
Kitty Flanagan
Helen Tudor-Fisk

“Not another glamorous legal show.”
When Helen Tudor-Fisk's life falls apart, she takes a job in a small suburban firm specialising in wills and probate assuming that, because the clients are dead she won't have to deal with people.
I’ve always had a soft spot for legal comedies that don’t bother pretending the law is glamorous. Fisk doesn’t just ignore that glamour—it actively mocks it. The show’s tagline, "Not another glamorous legal show," isn’t just marketing; it’s a mission statement. And yet, for all its self-awareness, Fisk isn’t quite the sharp, subversive satire it seems to think it is.
It’s more like a well-meaning but slightly clumsy cousin to The Good Wife or Ally McBeal, one that’s traded in the skyscrapers and power suits for suburban strip malls and ill-fitting blazers. The question is: does that make it refreshing, or just underwhelming?
Helen Tudor-Fisk (Kitty Flanagan) is the kind of protagonist who feels like she was plucked from a therapy session rather than a writers’ room. After her marriage implodes, she takes a job at a small suburban law firm specializing in wills and probate, assuming—naïvely—that because the clients are dead, she won’t have to deal with people. It’s a premise that promises both comedy and pathos, a fish-out-of-water story with a legal twist.
And in the early episodes, it delivers just enough of both to keep you watching. Flanagan, a veteran of Australian comedy, plays Helen as a woman who’s spent so long in corporate law that she’s forgotten how to be human. Her deadpan delivery is the show’s secret weapon, turning what could be broad sitcom beats into something quieter, almost melancholic.

But here’s the thing about Fisk: it’s not really about the law. Or at least, it’s not about the law in the way you’d expect. There are no dramatic courtroom showdowns, no last-minute revelations, no high-stakes moral dilemmas.
Instead, the show fixates on the mundane, the bureaucratic, the absurdly petty. A will dispute over a beloved pet. A client who insists on being buried with their favorite armchair.
A colleague who can’t stop talking about their gluten intolerance. It’s the kind of material that could easily veer into The Office-style cringe comedy, but Fisk resists that impulse. The humor is drier, more observational, like a legal procedural directed by Ricky Gervais on a budget.
That’s not to say it always lands. The show’s biggest weakness is its pacing, which lurches between slow-burn character moments and abrupt, almost jarring tonal shifts. One minute, Helen is delivering a monologue about the existential dread of middle age; the next, she’s engaged in a slapstick argument with her boss over who ate the last yogurt in the office fridge.
"A sharp and witty Australian legal comedy with standout performances, though its niche humor may not land for everyone."
The series is praised for its clever writing and the comedic timing of its lead, Kitty Flanagan, who brings a dry, relatable charm to the legal workplace setting. Some find the humor too specific or understated, leaving the show feeling uneven in its comedic delivery. latestnetflix.com's take is that the supporting cast, particularly Colette Mann and Miki Oikawa, adds depth but occasionally struggles to match Flanagan’s energy.
The Australian legal comedy Fisk (2021) has carved out a niche for itself by blending sharp wit with the absurdities of the legal world—all while giving its cast free rein to improvise. Created by and starring comedian Kitty Flanagan, the series follows Helen Tudor-Fisk, a corporate lawyer who, after a career setback, finds herself navigating the eccentricities of a small Melbourne firm. latestnetflix.com's view is that with a supporting cast including Colette Mann and Miki Oikawa, Fisk leans into its comedic roots, often blurring the line between scripted humor and off-the-cuff hilarity.
One of the defining features of Fisk is its embrace of improvisation. Behind-the-scenes footage and cast interviews reveal a production where comedians are encouraged to riff on set, sometimes to the point of exhaustion. In one clip, Flanagan and her co-stars joke about the challenge of stopping the laughter long enough to film a scene, with the director eventually yelling "cut" just to regain control . Another video showcases the cast improvising jokes in character, with the results often so chaotic that only a fraction makes it into the final edit .
This loose, collaborative approach extends to press interviews. A video titled "All the unusable bits from Marty Sheargold's formal press interview" highlights how even promotional appearances devolve into comedic tangents, with the cast unable—or unwilling—to stick to scripted talking points . The result is a series that feels spontaneous, even when it’s not.
At its core, Fisk is a workplace comedy, but its legal setting provides ample fodder for satire. The show’s first season dives into the world of wills and estates, a premise that Flanagan and her cast mine for humor in promotional discussions. In one interview, the actors break down the absurdity of their characters’ cases, from bizarre family disputes to the mundane frustrations of legal paperwork . The tone is lighthearted, but the show doesn’t shy away from poking fun at the legal profession’s quirks.
Audience reception has been solid, if not overwhelming. On SensCritique, the series holds a 6.7/10 rating based on nearly 100 votes, positioning it as a well-liked but not universally adored comedy . The humor is distinctly Australian, relying on dry wit and situational absurdity rather than slapstick, which may explain its niche appeal.
While Fisk hasn’t broken out as a mainstream hit, it has earned critical recognition. In 2025, Flanagan won the AACTA Award for Best Acting in a Comedy, a nod to her performance as the beleaguered but resilient Helen Tudor-Fisk . The series has also been renewed for multiple seasons, with a third-season trailer teasing new cases and comedic chaos .
Behind-the-scenes footage from Fisk Season 2 offers a glimpse into the show’s production process, from table reads to on-set antics. The cast’s chemistry is palpable, with Flanagan, Mann, and Oikawa bouncing off each other in a way that suggests their real-life rapport fuels the show’s energy . Whether discussing their characters’ worst jobs or improvising entire scenes, the team’s dynamic is a key ingredient in Fisk’s charm .
Fisk isn’t reinventing the workplace comedy, but it doesn’t need to. Its strength lies in its cast’s ability to turn even the most mundane legal scenarios into comedic gold, often through sheer improvisational skill. For fans of Australian humor and unscripted chaos, it’s a refreshing watch. For everyone else, it’s a reminder that sometimes the best comedy happens when the cameras are rolling—and no one’s quite sure what will happen next.
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