You’re rooting for each and every one of these insane people. The second: Richardson, in mech armor, bursting through the reformed miser’s wall. “I Think You Should Leave” is an magnum opus. Billy, the Cash surrogate played by Rhys Coiro in I Think You Should Leave’s fifth episode, tries to pull a similar audible with his murder ballad “The Day That Robert Palins Murdered Me,” but he hasn’t counted on his over-eager bassist (Robinson), who takes the instruction “Follow my lead” a touch too literally. With its Too Many Cooks horror-comedy punchline and sea-sick color palette, “Party House” feels like it owes the biggest debts to Adult Swim, but it’s also a wonderful prop-based premise, with Robinson passing the obliviousness torch off to Kate Berlant as they and their coworkers conduct the serious business of an intervention on and around furniture shaped like Garfield, Odie, and Nermal. That’s when the sketch takes a turn for the conceptual, as it’s revealed that Robinson is an alien from a biker planet sent down to Earth to make sure that the planet has motorcycles. But what does that mean? Culminating in a more straightforward sales pitch for TC Tuggers by TC Topps (“The only shirt with a dope tugging knob”) the two-part “River Mountain High” gets its punch from editing, cutting between the exceedingly patient and surprisingly curious young couple and their gawky principal, tripping over his lines and pausing to take a big gulp from a water bottle. Okay!”) and a car (“two motorcycles with a little house in the middle? [Erik Adams], Detroiters was one of the last and cruelest TV casualties of 2018, and it’s heartening to see some of that old Cramblin Duvet spirit carrying over to I Think You Should Leave’s commercial parodies. Zach Kanin’s quiet “Oh no” as he realizes that he is, indeed, dressed as much like a hot dog as you can get (without actually being in a hot dog costume) seals the perfect absurdity of the moment. And second: The moment shortly after, when he refutes the assertion that he’s the only one there dressed like a hot dog by pointing to a random bystander in a bun-colored suit, mustard tie, and bright red shirt. This restaurant has a rule about the nachos. O’Malley’s pitch-perfect delivery as he thrashes around in horndog pain begging Robinson for “some magazines or a calendar or something” would be the end point for many sketches with this premise. The head fake only works once; “Christmas Carol” stays fresh by committing fully to the “Christmas Carol is a time-travel story” premise, in all its janky dialogue, whacked-out exposition (“Now go ahead and eat that goop, Scrooge—it’ll give you the Bonie’s sense of humor”), and escalation of all the I Think You Should Leave jokes involving bones and/or skeletons. The six-episode Netflix sketch series is a … … With Tim Robinson, Matt Knudsen, Sam Richardson, Matthew J Cates. By its end, “Gift Receipt” takes on the cadence of a horror movie, as each of Yeun’s guests reveal that they’re just as crazy as poor, doomed Lev, leaving him all alone to reflect on an errant mud pie gone awry. [Randall Colburn], Could there a be a better representation of everything I Think You Should Leave brings to the sketch-comedy table than a sequined Sam Richardson failing to control a crowd that’s out for the blood of an infant in biker gear? Corn chips are normally gluten-free but you should still check for wheat, just to be safe. The highlight here, though, is the weird, lived-in details, from O’Malley’s talk of a mixer in Indiana to the arrival of another scammed singer to O’Malley telling Rod his family hates him and “only I love you!” If we were O’Malley, we also would’ve been on the verge of giggles the entire time. The humor lies more in Robinson’s performance than anything else, his Reggie growing increasingly distressed that he neither recognizes any of the videos nor has a favorite of his own. That’s the question plaguing this episode six sketch, which finds Dan Vega’s Mega Money Quiz derailed by a mascot who hasn’t really mapped out his bit, despite having had “all summer” to think of it. It’s the perfect introduction to I Think You Should Leave: a character doubling down on a minor mistake, anchored by Robinson’s expertly calibrated, red-faced performance. The complications mount quickly within an authentically infomercial-cheap framework, and that’s even before Wilson’s throws a gorilla-suit ambush into the mix. (Given the contents of the show, the odds are pretty good on that last one.) I Think You Should Leave Tim Robinson GIF by The Lonely Island. Chunky eats your points and gets very mad! Good nachos only need five ingredients: chips, cheese, beans, salsa, and jalapeno slices. ITYSL Sticker. What The Hell Wtf GIF by The Lonely Island. Plus: It’s a nice little toss-off line when Robinson tells the interviewer, “You were great.” [Laura Adamczyk], This is I Think You Should Leave with the factory settings on. Shout-out to the visual gag of a toilet hole so small it’s “just for farts.” [Laura Adamczyk], Male fragility gets taken to the glue factory in this commercial parody, where a couple of amateur cowpokes straight out of a Cialis ad discover the joys of mounting steeds whose members are no larger than the average man’s. It’s a bit of a meta sketch, its escalation coming by way of Robinson sarcastically asking his co-workers what additional pranks they’re planning to top the faux-flatulence. Sign up for our Email Newsletters here. blown away tim robinson lonelyisland itysl. I Think You Should Leave is one of the first projects to come out of Netflix’s comedy wing that feels like something that couldn’t exist elsewhere, though. Nachos were invented in Mexico.There's a widespread perception that nachos are a Mexican-American or Tex-Mex creation, but no, they were invented just across from the border from Eagle Pass, Texas. If you're in the elimination phase, you need to use gluten-free tortilla chips. [Katie Rife], When given the choice, Robinson’s protagonists will more often than not lie, and when found out—and they are always found out—lie some more for good measure. MacGruber doesn’t miss a beat, his vengeful wailing—meant to taunt the former baby who long ago ruined his dream of making the Queen’s Guard laugh—not too far off from his whining to the flight attendant who delivers the death blow to his plan. It’s pretty good as a showcase for the deep holes Robinson digs for his characters, but the vendetta sprung from a point-by-point dissection of “Babysitter”’s central fib earns its most appropriate reaction from within: The incredulous “What? [Erik Adams], What begins as a commercial for “minimally invasive spine surgery” turns into a heated flare-up between Robinson’s jilted amateur singer and Conner O’Malley’s song-sharking scam artist that’s still a commercial for “minimally invasive spine surgery.” Laser Spine Specialists’ logo routinely pops up in the bottom corner as Rod and O’Malley argue over the ailing “Moon River Rock,” adding an extra dose of insanity to a sketch that’s already found Rod wanting to fight his wife’s new husband and lift his adult son over his head—he has, after all, been rude to him his whole life.