Bill Lawrence and Matt Tarses’ academic sitcom struggles to decide which story it actually wants to tell.

Television comedy thrives on clarity. Even the most chaotic sitcoms typically begin with a simple premise — a clear sense of who the characters are, where they exist, and why we’re watching them. HBO’s Rooster, the new half-hour comedy created by Bill Lawrence and Matt Tarses, unfortunately spends much of its early run searching for exactly that kind of clarity.

The series stars Steve Carell as Greg Russo, a wildly successful pulp novelist whose macho literary alter ego — known as “Rooster” — bears little resemblance to the awkward, introverted man behind the typewriter. When Greg is unexpectedly offered a position as writer-in-residence at a small New England college, he sees the opportunity as a chance to reinvent himself and perhaps find a more meaningful chapter in life.

At least, that’s one version of what Rooster might be about.

Across its first six episodes, the series constantly reshuffles its premise, cycling through a handful of overlapping ideas that never fully cohere into a single narrative. Sometimes Rooster feels like a fish-out-of-water story about a bestselling novelist navigating the strange culture of academia. Other times it plays like a midlife-crisis comedy about a man trying to relive the college experience he never had. In other moments, the focus shifts toward Greg’s complicated relationship with his daughter Katie, played by Charly Clive, an art history professor whose own personal life is unraveling.

And occasionally the show seems interested in telling a very different story entirely — one centered on Danielle Deadwyler’s Dylan, a poetry professor whose best friend was originally supposed to receive the residency Greg ultimately takes.

None of these ideas are inherently bad. In fact, any one of them might have worked as the foundation for a strong comedy series. The problem is that Rooster attempts to juggle all of them simultaneously without ever deciding which narrative deserves to lead the show.

That uncertainty is particularly frustrating given the remarkable talent involved. Bill Lawrence, the prolific television creator behind Scrubs, Ted Lasso and Shrinking, has built a career on ensemble comedies that blend broad humor with emotional sincerity. When his shows click, they tend to evolve beyond their initial high-concept premise and become stories about flawed people navigating life together.

You can occasionally see glimpses of that same instinct here.

Carell, who has long proven himself capable of balancing comedic absurdity with deep vulnerability, brings an appealing awkwardness to Greg. The character’s soft-spoken insecurity contrasts sharply with the hyper-masculine image of his fictional alter ego, creating a premise ripe for both satire and introspection.

But the show rarely commits to exploring that contrast.

Instead, Greg frequently drifts into the familiar rhythms of a more traditional sitcom protagonist — bumbling through awkward misunderstandings, accidentally offending students, and repeatedly finding himself dragged before the university’s disciplinary board. Much of the humor revolves around Greg’s inability to navigate contemporary campus culture, a premise that often feels less insightful than the show seems to believe it is.

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Carell is particularly good when Rooster allows him to play Greg as a quietly withdrawn figure — a man who feels deeply out of place in the environment he’s entered. Unfortunately, those moments are often interrupted by broader comedic beats that push the character closer to the exaggerated antics audiences may remember from The Office or The 40-Year-Old Virgin.

The result is a performance that occasionally shines but rarely gets the space it deserves.

**Photograph by Katrina Marcinowski/HBO**

The show’s supporting cast, meanwhile, is almost embarrassingly strong for material this uneven. Danielle Deadwyler delivers a series of quietly compelling moments as Dylan, reminding viewers yet again that she possesses the rare ability to elevate almost any scene she appears in. Yet the show treats her character more as an occasional flavor enhancer than as a central ingredient.

It’s a strange creative decision, especially considering how much potential exists in Dylan’s storyline. The dynamic between a respected poet and a commercially successful genre writer could have been fertile ground for both comedy and commentary, particularly within an academic setting that often grapples with questions about artistic legitimacy.

Instead, the series circles around that tension without ever truly exploring it.

Charly Clive, meanwhile, provides some of the show’s most grounded emotional moments as Katie. Her character is navigating the fallout of a failing marriage to Russian studies professor Archie, played by Ted Lasso standout Phil Dunster. The show occasionally tries to frame Archie as a lovable rogue in the Jamie Tartt mold, but the writing hasn’t yet found the balance necessary to make his behavior feel charming rather than simply obnoxious.

Clive, who previously impressed in the British series Pure, handles the material with a natural ease that suggests the show might benefit from leaning further into her storyline.

Elsewhere in the ensemble, familiar faces appear in fleeting but memorable roles. John C. McGinley plays Ludlow College’s gruff president with his usual blend of bluster and warmth. Connie Britton shows up in a brief guest appearance as a wealthy ex-lover who still haunts Greg’s past. Alan Ruck, Scott MacArthur and Annie Mumolo all bring flashes of personality to supporting roles that rarely receive enough attention.

Among the younger performers, Maximo Salas stands out as a well-meaning but hopelessly awkward student whom Greg begins mentoring. His scenes hint at the kind of character-driven comedy the series might eventually become.

And that may ultimately be Rooster’s greatest frustration: the sense that a stronger version of the show exists somewhere beneath its scattered storytelling.

The academic setting, for instance, remains surprisingly vague. The series never fully defines what kind of institution Ludlow College is, what its students care about, or why the campus environment matters to the story being told. In an era where shows like The Chair, Lucky Hank and Netflix’s Vladimir have begun exploring academic culture with greater specificity, Rooster feels strangely detached from the world it inhabits.

Instead, much of the humor leans on the increasingly familiar sitcom premise of an older protagonist accidentally violating modern social norms. Greg repeatedly finds himself in trouble for various misunderstandings involving students, many of which are played for quick laughs rather than meaningful commentary.

There are hints that Rooster could eventually grow into something richer. Bill Lawrence’s shows often take time to find their rhythm, gradually shifting away from their initial premise and toward the emotional dynamics of their ensemble.

If that happens here, the ingredients are certainly present.

For now, however, Rooster feels like a comedy still searching for the version of itself that works best. Beneath its scattered plotting and uneven tone lies a cast capable of delivering something far sharper and more memorable.

The hope is that the show eventually learns to trust them.