“What if animals acted like people, and those people were sad and horny?” It’s an old chestnut at this point in the realm of adult animated comedies; after all, sometimes it’s novel, and even cathartic, to see our very human foibles reflected in the furry friends we love so unconditionally. Prime Video’s “Kevin,” to its mild credit, hangs its premise on a very relatable spin on a familiar impulse: How do you find yourself again after a painful breakup? Unfortunately, by the end of the first season’s eight episodes, you’ll find yourself wanting the show to be put to sleep.

Watching “Kevin” is a frustrating experience, if for no other reason than its pedigree is much more prestigious than the mangy strays of the show itself. The show is co-created by Aubrey Plaza and Joe Wengert, ostensibly “based on a real breakup”; the split in question comes from the frustrated millennial owners of the pampered housecat of the title (voiced with acerbic neuroticism by Jason Schwartzman), who, upon hearing the news, decides to strike out on his own to figure out what he really wants. After a couple of misadventures, he finds himself wandering into an adoption shelter filled with over-the-top animals also waiting for forever homes: Amy Sedaris‘ brassy Southern-fried pug Brandi (who belongs to shelter owner Seth (Gil Ozeri)), John Waters‘ snooty, cosmopolitan Persian cat Armando, Whoopi Goldberg‘s hairless, sex-addicted alley cat Cupcake, Aparna Nancherla’s disease-ridden Judy, the list goes on.

If that voice cast sounds insane, that’s because it is, and it’s doubly surreal to hear such venerable voices work double-time in service of a series of scripts so mind-numbingly crass, so half-heartedly bittersweet, that it fails to achieve entertaining levels of either frequency. Shows like “Big Mouth,” “Tuca & Bertie,” and “BoJack Horseman” are clearly the stylistic inspirations for “Kevin,” from its anthropomorphized attempts to depict the vagaries of millennial life in New York City to its gross-out depictions of sex to cheeky animal sendups of show business (one running gag involves an all-horse production of Mame starring, get this, Patti LuPony).

We get episodes centered on Fourth of July fireworks as a Purge-like chaos event, a COVID quarantine allegory about kennel cough, or a heat-wave episode that feels like it should riff on “Do the Right Thing” but is mostly about how good air conditioning is. But then, later episodes grasp at emotional profundity, as Kevin tries to navigate a situationship (adoptionship?) with an emotionally flaky bartender (Quinta Brunson) and Armando tries to grapple with abandonment trauma surrounding a former owner (Cary Elwes) who left him for a girlfriend. It’s tempting to let your guard down in these latter entries, especially if these universal issues resonate with you.

Whom among us hasn’t made the mistake of crawling back to your ex in a moment of emotional vulnerability? Or dramatically misread intentions out of naive hope or excitement? If only “Kevin” earned these moments, instead of steering into pathos at the last second after five episodes of gross-out jokes that feel half-formed at best.

Take a shot every time Kevin impotently whines about his prolapsed butthole, or Judy giddily cheers through oodles of pus and crusty eyes. Quips about animals having Substacks or wanting to visit the Criterion Closet abound, and it hardly ever elicits more than a chuckle or recognition. Oh, gay animals in Provincetown also wear leather harnesses?

Work. None of this is helped by the fact that, like so many streaming animated sitcoms of its ilk, it just looks bad. The character designs are deliberately crude and unappealing, the animation feels fairly choppy, and the whole thing reads a bit too much like a first-year animator’s scrapbook to register as anything particularly funny or profound.

The look of the thing is designed for economy, I get it; shows like these are hard to produce in a quick turnaround. But the chintzy, simplistic designs, cuteness giving way to grotesque detail, don’t quite have the “Ren & Stimpy” feel it thinks it does. I’m not opposed to raunch or transgression; indeed, I crave it in my comedies.

But watching “Kevin” struggle through one repetitive joke after another that confuses mentioning a body function with making a clever observation about it is enough to drain the soul. Kevin may be fixed, but there’s no way to fix “Kevin.” Full season screened for review. Currently streaming on Prime Video.