Love debuted in 2016 and for three short, binge-able seasons on Netflix, gave us a relatively raw, occasionally awkward but always sweet (and a little salty) look at dating in the 2010s. The show is quintessential Judd Apatow, who co-created the comedy/drama with husband-and-wife team Lesley Arfin and Paul Rust (who also stars).

Opposites attract

Radio producer and wild child Mickey (Gillian Jacobs, Ibiza and Community) doesn’t meet her co-lead, nice-guy tutor and aspiring writer Gus (Rust) until the closing minutes of the pilot. (And seriously, all you're wondering during the first episode is, "When are they finally going to meet?!"). From there, they aren’t instantly "together," either. While yes, they are drawn together, as is often the case for opposites, their dating life meanders a while before getting serious. The first few episodes of season one can thus feel a little unhinged and directionless. However, that can also easily be construed as purposeful structuring to reflect both characters adrift in their own ways, as well as how some relationships begin in real life — you just never know where, when and how things are going to go.

In Mickey and Gus, we also have oh-so-flawed characters that are carrying all the emotional baggage, something that’s bound to weigh a relationship down no matter how compatible the people are. Mickey is an addict on multiple levels and tends to be on the dishonest side, including with herself. Gus is too nice to the point that its authenticity is questionable, and thus has that emotional volcano bubbling away just under his graceless, oblivious exterior. Whether he’s oblivious by design or not is also up for debate. Exploring how to navigate all that baggage and become a defined individual with one’s own purpose within the context of a relationship is where Rust, Arfin and Apatow made the show shine, going beyond the opposites-attract surface premise to dig deep into the human condition — something Apatow’s work examines again and again.

The great part about Love is the creators knew the series’ end was in sight and were able to give Mickey and Gus closure befitting of their characters and the show’s overall tone; that little bit sweet, little bit dark mixture that good comedy is so adept at.

As Jacobs told The Hollywood Reporter back in 2018, "But that’s what makes good television: characters taking big swings and doing things I wouldn’t necessarily do in my life. I feel like that’s how it was all along with Mickey and Gus. You have this duality of feelings: Shouldn’t she be taking time off from dating? But you understand that there’s an attraction between them, a pull that they feel toward each other. Even on paper, while they shouldn’t be doing this, they really do understand each other. That’s the world that Love lived in."

The unflinching lens

Like in life, episodes of Love wandered into the superfluous territory through endless chatter and what could appear to be imperfect structure. Unsurprising, coming from the same brain as behind Knocked Up, This Is 40, Freaks and Geeks, and Girls. The Emmy® and Golden Globe® Award-winning Apatow frequently teams up with a regular set of talent both behind and in front of the camera, including Rust (most notably of stand-up comedian fame from Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre) and his wife Arfin, who worked on Girls with Apatow.

When viewing Apatow’s films and TV as a whole — no matter if Apatow is writer, director, and/or producer — one can clearly see his theme choices revolve around people who are still trying to figure themselves out (at any age). Relationships scare them the most, as his characters are often still growing up themselves, but are usually tinged with hope. Apatow himself once told The Independent, "I like movies that are, you know, uplifting and hopeful … and I like filth." Love is no different.

Writing from experience

Whether that’s drawing from real life or past industry experience, "write what you know" isn’t just a screenwriter’s mantra, it’s good sense. Apatow, Rust and Arfin all drew on experience writing in the genre for many years.

In Arfin’s case, it’s also a case of writing the character of Mickey from past experiences as an addict. Painful memories, all of the dark stuff and light that can come out of it, are beautifully illustrated (sometimes in the most unrefined way possible) when played for laughs. It’s a tricky balance to achieve onscreen, especially for a comedy, in a way that’s both authentic and respectful of the struggle addicts face. Mickey is self-destructive, exhausting, sympathetic, endearing, and in the constant ebb and flow of recovery. Jacobs embodied it all thanks to careful writing, and the audience was able to connect with her despite her flaws — another true-to-life trait.

In retrospect

The multiple layers of emotion present in Love resonate with anyone who’s been in love. There is definitely discomfort in watching the, "Nooo, don’t go back to them!" moments and genuine relief when the characters "get it right." It might not be the fairytale happy ever after, but being able to feel it all, the utter humanness of it all, is what makes falling in love so worth it, and why we all keep tuning into others’ Love stories.