In Too Much, Lena Dunham’s return to scripted television after a seven-year hiatus, an unconventional romance unfolds, challenging the very foundations of the rom-com genre. The series introduces Jess (Megan Stalter), a New York advertising professional who moves to London after her relationship implodes in a spectacular fashion. Her ex-boyfriend finds her breaking into his apartment, brandishing a garden gnome at his new girlfriend. In London, Jess has a chance encounter in a pub toilet with Felix (Will Sharpe), a broke musician. Their connection is one of complementary haplessness: she teaches him proper hand-washing etiquette, and he helps her get home after she accidentally Ubers to Heathrow Airport.
At first glance, the series may seem to falter. The central pairing of Stalter’s erratically charming Jess and Sharpe’s brooding Felix suffers from a palpable lack of chemistry, their union feeling more like an act of inertia than passion. However, what initially appears to be a flaw is revealed as the show’s central thesis. Too Much deliberately sidesteps the giddiness of traditional romance, trading it for a stark pragmatism. Co-produced by Working Title, the studio behind classics like Four Weddings and a Funeral and Notting Hill—whose titles are referenced in the show’s episodes—the series replaces heartfelt connection with a colder, more calculated arrangement. This is love for a cynical age.
This theme of pragmatic romance resonates with other contemporary works like Celine Song’s film Materialists, where romantic prospects are evaluated with a transactional coldness. Too Much suggests that in the current climate, the dizzying infatuation of falling in love might be an unaffordable, even destructive, luxury. A flashback episode powerfully illustrates this by detailing the breakdown of Jess’s seven-year relationship with Zev (Michael Zegen). Initially a charismatic white knight, Zev’s charm sours into contempt, as he mocks her taste in music, her need for affection, and even her clothing choices.
Felix, in stark contrast, offers a different kind of connection. Dunham excels at writing sympathetic yet flawed men, and Felix is no exception. He is initially cool and detached, but a switch seems to flip when he sees the cozy stability of Jess’s rental apartment. After a strange evening that involves a rejected kiss and Jess accidentally setting her nightgown on fire, he chooses to stay, drawn not by passion but by the allure of a sanctuary.
Tonally, Too Much veers away from the cinematic polish of Dunham’s Girls, adopting the low-fi, edgy style of British sitcoms like Fleabag or Pulling. The narrative often prioritizes antic, logic-defying moments over a cohesive plot. In one episode, Jess and Felix spend a night having sex, eating takeout, and pointedly ignoring each other’s emotional vulnerabilities. Later, Jess almost sleeps with a director on a location scout, only to then show up at Felix’s window begging him to move in.
As the series progresses, flashbacks reveal the motivations behind this unusual bond. Still reeling from her toxic breakup and friendless in a new city, Jess finds immediate stability in Felix. Though she possesses a perplexing mix of delusion and intuition—offering him a joint bank account after a week while also recognizing his lack of ambition—she craves the care he provides. Meanwhile, Felix, whose own childhood was unloving and unstable, sees in Jess an instant home and family, a welcome escape from his chaotic squat. Their relationship bypasses the obsessive crush phase and settles directly into a comfortable, domestic stasis, fulfilling a deep-seated yearning for security in both of them.
While the show’s resistance to romance can feel jarring, it ultimately redefines love as something other than transcendent passion. Instead, it posits love as a form of mutual care and attention. In a telling moment, Felix’s father defines matrimony as the “activity of a mother,” and a maternal, nurturing dynamic is precisely what both protagonists seem to crave. Dunham suggests that in the modern world, a relationship’s value may lie less in its fairytale qualities and more in its ability to provide a safe harbor. As Jess tells Felix in the final episode, “You’re like this alien, but you also feel like home.”
