The town at the center of Widow’s Bay—the type of sleepy New England village where the dive bars are dank, the WiFi is nonexistent, and horrific zombie attacks and plague-induced cannibalism have left its townspeople shaken and superstitious—might not be the ideal vacation destination. But the horror-comedy series is sure as hell a welcome getaway from the glut of anodyne reboots and listless original shows that currently populate the TV landscape.
The Apple series revolves around a tightly wound Mayor Tom Loftis (Matthew Rhys), a mix between Leslie Knope and Courage the Cowardly Dog, as he strives to reinvigorate the titular island by investing heavily in its tourism industry. As soon as unsuspecting visitors begin to flock to Widow’s Bay for lobster rolls and relaxing afternoons at the beach, an ancient evil is awakened, taking the shape of everything from a mysterious fog to a clown murderer (that’s a murderer dressed as a clown, not a murderer who kills clowns, the series is quick to specify).
Though both horror and comedy share a build-up and release of tension as their defining engines, they can be difficult to balance effectively. But creator Katie Dippold, best known for writing 2016’s Ghostbusters reboot, largely succeeds at doing so, as the absurdity of the town’s macabre hauntings—and the supernatural horror genre itself—is underscored and heightened by its characters’ crisply drawn idiosyncrasies.
Even in scenes where heart-pounding jolts are in short supply, the slyly satirical dialogue makes up for it. Commenting on the town’s witch trials in the 18th century, historical society archivist Gerrie (Nancy Lenehan) waxes nostalgically, “A great source of pride. We caught ‘em, we burned ‘em.” And though a midseason flashback episode directed by Ti West proves to be the scariest entry, its winking take on period horror, à la Robert Eggers’s The Witch, keeps things wryly amusing.
The show’s reliance on horror tropes—haunted hotels, masked serial killers, Wiccan curses—perhaps speaks to a lack of inventiveness, but Widow’s Bay’s playfulness makes these elements feel more like homage than outright theft. The full breadth of the show’s zaniness is embodied by its supporting characters, among them socially stilted event planner Patricia (Kate O’Flynn), gruff fisherman Wyck (Stephen Root), and chain-smoking clerk Rosemary (Dale Dickey). Meanwhile, Rhys more than capably grounds the series, playing Tom with a jittery optimism that barely conceals his timidity and contempt for his constituents.
Like Tom’s ambitions to attract tourists to the island (he was hoping for Bar Harbor but is delighted when an outsider likens it to Martha’s Vineyard), Widow’s Bay’s intentions are modest. It doesn’t aim for the grandiose allegory or psychological character development that defines so much “elevated horror,” nor does it chasten its sense of humor to appeal to a wide-ranging audience. Instead, like any good vacation spot, it focuses on simply giving its guests a good time.
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