Tim Robinson and Zach Kanin’s “The Chair Company” is a comedic gift that keeps on giving. It gives the minds behind “I Think You Should Leave” and “Friendship” a canvas to tell a long-form narrative story with their distinct brand of cringe-inducing comedy. It gives Robinson one of the best roles of his career as a suburban mall planner who turns his quiet family life upside down to investigate a criminal conspiracy stemming from an embarrassing moment he suffers at work. But perhaps most importantly, it delivers a smorgasbord of Robinson, Kanin, and director Andrew DeYoung’s most underrated comedic trick: fake company names.
Over the course of three seasons, “I Think You Should Leave” has introduced us to a corporate world that includes names like Corncob TV, Dan Flashes, Darmine Devices, Stanzo Brand Fedoras, TK Jewelers, L&L Limos, Avani Suits, Club Aqua (and its sister nightlife venue Club Haunted House), and Mason’s Traveling Corporate Competitions. Sometimes, these companies are the focal point of a sketch, and other times, they’re just mentioned in passing. Yet they always add narrative texture that helps explain why this fictional world always manages to confuse and infuriate Robinson’s characters in equal measure.
The brilliance isn’t limited to the world of “I Think You Should Leave.” DeYoung’s “Friendship” saw Robinson’s character obsess over the fictional clothing brand Ocean View Dining and the extensive menu options at a local eatery called Rick’s Bar. And as the name suggests, “The Chair Company” is filled with companies like the customer service conglomerate National Business Solutions, the architectural firm Fisher Robay, and of course, Tecca Chairs, which serves as the show’s primary antagonist.
The show’s conspiracy thriller angle, in which Ron’s failures to speak with a human being in Tecca’s customer service department lead him down an all-consuming rabbit hole of more sinister characters, isolates one of the distinct features of Robinson’s comedy: the everyman trying to fit into a world of faceless companies that seem determined to make things difficult for him. Whether he’s trying to figure out why he’s not allowed to say “cumshot” on an adult tour where profanity is allegedly permitted or lamenting that his first date in 10 years was ruined by the fact that his jewelry, limousine, and suit providers were all out to scam him, Robinson’s characters are often defined by their interactions with businesses.
Robinson and Kanin’s fake companies can often be divided into two categories: the comically large and faceless, and the ridiculously small and lowbrow. For every National Business Solutions and Darmine Devices that appear impenetrable in their genericness, there’s a small-time local establishment finding a way to sell a mediocre product to Robinson. One of the best jokes in the duo’s entire filmography comes in the “Studio Audience” sketch in Season 3, Episode 2 of “I Think You Should Leave” when a TV producer asks if anyone in the crowd was ripped off by TK Jewelers and L&L Limos, Robinson quietly adds “and Avani Suits.”
The suits are never mentioned again, even as Robinson tells elaborate stories about TK Jewelers selling him an exploding watch and L&L Limos using a black piece of plywood to divide the car in half and sell the back of his limo to a guy with a Super Bowl ring. But one look at the character’s unflattering suit tells you everything you need to know: This guy got ripped off by buying a terrible suit at a discount store with a fake Italian name that was an attempt to sound like “Armani” to someone who couldn’t tell the difference.
Robinson’s alter egos alternate between pledging undying loyalty to these companies and directing hyperbolic rage towards them, but it’s all underscored by the same bleak reality: These sad sack characters have so little agency over their own lives that they’re completely defined by their consumption. The high points of their years consist of buying more OVD khakis that fit them just right or a bulk order of nice Stanzo fedoras, while their most tragic lows come when they get scammed, disciplined, or just generally ripped off by the large corporations they have little choice but to patronize.
When combined Robinson’s primal screams and the writing team’s knack for crafting slightly askew sentences that turn into dialogue earworms, the fake company names a potent blend of comedy that feels like it was always destined to define comedy in the 2020s. We’ve all interacted with a Tecca customer service line or been disappointed in a TK Jewelers watch at some point or another, and Robinson and Kanin’s comedy convincingly makes the case that our best bet is to laugh at the absurdity of being alive today. Corporate-speak appears to be getting stupider by the day, so here’s hoping they can keep writing new projects fast enough to stay ahead of the madness.
“The Chair Company” airs Sundays at 10 p.m. ET on HBO.