No one saw this coming. After two decades of captivating audiences with his razor-sharp wit and gloriously curmudgeonly charm, the indomitable force behind Doc Martin, Martin Clunes, is dipping a toe—or perhaps a stethoscope—across the Atlantic. Fox’s audacious new series, Best Medicine, isn’t just any remake; it’s a bold American reimagining of the beloved British institution that could either revitalize the fish-out-of-water physician trope for a new generation or shatter the fragile idol of transatlantic TV adaptations. Fans are divided like a poorly sutured wound: some hail it as a stroke of genius, injecting fresh blood into a format that’s aged like fine single malt. Others decry it as cultural sacrilege, a Yankee raid on Cornwall’s quirky shores. But as production wraps in the rolling hills of upstate New York and the premiere looms on the 2025-26 schedule, one truth hangs in the air like the scent of antiseptic: when that pilot episode airs, the world will tune in. Will lightning strike twice, or will it fizzle out in a haze of forced accents and sitcom gloss? Buckle up—this is the story of how a grumpy Cornish GP is getting a stars-and-stripes makeover.

To understand the seismic shift Best Medicine represents, we must rewind to the misty cliffs of Portwenn, the fictional Cornish village where Doc Martin first grumbled to life in 2004. Created by Dominic Minghella, the series followed Dr. Martin Ellingham (Clunes in a career-defining role), a brilliant London surgeon sidelined by a sudden phobia of blood after botching a pediatric operation. Exiled to his ancestral hometown to serve as the local GP, Ellingham’s world collided with a parade of eccentric villagers: the perpetually tipsy pub owner, the conspiracy-theorist pharmacist, the bumbling constable with a penchant for DIY disasters. What emerged was a masterclass in dry British humor—Ellingham’s brutal honesty and zero-tolerance for small talk made him the ultimate anti-hero. Over 10 seasons and 70 episodes, spanning 18 years until its poignant farewell in 2022, Doc Martin amassed a global cult following. It wasn’t just TV; it was a tonic for anyone weary of glossy procedurals. Clunes, with his hangdog face and impeccable timing, embodied the good doctor so completely that fans still mourn the void left by his departure. The finale drew 8.4 million UK viewers, a testament to its enduring grip. But in an era of endless reboots—from The Office to Ugly Betty—Hollywood’s gaze inevitably turned eastward. Enter Fox, with Best Medicine, a project that’s less a carbon copy and more a transatlantic transplant.

Announced in March 2025 amid Fox’s aggressive push into character-driven comedies, Best Medicine arrived like a prescription refill just when audiences craved it. The network, fresh off hits like Accused and eyeing a post-strike renaissance, greenlit the series in May after a swift script read-through that reportedly had execs chuckling through tears. At its helm is Liz Tuccillo, the Emmy-nominated scribe behind Sex and the City‘s most memorable rom-com beats, who saw in Doc Martin not just nostalgia fodder but a canvas for modern malaise. “In a world obsessed with performative niceness,” Tuccillo has mused in interviews, “we needed a doctor who calls it like he sees it—raw, real, and refreshingly rude.” Her adaptation transplants the action from Cornwall’s rugged coast to a sleepy east-coast fishing hamlet called Haven’s End, a stand-in for the original’s Portwenn but infused with American salt-of-the-earth grit. Filming kicked off in August 2025 in Cornwall, New York—a meta nod to the source material that had locals buzzing about “importing the curse of the crabby quack.”

At the heart of this revival beats the pulse of Dr. Martin Best, portrayed with pitch-perfect prickliness by Josh Charles. Best known for his soulful turns in The Good Wife as the ethically slippery Will Gardner and his breakout as the affable Knick in Sports Night, Charles brings a layered intensity to the role. Here, he’s no mere Clunes clone; Best is a hotshot Boston cardiothoracic surgeon whose career implodes not from hemophobia but from a scandalous clash with hospital politics—rumors swirl of a leaked memo where he eviscerated colleagues as “incompetent leeches.” Fleeing the urban jungle, he retreats to Haven’s End, the very seaside idyll where childhood summers with his late mother forged bittersweet memories. Armed with scalpel-sharp intellect and a bedside manner rougher than sandpaper, Best dives into general practice, diagnosing everything from stubbed toes to small-town scandals with equal disdain. “I’m here to heal bodies, not egos,” he snaps in the pilot’s opening salvo, setting the tone for a man whose empathy is as elusive as a parking spot in Manhattan.

But Best isn’t navigating this tidal pool alone. The ensemble, a crackerjack mix of comedy vets and rising talents, promises the kind of chemistry that could turn Best Medicine into appointment viewing. Abigail Spencer, radiant from Suits and Grey’s Anatomy crossovers, slips into the role of Dr. Elena Vasquez, the warm-hearted local pediatrician and Best’s reluctant foil-cum-spark. Their dynamic echoes the original’s Ellingham-Ellie tension but amps up the flirtation, with Vasquez’s sunny optimism clashing against Best’s storm clouds in ways that hint at slow-burn romance amid medical mishaps. Josh Segarra, the magnetic charmer from The Other Two and Abbott Elementary, embodies Tommy Hale, the village’s gregarious hardware store owner and unofficial mayor—think a more hapless version of Doc Martin‘s Bert Large, forever scheming community events that Best inevitably derails. Annie Potts, the queen of quirky maternal figures from Ghostbusters to Young Sheldon, lends gravitas as Gladys Finch, the no-nonsense diner owner who’s seen every fisherman’s folly and now eyes Best with maternal suspicion laced with wry affection.

Rounding out the core crew is Cree, the breakout teen from John Green’s Turtles All the Way Down adaptation, as Riley Kane, a whip-smart high schooler interning at the clinic. Her character’s arc—grappling with anxiety in a town that prizes stoicism—adds a contemporary edge, exploring mental health through Best’s unorthodox tough-love therapy. The recurring roster deepens the town’s tapestry: Didi Conn (Grease‘s Frenchy) as the gossipy postmistress with a hidden medical history; Clea Lewis (Ellen) as the hypochondriac librarian; Stephen Spinella (24) as the enigmatic harbor master harboring grudges; Jason Veasey (Law & Order: SVU) as the laid-back deputy constable; John DiMaggio (Bender from Futurama) voicing the town’s salty fishing captain; and young Carter Shimp as a pint-sized patient who idolizes Best despite the barbs. Even the four-legged contingent gets a nod, with a scruffy terrier named Wattson serving as Best’s unwitting sidekick, prone to comic chaos. And then there’s the coup de grâce: Martin Clunes himself, crossing the pond for a multi-episode arc as Dr. Robert Best, Martin’s estranged father—a fellow surgeon whose emotional absenteeism scarred his son’s psyche. Clunes isn’t reprising Ellingham; this Robert is a sharper, more venomous patriarch, his transatlantic barbs landing like emotional grenades. “It’s a delicious twist,” Clunes told outlets post-casting. “Playing the old man who made the monster—it’s therapy wrapped in tragedy.”

Behind the scenes, Best Medicine is a well-oiled machine, blending reverence for the original with American innovation. Executive producers Ben Silverman (Ugly Betty) and Rodney Ferrell helm the vision, ensuring the humor skews toward heartfelt awkwardness rather than slapstick. Propagate Content and All3Media International, stewards of the Doc Martin IP, provide format fidelity while allowing Tuccillo’s pen to weave in timely threads: opioid crises in rural clinics, telemedicine fails during storms, and the gig-economy woes of locum tenens. The pilot, directed by Schitt’s Creek‘s Andrew Cividino, clocks in at a taut hour, opening with Best’s Boston meltdown—a high-stakes OR meltdown scored to tense strings—before cutting to Haven’s End’s sun-dappled docks. Visuals pop with coastal cinematography that rivals Outer Banks, but the real magic lies in the dialogue: zingers like Best diagnosing a patient’s hypochondria as “a surplus of WebMD and a deficit of hobbies” feel ripped from Clunes’ playbook yet tailored for U.S. sensibilities.

Fan reactions? They’re as polarized as a partisan town hall. Doc Martin diehards, clustered in online forums and X threads, have been vocal since the March announcement. “Why fix what ain’t broke?” griped one British expat on Reddit, fearing the loss of Cornish quaintness for “flag-waving filler.” Purists decry the shift from blood phobia to burnout as diluting the original’s specificity, while others applaud the modernization: “Mental health stigma in small-town America? Sign me up,” tweeted a Good Wife alum. Clunes’ involvement has been the great unifier—his October casting news sparked a flurry of excitement, with hashtags like #ClunesComesToAmerica trending briefly. “Intriguing… worth a watch just for him,” echoed a fan post, while Brazilian outlets buzzed over the “pai ausente” (absent father) dynamic. Skeptics point to past remake flops like The IT Crowd‘s U.S. pilot, but optimists counter with successes like The Office, arguing Charles’ gravitas could anchor it. Early buzz from set leaks—candid snaps of Segarra and Spencer cracking up between takes—suggests a levity that honors the source without aping it.

As Best Medicine hurtles toward its fall 2026 bow (Fox teasing a mid-season slot post-NFL), the stakes feel sky-high. In a TV landscape glutted with superhero spectacles and true-crime binges, this throwback to ensemble character studies could be a balm—or a bitter pill. It taps into our collective exhaustion with polished perfection, offering a protagonist whose flaws are as endearing as they are infuriating. Best’s journey isn’t just about mending villagers; it’s a mirror for anyone who’s ever snapped at a barista or ghosted a friend—redemption through reluctant connection. If Tuccillo and her team nail the balance, Best Medicine won’t just echo Doc Martin; it’ll evolve it, proving that even the grumpiest legacies can find new life across the ocean.

Will it heal the divide among fans? That’s the million-dollar diagnosis. But with Clunes’ cameo as the paternal wildcard, Charles’ star power, and a town full of misfits begging for mishaps, the prognosis looks promising. Tune in, pop the popcorn, and prepare your rebuttals—Haven’s End is about to get its house call. After all, in the words of a certain surly surgeon, sometimes the best medicine is a healthy dose of honesty, served straight up.