The Varnell Hill Show: Great Bones, Shaky Follow-Through (S1, Episodes 1-2)

By Erica Vain | September 16, 2026

This Article was updated on September 16, 2026 by Erica Vain

I went into this Martin spinoff not really sure what to expect, and I came out of the first two episodes pleasantly surprised. There’s real potential here — but there’s also enough friction in the execution that I want to talk through both sides before I tell you where I land.

The Standouts

Wendy Raquel Robinson is doing the most interesting work in this show right now. Her Rachel Perkins — the new executive producer brought in, unbeknownst to Varnell, specifically to aggravate him into quitting and ending his late-night career — is sharp, code-switching, ambitious, and clearly about her business. Every scene she’s in gets an immediate jolt of energy.

Kym Whitley’s Kim Jones is the second strongest connective piece for me. Her comedic beats land more often than not, and they’re delivered in a way that feels natural and fluid rather than forced. That’s not a given in this cast — Tommy Davidson’s comedic tone, pacing, and delivery stutter more than I’d like, with jokes landing corny in a “this is kind of unbelievable” way rather than the way the script clearly intends. To be fair, not all of his performance misses. There are real moments of synergy between him, the dialogue, and the direction — the first “new show” segment Rachel steers him into, where he gets new wardrobe and guided material but fights to keep his band and Doug E. Fresh, is genuinely great. For one scene, the show-within-the-show version of The Varnell Hill Show actually works, and it’s engaging enough that I found myself longing for the real heyday of late night it’s an ode to.

The Villain Problem

Here’s my biggest structural note: Jonah Michaelson’s grudge against Varnell isn’t explained in the first two episodes, but it’s palpable — and the show is leaning on an assumed understanding that a simple, out-of-touch, overly arrogant white nepo baby of an out-of-touch legacy studio exec is inherently the villain. That makes for a shallow adversary, more annoying than capable of driving sustainable conflict. Varnell’s legacy is clearly in this kid’s hands, but without a why behind his sabotage, the audience is left to assume racism — which, historically, should be reason enough given how black entertainers actually get treated. The problem is the show hasn’t shown us Jonah engaging in bias at a scope large enough to make that label stick, so the conflict doesn’t have the teeth it should. I want to be invested in Varnell taking this kid down. Right now I’m just confused about why I’m supposed to be rooting against him.

There’s a parallel issue with Varnell himself that I actually think is working: he’s outdated in his commitment to the exact elements that made him a star, and he can’t see how those same elements are slowly sinking his ship because he refuses to evolve. The show sells that idea well through everyone around him even when his own delivery and timing flail — which, whether intentional or not, is a nice bit of character work.

A Genuinely Brilliant Swing

Martin Lawrence showing up not as Martin, but as Mr. Dupree — a cousin of the “Martin” this show spun off from, now playing a loan shark after his $40K — was a pleasant surprise and a great choice. It gives Lawrence room to play something more sinister while staying exactly as hilarious as he is ominous.

The Writers Room Misfire

The writers room behind Varnell’s show is three veterans and three new additions, and on paper that diversity sets up comedic and narrative gold. In practice it falls flat for two reasons: there’s not enough time spent in the room, and there’s no distinct point of view coming from any of these very distinct character archetypes. In episode two, we watch veterans debate the “what color is this dress” internet argument from ten years ago — not as material they’re pitching, just idle banter — and Varnell overhears it and decides to build his opening monologue around how social media debates like that will get your ass whipped. The monologue predictably falls flat, and without any real examples pulled beforehand, or any commentary on how ineffective this room actually is, the whole writers’-room setup starts to feel unnecessary. Varnell could’ve arrived at the exact same monologue scrolling his own Facebook, since he holds those same archaic ideas naturally. The geriatric writer’s PA who wants to smoke in the room, the older white writer, the younger black lesbian writers, the suck-up lead writer — they’re all just there right now. Maybe that develops as the season goes.

Two Jokes That Didn’t Land

Two moments stood out as real missteps for me. First, Varnell’s fourth-wall reenactment of the R. Kelly and Gayle King interview in the studio exec’s office — not because the sentiment doesn’t track with what Kelly was actually trying to communicate at the time, but because the continued memeification of moments tied to people like R. Kelly, or Diddy, or others accused and in many cases convicted, isn’t worth the emotional weight it drags back up just for a cheap five seconds of laughter. It ends up tarnishing whoever’s delivering the joke more than it lands as comedy.

Second, the scene where Varnell’s soon-to-be-ex-wife shows up to complain about her Gucci budget and exits with a Megan Thee Stallion reference. The two of them have zero chemistry even as exes, but the bigger issue is that assigning this gold-digging, shallow characterization to someone coded as a “Hottie” insults Meg’s actual fanbase while trying to court them. I’m a Hottie myself, and I spent that entire scene side-eyeing her rather than trying to figure out whether I should be rooting for her or whether Varnell owed her anything. A poorly placed joke turned a character moment that should’ve built sympathy into one that made me want distance instead.

Visual Notes

Every set here is overly lit and bright — maybe it’s just that I’m used to moodier dramas, but I kept asking myself “why is this so bright?” throughout both episodes. Even Jonah’s exec office is lit identically to Varnell’s, which is a missed opportunity — a visual distinction there could’ve done real work supporting the villain framing without a single new line of dialogue. The fourth-wall breaks (mostly Varnell, occasionally Rachel, who lands hers better) also get zero visual shift, which costs the show some clarity and some comedy it could easily be picking up for free.

Guest Stars

Damon Wayans, Doug E. Fresh, Martin Lawrence, and Omarion all show up in these first two episodes, and outside of Lawrence, everyone plays themselves. All of it brings genuine energy — Omarion as the musical guest who then gets asked about his dance movies (a specifically Black internet inside joke) is a highlight.

The Verdict

I’m aware of the limitations a half-hour format puts on a show trying to do this much. Season one only has eight episodes, and after two, it’s already clear that’s not enough runway — this needs at least twelve, ideally twenty, to actually land what it’s reaching for. There’s an uphill climb here, and I can already see the argument for people tuning out. I hope they don’t. With consistent viewership, time, and studio investment, The Varnell Hill Show could not only become a real hit, it could help usher back some of the TV comedy elements we’ve left behind — the kind we badly need again.