Amazon's star-studded Solos is the latest in the golden age of expensive, empty sci-fi anthology

The Guardian

"Created by, and mostly written or directed by, David Weil – showrunner of Amazon’s impressive but ethically erratic Hunters – Solos has attracted a plush cast," says Jack Seale. "There are several A-listers here, seizing the opportunity to act furiously with minimal interruption. Often that means attempting the one simple trick – Alan Bennett is the master of it – that makes a lot of dramatic one-handers work: the superficially trivial anecdote that conceals a definitive emotional truth. Even in an alternate futurescape, every settee still has a cream cracker underneath. Anthony Mackie, for example, as a dying man trying to teach the unique joys of his family life to the clone that will replace him, informs the replica about his wife’s farts and his son’s ice-cream preferences, these being details he didn’t appreciate until he became ill. Helen Mirren, taking a trip across the galaxy because her disappointing Earthbound existence has left her with nothing to stick around for, tells the spaceship’s AI about a failed teen romance that represents a lifetime of chances not taken. However, such sketches require an empathic acuity and humble lightness of touch that Solos doesn’t possess. It has a weakness for the sort of lines that make bad writers high-five themselves. It has a weakness for the sort of lines that make bad writers high-five themselves. Sentences with literary delusions, such as 'I push through the barrier of bodies – hot, salty tears stinging my eyes' or 'We were standing there, her chlorine-wrinkled hands balanced on my nervous body' drop out of the actors’ mouths. If they were declaimed in a theatre for the upper circle to hear, you might get away with them; on a small screen, they land with a tinny thump."

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• Solos is mediocre sci-fi that even a spectacular cast can't rescue: "The seven initial Solos episodes, which run from 21 to 32 minutes and each center on a single performer, are vaguely concerned about big tech," says Roxana Hadadi. "But the show’s future-anxieties are overshadowed by the discrepancies between the potency of its actors, and the way it offers more product placement than genuine human emotion. An extended bit about the cellphone tagline 'Can you hear me now?,' numerous positive shout-outs to Carvel cake, an apropos-of-nothing namedrop of Alfa Romeo cars… For all the advancements Solos uses as narrative devices — time travel, genetic testing, robot clones, space exploration, memory transfer — it can’t let go of using commercialism as a crutch for various character arcs. At the same time, it fails to deliver any kind of commentary on what that late-stage capitalism has done to us, individually or collectively. These references to taglines and corporations stick out in each monologue, a jarring indication of how blandly Solos tries to envision our future selves. Solos is punctuated by a lack of imagination — a critical flaw in a science fiction story. The series rarely feels like it’s saying much of anything."
• Solos pushes the conceit of a monologue past its limit in seven self-consciously staged chapters: "Most feature a single performer, though a few get scene partners in the forms of an advanced AI bot in the vein of an Alexa, a mysteriously aging child or, in the case of Dan Stevens in the finale, Morgan Freeman," says Caroline Framke. "The series allows eight talented performers to play in a near future with advancing technology (insert Black Mirror reference here), where they’re tasked with delivering monologues that range from decent to extremely clunky."
• Solos is a great example of how a good cast and good directors can be stymied by a pandemic
• Solos is a mixed bag: Some episodes are worth watching, some aren't
• Each episode feels like a play you might see at a small, trendy New York theater -- sometimes that works, sometimes it doesn't
• Solos creator David Weil want to re-create the intimacy of campfire stories for the screen: “In film and TV, it’s incredibly rare to have a single character telling an uninterrupted, 30-minute story — it just doesn’t happen,” he says. “But to be honest, the way I first fell in love with storytelling was listening to scary stories around the campfire with my brother, or hearing my grandmother share memories around the kitchen table. I wanted to create that feeling onscreen.”