joke sending the sycophantic audience into suspicious gales of thigh-slapping laughter. Every character looks either bored, desperate or monumentally spaced out (Sheen). Wonky studio sitcoms like Miranda are funny because they’ve got so much warmth – Two and A Half Men is soul-sappingly dull because it’s so slick, mechanical and self-serving. Like trying to have phone sex with the speaking clock. Maybe it just doesn’t translate well in the voyage across the Atlantic…
Here are things I recommend you do instead of watching this show: go outside. Eat cornflakes with Nutella instead of milk. Write a novel about a religious conspiracy that goes right to the heart of government. Watch a Micheal Bay film. Rearrange your bedroom. Take the FT for a sh*t. Throw your TV into the canal. Order a pizza. Go on a diet. Sweat at a stranger. Apologise. Etc.