This Forgotten Comedy Series From 19 Years Ago Took a New Spin on a Tried-and-True Fantasy Formula

When Reaper first aired, it didn’t seem like anything new on the surface: demons, destiny, a reluctant chosen one, the usual genre tropes. What it actually was, though, was a show about being tired in your early twenties and realizing the future has already been sold without your signature. Sam Oliver (Bret Harrison) doesn’t discover he’s special so much as he discovers he’s already late, behind, and stuck with obligations he didn’t knowingly agree to, immediately setting the tone in a way most fantasy series never bother attempting.

The supernatural never really takes over, not the way it does on shows like Dead Like Me, Supernatural, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It just stays nearby while Sam works a dead-end retail job, answers to a manager who enjoys having power over very little, and tries to keep friendships intact as adulting keeps getting in the way. On his 21st birthday, he learns that his parents sold his soul to The Devil before he was born, and now he must work for Ol’ Scratch as a bounty hunter, retrieving souls who’ve escaped Hell. Just another Tuesday, really.

The Devil of 'Reaper' Sounds a Lot Like Your Boss

Ray Wise’s Devil doesn’t arrive in smoke or fire. He shows up like someone from HR who already knows your schedule and expects compliance. Their conversations resemble performance reviews more than supernatural showdowns, polite on the surface yet edged with consequence. It’s disturbing mainly because it feels recognizable.

The show lets these interactions stretch. The Devil chats and needles, sometimes offering perks and incentives the way bad jobs do, with little rewards that sound generous until you realize how much they don’t cover. Sam pushing back never comes off as heroic, because the system he’s dealing with doesn’t need to be openly vicious to get what it wants. It just waits him out. That choice grounds everything else. Hell isn’t a fiery pit so much as an organization with policies, and Sam’s contract doesn’t feel mythic or magical, it's an administrative move.

Retail Hell as a Running Gag in 'Reaper'

Reaper commits to the retail setting in a way most genre shows would treat as a one-off episode. The store called The Work Bench doesn't fade into the backdrop once the plot kicks in; it’s the environment that shapes everyone’s mood. Shift schedules clash with demon hunting. Management cares more about sales metrics than supernatural emergencies. Co-workers exist in varying states of disengagement and quiet despair.

Scenes linger on the banal frustrations: being understaffed, overworked, and expected to stay pleasant while everything else is coming apart. It's in those frustratsions that the comedy clicks, Reaper recognizes the dark humor in the monotonous grind of the work. The supernatural bits only work because they slide in and out of the workday without ever taking it over, keeping Sam stuck in the same retail grind instead of turning him into a fantasy hero. Saving the world doesn’t get you a raise, respect, or even a better shift. It just makes you more tired.

Friendship as Survival Strategy

Sam’s friendships are not there to offer speeches or life lessons. Mostly, Sock (Tyler Labine) and Ben ( Rick Gonzalez) complain, avoid responsibility, screw things up, and then show up late when it matters. The bond works because it feels accidental, held together by familiarity rather than any grand idea of friendship.

The writing allows conversations to wander. What scares the characters isn't spoke. It just comes through in how often the same problems resurface, and in that nagging sense that while they’re still arguing about work, money, and next steps, other people their age might already be moving on. That’s important because the show never pretends friendship fixes anything. But it understands that having someone nearby when things go sideways can keep you from completely disappearing into the grind.

'Reaper' Found Fantasy in the Mundane

What makes Reaper linger is its unapologeticness. Demons are captured using absurd tools, like enchanted vacuum cleaners. The stakes remain oddly personal, like in the episode "The Power of the Soul," where Sam is forced to leave work to fight a soul. This causes him to miss time with his coworker and crush, Andi ( Missy Peregrym), which makes him lose favor with her because he can’t explain his absences.

Even when the mythology expands, the show keeps returning to the same small pressures: rent, work, obligation, exhaustion. Nearly two decades on, it doesn’t feel dated at all, especially compared to other comedies from this era. It never tries to smooth out how untidy that stage of life actually is, or suggest that demons and destiny magically cancel out being broke, stuck, and permanently annoyed.

The supernatural stuff just sits there alongside the frustration, neither fixing the other, the way real problems tend to do when you’re trying to get through your twenties without a manual. Reaper ends episodes the way life often does, not with closure, but with Sam heading back to work, still under contract, still figuring it out, and still tired. That’s the note you leave on, and it’s probably why people who stumble across it now tend to let it keep playing, even after they meant to get up.