‘The Varnell Hill Show’ Review: Tommy Davidson in Paramount+’s Amiable Throwback of a ‘Martin’ Spinoff

“I got just one question for you: Did you miss me?” So goes the catchphrase for Varnell Hill (Tommy Davidson), the late-night talk show host who first graced our screens in Martin some 30-odd years ago. I’ll leave you to determine how much you personally have been longing to revisit a character who, for all his vivid personality, only ever appeared in two episodes of that earlier series.

But hearing that line again in his new spinoff, Paramount+’s The Varnell Hill Show, it feels easy enough to answer in the affirmative. If the workplace comedy works better as a reminder of times gone by than a breath of fresh air, it nonetheless makes for a pleasantly nostalgic time.

Despite its connection to Martin, no real knowledge of the earlier show is required to watch this one. Aside from a few passing references (“My cousin from Detroit told me to tell you, “Wazzup?”), creators Kevin G. Boyd, Sherri McGee McCovey and Bentley Kyle Evans rarely bring up past events or characters; even Martin star and creator (and Varnell Hill executive producer) Martin Lawrence guest stars only as a completely different character.

As for Varnell, not much seems to be different for the self-described “one-time radio king, two-time ex-husband — soon to be three — and eight-time Soul Train Awards presenter.” He’s still an outgoing, egotistical personality, and still played by Davidson with loads of charisma and a knack for big but precise physical comedy. He’s still hosting the same old talk show to the same old, now rapidly aging audience. His most loyal aides, yes-man/bestie Tre (Chris Williams) and assistant Kym (Kym Whitley), are ones who’ve been with him for ages.

But change is coming for Varnell, whether he likes it or not. (He very much does not.) The network CEO who once championed him has been pushed out, replaced by the useless nepo baby son (Nick Cafero’s Jonah) who despises Varnell precisely because the old man adored him. Jonah’s plan to oust Varnell involves installing an ambitious new executive producer (Wendy Raquel Robinson’s Rachel) ostensibly to help boost ratings, but in actuality to annoy Varnell into quitting over creative differences.

Despite the season primarily revolving around the efforts to freshen up the talk show for a wider (i.e., younger) demographic, not much about The Varnell Hill Show reads as particularly modern, for better or for worse.

Its format — multi-cam, laugh-tracked, with the occasional fourth-wall-breaking aside — is one that would have been in vogue when Martin originally aired. It’s done quite well (and of the supporting cast, Robinson and Whitley, both veterans of sitcoms from that era, seem so at home that you’d think they’d been on this brand-new show for years already), but whether that makes it feel hoary or comforting will probably depend on whether you grew up watching similar series.

Its storylines tend to stick to well-trod territory: Varnell not understanding social media, Varnell trying to seem younger, Varnell accidentally getting high on pot brownies. Even a multi-episode arc featuring a Gen Z comic who seems primed to supplant Varnell as the network’s new darling betrays little understanding of who Marshay (Brittney Ayona Clemons) is beyond “younger than Varnell.”

Its jokes are occasionally stale — sometimes in ways that seem appropriate for the characters (of course Varnell is the sort of guy who’d drop a Kato Kaelin reference three decades after the O.J. trial) and sometimes in ways that suggest The Varnell Hill Show itself might benefit from some fresher blood behind the scenes (it makes no sense that a Millennial hypebeast-type writer would describe Moo Deng as a top comedy trend in 2026).

The inconsistency can make it difficult to tell exactly what the vibe of Varnell’s program is meant to be. In one episode, Varnell goes viral for an accidentally live-streamed rant complaining of being treated by top brass like “a TikTok Bojangles” and declaring that, “When I speak my truth, it’s aggressive” — a slightly confusing statement given that what we’ve seen of his public persona up to that point is so easygoing that earlier that day, he’d been boasting of how many grandmas fall asleep to him. (“And a lot of them don’t wake up,” Jonah snarks in response.)

Still, there’s an earnestness to the series that makes it easy to vibe with. The challenges faced by a Black host and his mostly Black staff in trying to create something that feels good and authentic at a company run by white men, at least one of whom is hell-bent on ruining them, is an intermittently important theme throughout the eight-part season. And there’s an element of wish fulfillment in seeing Varnell and Rachel and their colleagues triumph by, for example, giving a MAGA-era Kanye West stand-in the takedown he deserves (even if, again, the real-life reference feels a few years old).

Then there’s the endless rotation of celebrities playing themselves. Varnell’s show might be fictional, but the show about his show actually does function as a way to spotlight Black talents across the industry. Doug E. Fresh is the program’s bandleader, while the likes of Damon Wayans and Matt Barnes come through as talk show guests and Kirk Franklin and Omarion as musical guests.

In one of the comic highlights of the season, Deon Cole, Mike Epps, Lavell Crawford and Miss Pat play themselves as friends of Varnell’s who’ve been invited to roast him for an anniversary special; the chemistry that flows from the segment really does have the joyous, unfiltered feel of old friends just trying to crack each other up.

Ironically, or perhaps appropriately, the most glaring issue with the series, aside from its old-timey-ness, likely would have been less of one in the 1990s: the fact that there simply doesn’t seem to be enough of it.

Like so many first seasons, The Varnell Hill Show’s has the feel of a newcomer trying out everything it can to see what sticks. But at just eight half-hour episodes, it simply doesn’t have time to figure out what to do with supporting ensemble members like AJ (Emmanuel Hudson), Varnell’s dopey social media manager of a nephew, or flesh out ones like hopelessly square head writer Thad (Neil Brown Jr.) and his staff.

If Paramount+ is putting its weight behind this amiable throwback of a series, it might as well go all the way and give it another dozen or 20 episodes to find its most fully realized self.