At this month’s Cannes Film Festival, Francis Ford Coppola and Kevin Costner each revealed passion projects that they chose to finance themselves after initial approval from institutional backers. This week, three authors are setting a trend – except instead of committing his own funds to a deeply personal and sweeping epic, comedian Shane Gillis has made a lewd, brotherly workplace comedy set in a tire store from Pennsylvania.
Since being fired from “Saturday Night Live” — before he even started — for offensive jokes on his podcast, Gillis has become an example of a decentralized, grassroots attention economy that allows some artists to build thriving careers without the blessing of gatekeepers. His 2021 “Live in Austin” special blew up on YouTube; the same podcast that cost him “SNL,” co-hosted with fellow comedian Matt McCusker, continues apace; Gillis even self-produced his own sketch comedy series, “Gilly and Keeves,” which culminated in a feature-length special last year. (You can stream it for $9.99.) Gillis has made it a point to accomplish all of this without capitalizing on grievances about so-called cancel culture, a profitable — and predictable — path for others budding provocateurs. After all, with his recent success, Gillis doesn’t have much to complain about.
Recently, Gillis has also begun to gradually re-enter the mainstream, a process seemingly poised to benefit his clients as much, if not more, than himself. (Gillis is now simply too big to be ignored by growing and/or aging platforms that could Really use his devoted fan base.) Netflix released Gillis’ second special, “Beautiful Dogs,” last fall; he starred in “Bupkis,” Pete Davidson’s autobiographical sitcom, now abandoned for Peacock; “Saturday Night Live” invited him back to host a few months later, a high-profile, ultimately disappointing affair in which Gillis refused to make more than a passing mention of his storied history with the show, let alone to rejoice in his triumphant return. Gillis’ cultural imprint still pales in comparison to his current audience, but the asymmetry is no longer as extreme as it once was.
“Tires” traces the evolution of Gillis’ career. The sitcom debuted in 2019 as a pilot on Gillis’ YouTube channel. (The original video was removed before the Netflix premiere.) Several years and lots of revenue later, Gillis invested in filming a full six-episode season, which Netflix later acquired with an upcoming stand-up special . The result awkwardly straddles Gillis’ DIY philosophy and larger aspirations, a noticeably restrained production distributed by the world’s largest streaming service. Concise, crude and occasionally amusing, “Tires” doesn’t seem likely to propel Gillis to a new echelon of establishment recognition. Instead, it’s a snapshot of the crossroads at which co-creator, co-writer, and star find themselves: no longer the center—first by necessity, then by choice—of a self-sufficient ecosystem ; not yet a star embraced by trendsetters or more casual fans.
The “Tires” setup is reminiscent of a version of “The Bear” devoid of racial diversity and any hint of romanticism. Two cousins, hapless manager Will (co-creator Steven Gerben) and happy-go-lucky shit-stirrer Shane (Gillis), struggle to keep the family’s blue-collar business afloat. Tasked by his father, a looming off-screen presence, with the location of his local chain of Valley Forge auto stores, Will implements a succession of outlandish schemes designed to boost sales. Like Gillis’ stage act, “Tires” indulges in the brotherly, childish humor of bored young men while making them the butt of the joke. The season begins with Will launching a cringe-worthy initiative aimed at empowering female customers: “You’re going to go, girl! ” – and ends with Shane goading her into having a bikini car wash.
“Tires” keeps Gillis’s team of longtime collaborators intact. “Gilly and Keeves” partner John McKeever, credited only by his last name, directs all six episodes and is Gerben and Gillis’ third co-creator. The cast remains unchanged from the original pilot, with fellow veterans of the Philadelphia comedy scene, Chris O’Connor and Kilah Fox, playing Will and Shane’s co-workers. Besides Gillis, the best-known series regular is probably stand-up Stavros Halkias, who plays District Manager Dave and rose to prominence on the now-defunct podcast Cum Town. The origins of “Tires” may be reminiscent of “Horace and Pete,” the dark drama that Louis CK bankrolled before his own exile from the spotlight, but it lacks that series’ intellectual cachet of having an Edie Falco or a Jessica Lange in its cast.
In both locations and length – or rather the lack of either – “Tires” shows its bootstrapped roots. Gillis’ pockets may be deep, but it’s still clear that less than two hours of total material taking place in a handful of theaters doesn’t come from a Netflix level of resources, even if that’s where viewers can find the finished product. The style isn’t a full-on mockumentary, but McKeever favors handheld camerawork and close-ups that (accurately) evoke the cringe factor of early episodes of “The Office.” The stakes are microscopic: Will’s big idea, potentially profitable for the company, is to offer a discount on tires to sell customers other services after they accept a lower price. The melancholic piano theme hints at a sentimentality that is largely not there, and falls flat when it does arrive. We’re here to watch these people throw themselves at each other, not because we care how many brake pads they need to move until Will’s dad approves.
“Tires” is most enjoyable when it delivers what it was obviously built around: Gillis’ smiling, button-pushing performance as a former Rust Belt jock who never made it as his portrayer. Unlike many comedians when they’re tasked with their own scripted shows, Gillis is smart enough to not present himself as a straight man, instead leaving that role to Gerber while he gets the funny stuff. It’s Shane arguing with Dave while he’s sitting on the toilet, spreading a rumor. Will taught a parrot to pronounce the N-word and poached the graphic designer Will hired from TaskRabbit to draw a bunch of busty girls. We’re not supposed to approve of everything Shane says or does, but even within the store, he gets away with saying what others can’t out of sheer charm and confidence. Nobody cares when he calls Italian mechanics “wops”. When Will does it, it’s a problem.
But when refracted through a fictional set and narrative, Gillis can’t be as precise in how he plays with the line between offensive and insightful as he is on stage. Gillis’ classic joke deploys his silly energy — his favorite filler word is “dude” — to play with audience expectations about his beliefs. (He opens “Beautiful Dogs” by turning a clap line about American exceptionalism into a line about mass shootings.) “Shoots” is less dexterous and more direct. Rather, the “Blind-and-It’s Over” season is an audition for a second set of Netflix-funded episodes — and, of course, the company announced a renewal before the first one even aired. Perhaps an extended series could develop the beats of a long-running sitcom, be more artful in its risk-taking, and more fully differentiate the characters beyond Shane and Will. For now, “Tires” is a step forward, but not a complete one.
All six episodes of “Tires” are now streaming on Netflix.