‘Deli Boys’ Review: Hulu’s Upbeat Crime Comedy Is Mostly Empty Calories

The Hulu comedy Deli Boys opens with a glib take on the American dream. In a cheesy video to shareholders, Baba Dar (Iqbal Theba) recalls how he immigrated from Pakistan in 1979 without much more than a tireless work ethic. Four decades (and the invention of cupholder-friendly 124-ounce coffee cups) later, that diligence has yielded him a convenience-store empire that stretches across the Philadelphia tri-state area.

As his adult sons Raj (Saagar Shaikh) and Mir (Asif Ali) discover when he drops dead from a freak golf ball accident, however, the truth of Baba’s success reflects a much darker American archetype: the immigrant gangster. Over 10 episodes, Deli Boys chucks a little bit of everything into the gap between the man his children thought they knew and the man they’re realizing he actually was: drug trips and shootouts, Godfather sendups and fish-out-of-water hijinks.

But the end result feels like one of those Tastykakes the Dars might sell at one of their corner stores: It might be flavorful enough to go down easy in the moment, but it’s not nearly substantial enough to count as a full meal.

In stereotypical rich-TV-family fashion, the ultimate symbol of Baba’s success is that both of his sons are sort of useless. Eldest Raj is the classic spoiled heir, happy to spend his days getting high and sleeping around. Mir is more ambitious and industrious, having molded himself into the ideal successor to his father’s corporate leadership. But he’s naïve enough that despite his years of devoted service to the company, he’s never so much as suspected it could be involved in tax fraud — let alone running a vast cocaine distribution network out of its stores’ basements and back alleys.

Both brothers are quickly brought up to speed, though, when they’re made co-CEOs of the underground operation to fill the power vacuum left by Baba’s demise. With their own lieutenants questioning their leadership, other Philly lords eyeing their turf and an overeager FBI agent (Alexandra Ruddy’s Mercer) closing in for an arrest, early episodes in particular lean on the absurdity of the brothers struggling to adjust to their new life. Their first kill goes so badly that at one point, they find themselves feeding the would-be victim a last supper of Slim Jims and ice cream while just kind of waiting for him to die.

All the while, they bicker — over business matters like how to catch an escaped victim, but also over who does a better British accent and whether it’s worth subscribing to AMC+ for Better Call Saul. Ali and Shaikh’s chemistry takes a few chapters to click, and it’s never quite as contentious nor as affectionate as the scripts apparently intend it to be. But Ali is cast well enough as the uptight half, and Shaikh is oddly endearing as the type of dude who unironically describes his role as being “the vibes guy.”

Somewhat sharper are the characters who start out already well-versed in the illicit trade. Brian George is amusingly unamused as top lieutenant Ahmad, grumbling about the “good old days” when crime was less bureaucratic and more patriarchal. And Poorna Jagannathan is having more fun than anyone as Baba’s right-hand woman Lucky, who gets to dispatch armed b addies with a flick of the wrist and snarl lines like “You’re as soft as my ex-boyfriend when he’s not getting choked.” The regulars are complemented by a crowded bench of colorful guests like Zubair (Tan France of Queer Eye fame), an unusually chic British gangster, or Gigi (Sofia Black-D’Elia), a mafioso’s daughter scarier than most of the men on her daddy’s payroll.

Creator Abdullah Saeed finds a few fresh touches as well in the Dars’ specifically Pakistani American backdrop. The idea of a body-disposal specialist for the mob isn’t new, but only in Deli Boys would the guy (Usman Ally) introduce himself as the “murderwalla.” And I can’t think of another smuggling storyline where the pungent smell of mango pickle (“If your kid doesn’t get bullied by the white children in their class when they pull that out their lunch box, it’s not Caca brand achar!” Mir tells a prospective client) is a key plot point.

But the problem is not that this show lacks for fun little details — it’s that it feels comprised of nothing but fun little details, piled into half-hour chunks that are reliably palatable but rarely memorable. Even compared to other fluffy crime fare like Netflix’s goofier and sweeter The Brothers Sun or self-consciously stylish The Gentlemen, Deli Boys feels feather-light.

There’s little emotional depth, even though Mir and Raj are ostensibly grieving a father they’re realizing they never really knew in the first place. Despite a premise that seems ripe for skewering the blurry line between win-at-all-costs corporate capitalism and organized crime, the series offers no particular perspective on the underworld it’s depicting. And while there are occasional, jarring bursts of over-the-top wackiness — as with the horror B-movie blood spray that accompanies Baba’s hit to the head — Deli Boys largely avoids going anywhere too dark or strange with its humor.

It’s not the greatest sin for a comedy to stick to the familiar and superficial — and certainly, no deeper context is necessary for small pleasures like watching Jagannathan coolly take down a mercenary who then begs her for a date. But it’s a bit of a letdown to realize that what could have been a sharp and unique take on the gangster subgenre has no apparent interest in taking on that challenge. It seems content, instead, to kick back on the couch and quote The Godfather all day. Which I suppose is its own, much more modest version of an American dream.