Fried, writer-director-star-producer Richard Goss’s meditation on urban disenfranchisement, has much to recommend it. It runs just over half an hour and is broken into chapters, each progressively more refined. The ending features a well-worked psycho-drama twist. Jessica Crooks directs four of the eight episodes, with Gross writing all of them and directing the other half.
Robert (Goss) and Dave (Jake McDaid) are a sorry spectacle. We are introduced to them shot from their T.V. like a morose Gogglebox. They swig endless long necks but are supposedly broke. All they do is gripe about work in poorly drawn and childish dialogue. But then Robert and Dave clearly are intelligent people describing a gig economy that has them licking boots for sexless, medicated lives; such a fate bedevils our young at an epidemic level. Robert and Dave share a flat. Goss plays a pantomime psycho trying to get his nervous and put-upon caterer flatmate to go mad by swapping out his meds. Ultimately, this leads to a shocking act of senseless violence.
Their conversations are frequently pat. “He’s the best therapist in London” made me laugh. It has the ring of “the finest wines available to humanity” from Withnail and I. Plus, it is entirely preposterous coming from someone who flirts with minimum wage. A lot of the leads’ exchanges sound like the worries of 20-somethings, yet mouthed by 30-somethings.

“Robert and Dave are a sorry spectacle.”
Fried, at first, feels like something filmed after the pubs shut, but the direction becomes steadily more refined throughout. Goss and Crooks capture some good sequences, and they definitely know their movies. The cinematography is primitive with not a penny to show for budget. Still, it’s impressive how much of this was filmed in what I guess was a crew or cast member’s flat and work. You don’t see Robert and Dave outdoors until near the end when the beauty of a twilight behind them as they bicker over a car boot comes as a shock.
With that being said, well-observed humor is offered up instead. The difficulty of swinging an axe in a toilet stall, while not quite as brilliant a gag as H.I. skinning his knuckles on an artexed ceiling in Raising Arizona, is similarly clever.
Fried is peppered with love for Natural Born Killers, Trainspotting, and Peepshow. The soundtrack is good, but the huge changes in volume are annoying; Goss and Crooks seem to have jump scare / shock tactics in mind where manners would have done. It’s a respectable length and sensible enough for something that looks like it was filmed over takeaway. I kind of liked it.