3 out of 5

Written by: Nick Hornby

I know I flip-flop on TV shows who I highlight – writer, director, adapter, whatever – but I’m generally going with the person whose vision I think most defines the project, and that’s definitely Hornby in this case.  Love, Nina, though adapted from a book by Nina Stibbe, is either fully influenced by Hornby’s style, or just inevitably became that when channeled through the author’s pen: meet our misfit lead, Nina (Faye Marsay), who’s utterly befuddled by the world, has quirky character traits, and is playing in a field not her own – having moved from what we assume is the quite localized Leiceister to upscale Primrose Hill – to nanny (something she hasn’t done before) for a family led by single mother George (Helena Bonham-Carter); watch Nina continually break things, mess things up, and/or bumble her way through things as she indirectly learns marvelous lessons about life, love and family.  And us usual with the bumbling misfit lead in Hornby’s stuff, Nina is unbelievably relateable – and oh boy, we might not walk around barefoot but don’t we have our own little quirks indeed – and yet makes for utterly harmless entertainment, akin to chortling at how clever we all are and how silly the world is.

The thing is: I’m not actually sour on Nick’s stuff.  He plays just enough in the darker side of things to keep his work grounded, and while the thoughts and concepts played with might not be revelations, I don’t think they’re unhealthily cheerful or optimistic.  Of course, his worlds exist in a popcorn bubble where a smile is right around the corner from a frown, but that’s entertainment, and Love, Nina is another example of his applying his format to a media-infused (this time its literary-centric), wry, knowingly intelligent bit of comedy/drama (definitely more of the former), which works magnificently well with a serialized format.

There’s a small arc of character growth over these 5 episodes, although not really a sense of a season.  Marsay narrates to us; title cards say funny things; Helena Bonham-Carter acts out unbelievable patience and drollness with gusto.  It’s harmless, but not worthless, and I hope it finds a way to return for more.