The Return of Robert Best: A Masterclass in Emotional Storytelling
There’s a reason TV reboots and spinoffs are all the rage these days. Audiences crave familiarity, but they also want evolution. Best Medicine’s decision to bring back Martin Clunes as Robert Best isn’t just a nostalgic nod to Doc Martin—it’s a narrative gamble that could redefine how we see generational trauma, grief, and the absurdity of small-town life. Let’s unpack why this choice matters more than you might think.
Why Grief Is the Real Star of This Show
Let’s get one thing straight: Robert and Martin Best’s relationship isn’t just about awkward family dinners and unresolved arguments. It’s a microcosm of how we, as a society, handle (or fail to handle) grief. The showrunners have hinted at diving deeper into Rosemary’s death—a plot thread that’s less about the past and more about how guilt and silence poison the present. Personally, I think this is where Best Medicine could surprise us. So many dramas use tragedy as a cheap plot device, but here, it feels personal. The tension between Clunes’ stoic detachment and Josh Charles’ simmering resentment isn’t just good acting—it’s a reflection of how men are culturally conditioned to avoid vulnerability. What makes this particularly fascinating is how the show balances that raw emotion with humor. You can’t have a man who hates his hometown forced to endure a night with its eccentric residents without some absurdity. But that’s the point, right? Comedy becomes the Trojan horse for harder truths.
The Genius of Setting: Port Wenn as a Character Itself
Port Wenn isn’t just a backdrop—it’s a character with its own quirks, gossip, and unspoken rules. Robert Best’s return to this environment is key. Think about it: placing a man who wants to avoid his past in a town where everyone knows his business? That’s not just irony; it’s narrative catnip. From my perspective, the show’s writers are using the setting like a pressure cooker. The claustrophobia of small-town life forces interactions that wouldn’t happen in a big city. When Clunes’ character is described as being “trapped in an uncomfortable evening with a bunch of crazy townspeople,” that’s not just a funny scenario. It’s a metaphor for the inescapability of family—and the way communities can act as both a balm and a wound. I’d argue that Port Wenn’s role in Season 2 will amplify the show’s central question: Can you ever truly outrun the things that haunt you?
The Comedy of Coping: Why Sarah’s Grudge Matters
Annie Potts’ Sarah Best is poised to steal scenes in Season 2, and not just because she’s the family’s emotional truth-teller. Her “less forgiving” stance toward Robert adds a layer of complexity that the show needs. Here’s why this dynamic interests me: Sarah isn’t just holding a grudge—she’s the embodiment of the pain Robert refuses to acknowledge. While Martin’s conflict with his father is intellectual and emotional, Sarah’s anger is visceral. This creates a fascinating triangle. If Robert’s avoidance is the fuel, Sarah’s resentment is the spark, and Martin’s unresolved grief is the explosion waiting to happen. What many people don’t realize is that this isn’t just family drama for drama’s sake. It’s a study in how different people process loss. The show’s ability to handle these themes with humor—Sarah’s “comedic” grudge, Robert’s exasperation—makes the emotional beats land harder. It’s a classic trick: make us laugh, then gut-punch us when we’re off guard.
The Road Not Taken: What a Father-Son Road Trip Could Symbolize
Josh Charles’ idea for a road trip between Martin and Robert is pure gold, even if the show doesn’t go that route. Why? Because it’s a literal and metaphorical journey—two men trapped in a car, forced to confront decades of baggage (pun intended). This raises a deeper question: Can physical proximity force emotional intimacy? I’d love to see the show lean into this concept, even if it’s not a road trip. Maybe a medical emergency forces them to work together, or a bureaucratic mix-up strands them in some bizarre situation. The key is the pressure. When Charles says he wants “something silly and funny and also…heartfelt,” he’s tapping into the show’s core strength. The best episodes of Doc Martin (and its spinoff) have always used absurdity to disarm viewers before hitting them with emotional honesty. A forced father-son bonding experience would be the ultimate expression of that formula.
Looking Ahead: Why This Matters Beyond the Screen
At its heart, Best Medicine Season 2 isn’t just about a doctor’s awkward hometown visits. It’s a mirror held up to our own struggles with family, forgiveness, and the past. If the show can pull off blending Martin Clunes’ dry wit with the rawness of unresolved grief, it could become something special. One thing that immediately stands out is how the series reflects a broader cultural shift. We’re in an era where male vulnerability is finally getting its due on screen—from Succession to Ted Lasso. Best Medicine might not have the prestige pedigree of those shows, but its blue-collar approach to emotional storytelling could make it a sleeper hit. What this really suggests is that audiences are hungry for stories where laughter and tears aren’t opposites but partners in the messy dance of life. And if Robert Best’s return teaches us anything, it’s that sometimes the things we avoid the most are the ones that define us the hardest.
In the end, Best Medicine isn’t just medicine for the soul because it’s comforting or funny. It’s medicine because it hurts a little—and that sting is what makes the healing stick.
