Shoresy will debut on May 27, 2022, on Hulu.
For 10 seasons, Shoresy terrorized Letterkenny hockey players both on and off the ice — we never saw his face, only heard his offensive chirps and saw #69 fight anyone on skates. In the new Letterkenny spinoff Shoresy, creator and star Jared Keeso unmasks the mystery surrounding an a-hole athlete who hates losing more than he likes winning. The setting shifts from hick town Letterkenny to still-rural Sudbury, where Shore takes it upon himself to turn around a Senior AAA “whaleshit” hockey club that’s currently in 4th place out of as many teams. It’s got shades of every underdog sports comedy from Slap Shot to Major League to Goon, but what’s not expected is how Keeso reinvents Shoresy as infinitely more than his character’s signature crassness as a hometown anti-hero in Letterkenny.
Shoresy is an absolute beauty of a Letterkenny offshoot. The writing team never reduces the six-episode show to what Letterkenny fans think they know about the mom-wheelin’, insult-dealin’ thorn in Reilly and Jonesy’s side known to sportscasters as “Shore.” From the second Keeso smiles into the camera as Shoresy, missing Chiclet and all, he’s portraying someone new. Shoresy is the most obnoxious, vocally abusive character in Letterkenny, which Keeso smartly understands wouldn’t make all that interesting of a focal point for a show. Instead, Keeso uses the spinoff to humanize and generate sympathy for the maniac who once savagely fired, between bathroom noises, “I made your mom so wet, Trudeau had to deploy a 24-hour national guard unit to stack sandbags around my bed.”
The sharpness of Shoresy boils down to how both men and women on the show are written. Sports drama tropes are flipped upside down, which is highlighted by things as simple as as Nat (Tasya Teles), General Manager of the Sudbury Bulldogs, referring to hockey studs as “sluts” versus the typical vocabulary of jocks sexualizing their female co-workers and fans. Shoresy transforms from this angry mountain of muscles and vulgarity into a character who weeps openly because of hockey, shares ice cream bars with his pals, and expresses healthy male companionship as a reason for his brutal zingers. Women run Shoresy in manager’s boxes and on league committees while the male players preach brotherhood through competition, share ice-cold Drumsticks in the locker room after wins like little leaguers, and call their mothers after flights because you shouldn’t worry ’em like heathens.
It’s vital that we see Shoresy as so much more than his Letterkenny bully, which the show rectifies rather quickly when he’s verbally bested by Nat’s right hands, Ziigwan (Blair Lamora) and Miigwan (Keilani Rose). Without showcasing how much of a manbaby Shoresy can be — like so many other male characters here who are the irrational, “emotional” types — there’s trouble. Shoresy (the Letterkenny scene stealer) works in smaller bursts by inserting a few epic burns, then moves on. Shoresy (the spinoff series) works because Keeso builds Shore into a wounded, passionate character who needs others and proves the complexities of persons we might judge abruptly — which made me fall in love with Hulu’s Shoresy for reasons I never expected.
Of course, this is a few-steps-above-beer-league hockey show. More importantly, it’s a Letterkenny hockey show. That means there are three primary themes: winning, fighting, and wordplay.
Winning drives Shore’s motivations and generates tension because Nat threatens she’ll fold the team if there’s even one more loss — the show understands sports drama stakes and makes you care about this “spare parts” collection of scrubs. Fighting is captured in the same Letterkenny style as the music department selects thumping, energetic brawler tracks that make slow-motion blows hit much harder. Wordplay is the heart and soul of Shoresy’s comedy, and rapid-fire punnery succeeds more than it fails — whether that’s Broadway musical references or outsiders roasting the Sudbury “Blueberry” Bulldogs after a farming sponsorship name change. It all feels familiar to the Letterkenny brand and delivers in those regards because if you can be one thing, you should be efficient.
The supporting cast lets Shoresy shine, as Keeso’s chemistry with almost all fresh faces helps evolve the titular sportsman. The way Shoresy promotes “healthy scratch on a last place team” Sanguinet (Harlan Blayne Kytwayhat) to coach and boosts the young buck’s confidence proves that Shoresy is more than a selfish fist-thrower. Shoresy’s romantic lusting over local sports journalist Laura Mohr (Camille Sullivan) includes none of the salacious rhetoric used to describe “taking down” Reilly and Jonesy’s mothers — Shoresy’s in sweetheart mode, uncharacteristically babbling on about giving foot massages and living to be good to Laura. Then you add in the four veterans Shoresy recruits from former pro lacrosse dandy Goodleaf (Andrew Antsanen), 3rd round NHL pick turned rapper Dolo (Jonathan Diaby), pride of Newfoundland Hitchcock (Terry Ryan), and Quebeqias rival turned ally JJ Frankie JJ (Max Bouffard) — surely they’d be a surly bunch. Right? Wrong. The new blood helps Shoresy cope with his winning obsession, bicker about popcorn chicken versus popcorn shrimp, and bring a word into the show’s vocabulary I never expected: “wholesome.”
Letterkenny fans will recognize how Shoresy is structured around contained bits like their flagship program with a solid success rate. Three Natives all named Jim — who refuse to be called anything else — are the Hansons of this Slap Shot comparison, and the name gag gets solid laughs. Callbacks to Letterkenny like a “Pitter-Patter Panini” at Peppi Panini should give you an idea that some things never change with these alliteration-loving enablers. I’ll admit multiple Canadianisms required translation from my Toronto buddy — something about an “aquadump” in Wasaga — and the spot that worked least involved Quebec color commentators mumbling French Canadian over a warmup simulcast. Still, it’s wholly accessible to American audiences. Just remember sweaters are jerseys, Tim Hortons is a fast food chain, and they love their small-time hockey like Texas loves its high school football.