“Shut it down! Shut it all down!” When this line is shouted less than 15 minutes into the first episode of Widow’s Bay, you know exactly the influences shaping Apple’s comedy horror. It’s the same cry the mayor in Jaws fails to heed, and the damning demand of Environmental Agent Peck that leads to chaos in Ghostbusters. It’s the signifier that things are about to unfurl spectacularly, and one person in particular is not going to be ready for the hell that is coming his way.

In Widow’s Bay, that person is Tom Loftis (Matthew Rhys), the ambitious, grating, tolerated mayor of the small New England island, which is trying to put its dark past behind it so it can become the new Martha’s Vineyard. Of course, Loftis’ drive to bring more tourism to the island, via a glowing review by a visiting New York Times reporter, coincides with the resurgence of strange, unpleasant happenings, as the island “awakes” once again.

Tom’s goals have already been hampered by the local oddballs who populate the island, and his mayoral team – including aged secretary Ruth, heavy-smoker and pragmatic doom-monger Rosemary, and lovelorn, put-upon Patricia. When the local historical society newspaper cuttings include dramatic headlines “priest eaten by shark” and “cannibalism”, it’s clear Tom is swimming against the tide, in more ways than one, in trying to clean up Widow’s Bay’s image, and keep the tourism and cash flooding through his doors.

Inevitably, Tom’s home life is equally out of his control, as his teenage son (though not biologically), Evan, is running around town causing the kind of havoc that happens when small-town teenagers are bored and restless. And Evan has good reason for itchy feet, as it’s revealed that folklore states that anyone who is born on the island (as Evan was) can never leave, or they die. Of course, Tom is seemingly sceptical of this, but he’s not going to take a chance.

The curse is a neat way to explain why a population remains in a place where it seems folk die with alarming regularity in cruel and unusual ways, and creates a depth to Tom’s troubled relationship with his son, whose mother died in childbirth – allegedly. 

Tom begins the series as the cynical, dismissive sceptic who refuses to heed the warnings of Wyck about what is to come, but is very quickly overwhelmed with the evidence that is falling in his lap – quite literally – of supernatural goings on all around. Repeatedly putting himself in the line of fire to “disprove” the folklore about the murderers, ghosts and malevolence which the residents believe come from the island’s cursed nature, Tom is forced to face the truth about the island he summered at in his youth. 

Matthew Rhys is excellent as the officious,  awkwardly pompous mayor trying to raise his status and haul himself up from the mire, but he’s incredible once Tom is exposed to the unhinged realities of Widow’s Bay, with more and more hilarious and horrifying results. 

The 70s and early 80s horror blockbusters are very clearly the trough that Widow’s Bay has fed from – with the first episode being an atmospheric mix of Jaws and The Fog – and it pays homage to the style and tone of those classics perfectly. Creepiness and jump scares are the order of the day rather than explicit gore, and the frights are effective and evocative, right from the rolling fog that signals the recurrence of the island’s wrath. Fog-turned reevers, dripping wet old lady ghouls, and clown killers populate the early episodes, and show the writers’ familiarity with the obvious tropes of the genre, but are written with such refreshingly smart and gripping technicolour that it’s clearly an honouring, not mocking of the greats. And that is, in itself, a testament to the quality of the writing, given just how funny the show is.

It’s a genre that’s incredibly hard to pull off – comedy which does not deflate the horror, and horror which doesn’t flatten comedy – but Widow’s Bay pulls it off spectacularly. The misfit team in Tom’s office have the same warmth and quirky dialogue of Leslie’s team in Parks & Recreation (in fact, Tom Loftis would sit very comfortably somewhere between Ben and Tom in Pawnee), and there is fantastic comic absurdity in Tom’s interactions across the board. Yet, with all that, the show still manages a spooky, unsettling atmosphere – the darkness of it somehow is only punctuated by the comedy, rather than punctured. 

As the horrors unfold in front of Loftis’ eyes (including the suicide of the town’s priest), it’s clear that the island holds a massive dark secret, and it’s a darkness which casts a shadow on Loftis’ home. His grief over losing his wife is evidently still raw, and the distance in his relationship with his son is a growing wound, which is a wonderful counterpoint to the son’s forced proximity to his stepfather. Their familial pain and secrets are a striking metaphor for whatever evil lies in the depths of the island, and is causing death and agony amongst its residents, in grand and intimate ways.  

There’s a very X-Files feel to the monster-of-the-week episodic scare protagonists – with Tom acting as both Scully the sceptic, and Mulder the hapless, repeated victim –  but they weave nicely with Tom’s uncovering of the island’s overarching history and mystery, as he begins to learn more about Widow’s Bay’s first mayor. In amongst Tom’s escapades with face-sitting entities and board-game playing ghosts, episode 4 stands out as putting his unassuming, aggrieved right-hand-woman Patty in the spotlight.

Kate O’Flynn (already showing her comedy chops in Henpocalypse! And Everyone Else Burns) grabs the screen from her first appearance, but “Beach Reads” shows she’s going to elbow her way onto the award ballots with aplomb. Highlighting Patty’s bullied past with a scathing look at female friendship, mocking the self-help industry with razor-sharp skill; and then wrapping it all in chilling folk-horror of The Wicker Man – it’s an episode which showcases Widow’s Bay’s precision writing and captivating performances.

While Kate O’Flynn is the standout star of the series, Stephen Root (last nominated for his outstanding work in Barry) is excellent as wide-eyed local Wyck, who guides Tom with grizzled wisdom and weariness. His chemistry with Rhys as Tom works brilliantly as the push-pull reluctant partnership that drives the story forward, and is fully rounded with the brilliance of Patty as the flustered brains of the team. Somebody Somewhere’s Jeff Hiller is underused as municipal office admin Dale, but Kevin Carroll is excellent support as exhausted sheriff Bechir, as is Neil Casey as witless hotelier Kurt. And look out for a star guest turn by Betty Gilpin later in the season as we learn about the couple who established the Widow’s Bay settlement. 

Widow’s Bay is endlessly entertaining and evokes the movies of the past to a degree that few television shows have managed. Matthew Rhys’ physical comedy alone ensures the laughter is frequent and often unexpected, and the scares are easily teased from the impressive lore crafted by creator Kate Dippold. Her influences and vision are explicit and expertly executed by both writers and director Hiro Murai. With What We Do in The Shadows and Inside No.9 both now vacating our screens, there’s room at the bar for a comedy horror created with care and mastery, and Widow’s Bay can sit comfortably amongst those greats.

Widow’s Bay is available now on Apple TV.