When HBO launched Lena Dunham’s Girls in 2012, it followed shows such as Buffy (1997-2003), Sex and the City (1998-2004) and Gossip Girl (2007-2012), which had all set a standard of shiny, sanitised female representation that was both attractive and palatable to a wide audience.

The grubby realism of Dunham’s New York twentysomethings, on the other hand, offered a surprising authenticity for some. But for others it was too messy, too white, too privileged and too authored around Dunham’s own life.

Although younger characters are often categorised by self-absorption and poor judgment, the “realness” of Girls was still challenging for many viewers. In particular they struggled with Dunham’s own character, Hannah Horvath, an aspiring writer frequently making personal and professional mistakes. She made for an unlikely – and often unlikable – heroine.

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Much attention was also paid to Hannah’s nudity, which proved to be a talking point each season. Dunham is known for her bold and positive attitude to her body, which clearly does not conform to standard Hollywood beauty types. But this reaction to Hannah’s frequent nakedness was ultimately highlighted as misogynistic by the creative powers behind the series such as producer Judd Apatow and co-writer Jenni Konner, as well as Dunham herself.

The same critics may have similar problems with Too Much. Though fresh 20-something protagonist, Jessica is played with gusto by TikTok star Megan Stalter, not Dunham herself. She’s known for her scene-stealing performance in comedy-drama Hacks (2021-).

Too Much is still clearly written by Dunham. Jess’s relocation from NYC to London echoes her own move to the UK in 2021, where she met and married the Peruvian-British musician Luis Felber and settled in north London.

The pair have co-created this “love letter to London”, with Dunham directing and and Felber providing the original music. The story takes in London pubs, creative agencies, Notting-Hill-the-movie aspirations and council-estate realities.

Growing pains

As Jess starts work in a London media agency, helmed by an excitable Richard E. Grant, she meets cerebral indie musician Felix (played convincingly and charmingly by Will Sharpe). Their instant connection means that Jess is thrust back into the world of dating, with all the Instagram anxiety and breakup PTSD that her last relationship produced.

The tone is at once fresh and frivolous, but episode one feels contrived at times with the creaky set-up of post-relationship life and relocation.

The familial scenes are the most enjoyable, with Dunham calling in all her celebrity cameo favours, including herself as Jessica’s mother (she snaffles some of the show’s best lines), and Rita Wilson playing her own mother. The small but mighty Rhea Pearlman grabs the great-grandmother role with gusto, flirting salaciously with Jess’s paramour while dispensing wicked wisecracks with bone-dry humour.

As the story develops, so does the sophistication and thoroughbred quality of Dunham’s writing and directing. Glorious moments of obsession with skin, taste and touch in the early days of a relationship are convincingly conveyed by credible and well-crafted moments of intimacy, both physical and intellectual.

As Jessica and Felix navigate the inevitable ups-and-downs of togetherness (dinner parties, red-flag paranoia and an unrequited “I love you”), Dunham reflects on love’s tumultuous and terrifying roller-coaster via brilliant dialogue and meaningful visual storytelling.

A particularly thought-provoking moment of direction comes in the form of a long take at the end of episode three, where the duo cosy up together, ready for sleep, in silent closeness. Jess listens to music on headphones, potentially excluding Felix, but the inference is of acceptance and tenderness – a reassuring sign of potential longevity.

The pitfalls on the road to love are frequently revealed in flashback from Jessica’s past relationship with Zev (Michael Zegen), who has moved on with a new partner. We go from the “meet-cute” and early days of infatuation between Jess and Zev, steadily giving way to less and less tolerance and emotional intimacy, until finally the betrayal with the new love becomes clear.

Capitalising on the anxieties induced by social media, Dunham has Jess obsessively watching Zev’s new love Wendy (Emily Ratajkowski) on Instagram, where every desirable detail of her life plays out in perfection. When Wendy broadcasts the inevitable proposal on Instagram Live, Jess is sent spiralling and decides to flee to London.

As the series progresses, Dunham’s goals become clearer and echo those of Girls. Both shows explore what it means to be “too much” – an accusation that many strong, ambitious and focused women have experienced.

Being too much, it turns out, may be not such a bad thing. As Felix remarks at the close of episode four, after one of their first clashes, “too much” is not necessarily an insult – it can be a way of describing someone who is remarkable. It’s something that Dunham clearly believes – and wants us all to believe – about the tumultuous and chaotic experience of growing up.

Too Much is a hopeful paean to womanhood, a declaration that messiness, failure and fear are all part of becoming a woman just as much as joy, love and intimacy. This show inspires and engages the more it reveals of its flawed and fallible protagonist amid the melting pot of London that Dunham so clearly adores.

Jane Steventon does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.