When his nine-year-old son goes missing, an alcoholic TV puppeteer turns to an imaginary monster for emotional support.

There’s so much about Netflix’s latest drama that ought to work in its favour. Benedict Cumberbatch as Vincent, a fictionalised Muppet-esque creative with addiction problems? Tick. The highly respected screenwriter Abi Morgan in charge of the words? Tick. A twisty plot about child abduction in 1980s New York under the shadow of the early AIDS epidemic? Tick. The eponymous ‘Eric’ – Vincent’s fantastical alter-ego – a seven foot furry blue and white monster driving the plot along? Tick.

Except… sadly, two episodes in, none of it quite hangs together. I’m willing it to kick into gear, but, frankly, it’s an unappetising slog.

Let’s start with Cumberbatch. I’m a fan, but here he hits the ground with his performance dialled up to eleven, leaving himself absolutely nowhere to go. While I’m imagining that this is hopefully a story of redemption, Vincent is such a loathsome individual I really don’t care what happens to him. Halfway through the first episode I would be perfectly happy never to encounter the guy again. Redemption’s too good for him!

Whether this is down to Cumberbatch or inherent in Morgan’s script is hard to tell, but it seems to take forever to get going, and, perhaps because of SFB’s particular remit, I found myself impatient for the fantastical element to be introduced… not least to add some colour to the drab, shouty story. Frustratingly, the titular Eric doesn’t make an appearance until the final thirty seconds of episode 1.

But, even with the series premise finally locked and loaded, I spent the next episode even more frustrated by quite how poorly this central conceit is used. Eric does little more than grunt from the corners and utter Hallmark-style platitudes such as: ‘You gotta stop blaming everyone else for the problem and start to see that the solution is within yourself.’

You think?

As seven foot furry alter egos go, Eric is a particularly witless example. Two episodes in and he hasn’t had a single gag, but worst of all, he doesn’t actually drive the plot at all. I found myself remembering two Jim Henson produced dramas – Living With Dinosaurs by the late Anthony Minghella, and Monster Maker by Matthew Jacobs (full disclosure – Matthew’s my brother) – which dealt far more successfully with Muppet-like puppets and father issues at the end of the 1980s when they were made.

What Vincent and his emotional hallucinations have to do with the lovingly rendered 1980s setting I’m unsure, but the period detail does play into the series’ far more successful strand, the story of Mike Ledroit (McKinley Belcher III providing by far the best-judged performance of the whole show), a black, gay NYPD detective working Missing Persons and dodging the homophobia and fear cast by HIV running amok in a city mired in violence and corruption. This is enough for a show in its own right. Benedict and his pointless puppet just get in the way.

Verdict: Eric may yet find its groove in later episodes, but so far, it’s a frustrating watch. By no means a monster – more of an indigestible furball. 5/10

Martin Jameson

www.ninjamarmoset.com