Toledo Truth Blog ('The Paper' NBC)
'The Paper' Pilot Review: A Crinkly Fresh Start for Office Fans
Oscar Nunez reprises his role of "Oscar" from "The Office". In this scene he his telling an all-too-familiar camera crew to leave him alone, and "Nobody wants this!"
In the vast, paper-thin landscape of workplace comedies, Peacock's The Paper arrives like a recycled newsprint edition of The Office—familiar, a bit crumpled, but surprisingly absorbent for modern laughs. As a spiritual spinoff following the same mockumentary crew from NBC's Scranton saga, the series drops all 10 episodes of Season 1 on September 4, 2025, kicking off with "The Pilot," a 25-minute opener that smartly nods to its predecessor while staking out new territory in the dying world of local journalism.
Directed by series co-creator Gene Stupnitsky (who helmed several Office episodes), it transplants the awkward awkwardness to the Enervate-owned Toledo Truth Teller, a once-proud rag now churning out clickbait amid the company's toilet paper empire. If you're craving that signature cringe without the full rewatch commitment, this pilot delivers—though it occasionally feels like it's auditioning too hard for Dunder Mifflin nostalgia.The setup is elegantly simple: Twenty years after filming the Scranton branch, the documentary team tracks a handful of ex-Dunder Mifflinites to their new digs in Ohio, where corporate overlord Enervate has swallowed the local paper whole. We open with a delightfully meta cameo from Bob Vance (the Vance himself, still hawking refrigeration), spilling tea on the old office's fate—now a laser eye surgery spot, because of course it is.
From there, the cameras pivot to the Truth Teller's dingy bullpen, introducing a fresh ensemble led by Domhnall Gleeson as Ned Sampson, the wide-eyed new editor-in-chief who's equal parts Michael Scott's enthusiasm and Leslie Knope's civic zeal. Ned's a lapsed journalist turned TP salesman (yes, really), hell-bent on resurrecting the paper's glory days with shoe-leather reporting. His arrival is pure sitcom gold: He literally crashes into reporter Mare (Chelsea Frei, nailing the jaded millennial vibe) in the lobby, then gets barricaded in a conference room by suspicious staff who dub him "the guy who hit her."
It's a locked-room farce that escalates into a team meeting where Ned climbs on a desk for his inspirational speech, only to field zingers about whether he's in "news or toilet."What elevates this beyond lazy sequel bait is the ensemble's immediate spark. Sabrina Impacciatore steals scenes as Esmerelda, the blissfully clueless managing editor whose email clarifying Ned "was not #MeToo-ed" is a masterclass in oblivious HR comedy.
Oscar Nuñez reprises his Office role as accountant Oscar Martinez, now crunching numbers for Enervate and hilariously trying to sabotage the cameras with over-the-top confessions. The supporting cast—Ramona Young's circulation whiz Nicole, Melvin Gregg's slick ad salesman Detrick, and a rotating door of quirky bit players—gels fast, delivering punchlines with the precision of a printing press. The humor leans kinder than The Office's early cynicism, trading soul-crushing pranks for absurd corporate absurdities, like debating budget cuts to wire services in favor of actual local scoops.
Snarky title cards and talking-head zingers add that mockumentary polish, while the pilot's climax in the basement—Ned firing up a dusty old press—feels like a symbolic gut-punch to the industry's woes, wrapped in feel-good optimism.That said, the pilot isn't without its rough drafts. The opening's heavy-handed Office callbacks (complete with archival footage teases) can feel like fan service overkill, making the first five minutes drag like a misfiled expense report.
Gleeson's Ned is charmingly manic, but his backstory dumps (infidelity-scarred cardboard heir? Really?) border on sitcom contrivance, and the episode introduces too many faces at once, leaving some—like the corporate suit Ken—feeling like placeholders.
It's not as razor-sharp as The Office at its peak, and early reviews echo that it's more "methadone substitute" than full-blown revival. Still, the joke density builds lethally, with Gleeson's American-accented earnestness a revelation that promises escalation.
Overall, "The Pilot" earns a solid B+: It's a breezy, bingeable entry that honors its roots while carving a niche in the newsroom trenches—think The Office meets The Newsroom, minus the preachiness. For superfans, it's comfort food with a topical twist; for newcomers, it's a low-stakes hoot that hooks you by the end credits. Stream it on Peacock or watch it when it comes on the NBC network, and let the presses roll.
The Paper might just be the daily read we need in 2025.
Directed by series co-creator Gene Stupnitsky (who helmed several Office episodes), it transplants the awkward awkwardness to the Enervate-owned Toledo Truth Teller, a once-proud rag now churning out clickbait amid the company's toilet paper empire. If you're craving that signature cringe without the full rewatch commitment, this pilot delivers—though it occasionally feels like it's auditioning too hard for Dunder Mifflin nostalgia.The setup is elegantly simple: Twenty years after filming the Scranton branch, the documentary team tracks a handful of ex-Dunder Mifflinites to their new digs in Ohio, where corporate overlord Enervate has swallowed the local paper whole. We open with a delightfully meta cameo from Bob Vance (the Vance himself, still hawking refrigeration), spilling tea on the old office's fate—now a laser eye surgery spot, because of course it is.
From there, the cameras pivot to the Truth Teller's dingy bullpen, introducing a fresh ensemble led by Domhnall Gleeson as Ned Sampson, the wide-eyed new editor-in-chief who's equal parts Michael Scott's enthusiasm and Leslie Knope's civic zeal. Ned's a lapsed journalist turned TP salesman (yes, really), hell-bent on resurrecting the paper's glory days with shoe-leather reporting. His arrival is pure sitcom gold: He literally crashes into reporter Mare (Chelsea Frei, nailing the jaded millennial vibe) in the lobby, then gets barricaded in a conference room by suspicious staff who dub him "the guy who hit her."
It's a locked-room farce that escalates into a team meeting where Ned climbs on a desk for his inspirational speech, only to field zingers about whether he's in "news or toilet."What elevates this beyond lazy sequel bait is the ensemble's immediate spark. Sabrina Impacciatore steals scenes as Esmerelda, the blissfully clueless managing editor whose email clarifying Ned "was not #MeToo-ed" is a masterclass in oblivious HR comedy.
Oscar Nuñez reprises his Office role as accountant Oscar Martinez, now crunching numbers for Enervate and hilariously trying to sabotage the cameras with over-the-top confessions. The supporting cast—Ramona Young's circulation whiz Nicole, Melvin Gregg's slick ad salesman Detrick, and a rotating door of quirky bit players—gels fast, delivering punchlines with the precision of a printing press. The humor leans kinder than The Office's early cynicism, trading soul-crushing pranks for absurd corporate absurdities, like debating budget cuts to wire services in favor of actual local scoops.
Snarky title cards and talking-head zingers add that mockumentary polish, while the pilot's climax in the basement—Ned firing up a dusty old press—feels like a symbolic gut-punch to the industry's woes, wrapped in feel-good optimism.That said, the pilot isn't without its rough drafts. The opening's heavy-handed Office callbacks (complete with archival footage teases) can feel like fan service overkill, making the first five minutes drag like a misfiled expense report.
Gleeson's Ned is charmingly manic, but his backstory dumps (infidelity-scarred cardboard heir? Really?) border on sitcom contrivance, and the episode introduces too many faces at once, leaving some—like the corporate suit Ken—feeling like placeholders.
It's not as razor-sharp as The Office at its peak, and early reviews echo that it's more "methadone substitute" than full-blown revival. Still, the joke density builds lethally, with Gleeson's American-accented earnestness a revelation that promises escalation.
Overall, "The Pilot" earns a solid B+: It's a breezy, bingeable entry that honors its roots while carving a niche in the newsroom trenches—think The Office meets The Newsroom, minus the preachiness. For superfans, it's comfort food with a topical twist; for newcomers, it's a low-stakes hoot that hooks you by the end credits. Stream it on Peacock or watch it when it comes on the NBC network, and let the presses roll.
The Paper might just be the daily read we need in 2025.