Naz Osmanoglu's show is a melange of comic characters, energetically delivered. There's a south American lothario, proferring tips on seducing women. There's a drunk and abusive Shania Twain. There's a policeman from a Nordic noir drama, reflecting on the episodic structure of his life. And Jeff Goldblum delivers an acting masterclass, revelling in his own self-importance.
While all of these have solid comic moments, it's hard to see what's new. Mocking Twain and Goldblum feels dated, while the lothario is a comic character with many precedents. The show begins with a narrative about Osmanoglu's attempts to be a TV show host, but this disappears as a story somewhere en route. Where some bite does come is in Osmanoglu's abuse towards James Corden, whose fame he is unable to comprehend. This suggests Osmanoglu himself sees some kinds of comedy as mundane, and expanding on this worldview would help give the show coherence.
There are also moments where Naz's father taunts his subconscious for his failures, and while this has potency it too doesn't build to a definitive comic crescendo. A genuine sense of comic personality arises in Osmanoglu's recurring complaints about the early time slot of his show, and this kind of anger could be more fruitfully employed. So, there's a lot going on here—much of it funny—but it needs something particular to underpin it in order for the whole to coalesce into something special.