Keeping up with the tube

[Updated through mid-November]

I have no taste for police mysteries, and revulsion from those dealing with the murder of young boys or teen girls, but a number of factors finally led me to Mare of Easttown (MC-81, HBO).  First off is Kate Winslet, who never disappoints.  Second was the semi-familiar location of gritty southeast PA.  Finally the Emmys, but more importantly the recommendation of a trusted friend.  Well, I wasn’t sorry to watch it, but I’m not going to turn around and recommend it to you, unless twisty murder investigations are your sort of thing, and then you don’t need my opinion.  Kate was predictably great as the beleaguered detective, and the rest of the cast was good too.  The sense of location and community was strong, with the interconnections of small town life front and center.  But the story was too much, too many threads, too many reversals, too many cliff-hangers – and yet many obvious attempts to subvert genre expectation as well.  A construct rather than an exploration, ultimately going for effect rather than authenticity, despite Kate’s inherent realness.  Made me wonder whether a writers room, with diverse voices, is inherently more creative than a single writer following the screenwriting manual and churning out the beats.
 
Though I am an ardent devotee of Ingmar Bergman’s version(s), the latest iteration of Scenes from a Marriage (MC-70, HBO) left me lukewarm, despite a masterclass in acting by Jessica Chastain and Oscar Isaac.  Hagai Levi explicitly adapts the original, but winds up closer to his Showtime series The Affair, rather than anything Bergmanesque.  I can’t recommend this unless you’re a fan of the stars, who have been friends since Julliard days, and are certainly suited to the lacerating intimacy of this series, which shares the pain, but does not dig as deep nor soar as high as its model.
 
Matters of attraction and affection among young people are the subject of two Netflix series that I enthusiastically recommend, one raunchy, one sweet, both consistently funny.  Sex Education (MC-83, NFX) can be quite explicit about the adventures of randy youth, always on the verge of being off-putting or embarrassing.  In fact, the pre-credit sequence of the third season’s first episode is rapid-fire non-stop sex amongst various members of the large and diverse cast.  But oddly, this series is in fact a subtle and honest exploration of relationships.  Gillian Anderson continues her great turn as the sultry sex therapist mom (now in delightful contrast to her Margaret Thatcher in The Crown), as son Asa Butterfield gets better (and worse) at advising his teen peers, now that he is getting some himself.  Though not with Emma Mackey, who plays his true love (it never runs smooth).  Still best friends with Nigerian Ncuti Gatwa, who has turned his bully into his lover.  And so many more characters, most of whom were introduced in the pilot episode, and have gone on to interesting character arcs over three seasons.  Beautifully shot and well-acted across the board, the show is funny and serious at the same time, befitting its one-hour format and eight-episode seasons.  Laurie Nunn continues as exemplary showrunner.  Come for the sex, stick around for the education.
 
Love on the Spectrum (MC-83, NFX) is an Australian reality-tv dating show with a twist that made it palatable to me.  The second season more than lives up to the appeal of the first.  Autistic people (the only category in which I consider myself “high-functioning”) are hilariously transparent in their relationships, quirky to be sure, but unsettlingly direct and indirect in their desires.  And the dates they go on paint a delightful picture of Sydney and environs.  It’s all quite charming and funny, and moving too.  Everybody needs somebody.
 
Uprising (MC-93, AMZ) is Steve McQueen’s documentary complement to his superb Small Axe series of films.  I may have to take a third look at Lovers Rock within the context that Uprising supplies, imagining that ecstatic house party scene being ripped through by fire and leaving 13 young people dead, and many others maimed by burns and memories.  The 1981 New Cross fire was a racially inflammatory event, with Blacks blaming a white supremacist firebomb, and the police putting together a story about some conflict among the partygoers.  The incident led to a massive protest, covered in the second hour, and eventually to the Brixton riots, subject of the third hour.  The Small Axe stories interweave with each of these events, as McQueen comes to terms with the formative events of his youth, and provides a very interesting counterpoint to American race relations (with a reminder that Reagan was only a pale imitation of Thatcher).  For someone unfamiliar with these events, it might even make sense to watch this documentary series before watching the Small Axe films, which you really should do [preferably with captions].
 
By now, Ken Burns is more brand manager than individual filmmaker, but he can definitely marshal the resources to make impressive documentaries.  The latest is Muhammad Ali (MC-88, PBS), which doesn’t skimp on the boxing gore, but embeds it within cultural history in a manner that justifies its eight-hour length over four episodes.  Clay/Ali was a figure of note through much of my life, generating considerable heat and light, and this ample documentation certainly proved to be an immersive time-travel experience for me.  Ali truly was “The Greatest,” a mythic and electric character of his time, notwithstanding the fact that his superlatives emerged from a grubby profession.  Whether associating with Malcolm X or The Beatles, Jim Brown or Sam Cooke, he seemed a central figure of American and global culture for a long time.

In the interest of completeness, I’ll mention two shows I couldn’t make it all the way through.  Not sure who decided that Maid (MC-82, NFX), the fictionalization of Stephanie Land’s bestselling memoir, warranted ten hour-long episodes – but they were wrong.  There was certainly enough material there to make a good movie, or maybe even a six-hour series, but padded out by the immersion in immiseration of a beautiful young white woman, with merciless piling on of bad luck and bad choices, the show’s good observations were overwhelmed by the implausibility of its plotting.  I somehow made it through five episodes, remaining unsure whether it was worth continuing; a change in the sixth suggested it might turn a corner, but that was immediately reversed by the compulsion to punish its heroine.  At that point, I watched some of the final episode just to confirm my sense that the makers had less concern for truth than so-called dramatic effect.  Margaret Whalley is decidedly watchable in the central role, but just how much of her watering dark eyes and trembling luscious lips are we supposed to endure.  The role of her wacky hippie mother is played by her insufferable real mother Andie MacDowell.  The rest of the acting is no better than okay, except for the maid’s three-year-old daughter, who is more real than most of the characters.  The setting in the Pacific Northwest is another attractive feature of the series, but not enough to warrant its length.
 
I’m not into sci-fi generally, but the hype and immediate streaming availability of Denis Villeneuve’s Dune (MC-74, HBO) led me to give it a look.  That Metacritic score is a perfect balance between scores of 100 and scores of 50, and I would fall in with the latter group.  It’s hard not to be impressed with the look of this film, but equally hard to find any human interest in it.  I made it to the first big battle scene, before deciding it just wasn’t for me.
 
On the other hand, I grew up in a period when westerns were the dominant genre, and I’m receptive to many sorts of revival and updating.  So I made it all the way through The Harder They Fall (MC-68, NFX), a movie-saturated western with a twist – all the significant roles are played by Black actors.  And what a roster it is:  Jonathan Majors, Idris Elba, Lakeith Stanfield, Regina King, Delroy Lindo, and more.  Writer-director Jeymes Samuel channels Sergio Leone, Quentin Tarantino, and a host of others, while putting his own stamp on this delirious horse opera.  I liked the acting and dialogue; the widescreen cinematography, set design, and camera tricks; the music and humor – enough to tolerate even the video-game-like violence.  And the Black Panther-like appropriation of a typically-white genre made for a highly entertaining turnabout.
 
Sometimes it seems that intelligent romantic comedy is dying out as a genre, so I was pleased to be led to Love Life (HBO Max) by reviews that indicated the second season (MC-78) was much better than the first (MC-54).  Turns out the new season (of ten half-hours) is genuinely worthy of praise, but the first is not that bad either (especially if you find Anna Kendrick appealing – which I do).  Show creator Sam Boyd has no track record, but delivers a smart and engaging product, well-written and well-performed, with a real New York flavor.  Each season follows a different central character, as she or he sorts through the romantic possibilities of the metropolis.  The second centers on William Jackson Harper’s book editor, as he navigates the complexities of Black and interracial romance, with Jessica Williams as the female friend he turns to between his faltering relationships – they are both excellent.  In the first, Kendrick is a would-be gallerist, and has Zoë Chao as best friend, with a string of unsatisfactory men passing through her life.  Each season spans a decade of affairs and hook-ups as the protagonists negotiate the erotic opportunities of sex in the city.  Nothing startlingly new here, but a nice refreshment of the genre, especially from a different ethnic perspective.
 
I’m definitely enjoying HBO’s current flagship series Succession, now halfway into its third season (MC-92), and will have more to say when I see the rest.  If you’ve somehow missed the hullabaloo about this show, I refer you to my reviews of previous seasons [here and here], and also point toward the earlier writing of creator Jesse Armstrong on the British series Peep Show and The Thick of It, where he honed his talent for hilarious invective.
 
Another personal favorite well into its third season is Dickinson (MC-91, AppleTV+), which I will return to update in “Another bite of Apple” (just below) – and refer you to my comments on the first two seasons here.
 

Another bite of Apple

After my earlier survey of AppleTV+, I’ve re-subscribed to catch new seasons of two of my favorite shows, Ted Lasso and Dickinson.  [This post updated in December, through conclusion of the latter.]
 
Everything about the second season of Ted Lasso (MC-86) is bigger (longer episodes and more of them), and most of it is even better, and this season’s haul of Emmys is likely to be even larger than the 20 nominations and 7 wins earned by its first.  So you don’t need me to make a case for the show as “must-see tv.”  More amplitude yields more attention to subsidiary characters, in witty scripts braided out of pop culture, music and movies, and ornamented with hilarious cross-cultural jokes.  The second season ends with a number of reversals that struck me at first as somewhat abrupt and mechanical, but upon reflection seemed to fit within the overall arc established from the pilot on.  As Brett Goldstein says, in character as gruff Roy Kent, “Everyone has his fucking reasons” (tipping his cap to Jean Renoir).  He beat out three of his fellow supporting actors for the Emmy.  Meanwhile creator and title character Jason Sudeikis picked up a couple of statues, and Juno Temple edged out fellow supporting actress Hannah Waddingham.  So it goes without saying that the cast is great, the writing is both funny and touching, and this is a show you will want to watch, even if you don’t give a hoot about English football.  By the end, you’ll wind up agreeing with one of the endearing characters, “Football is life.”  Death too, and love, and everything in between.
 
The well-put-together eight-part documentary series 1971: The Year That Music Changed Everything (MC-83) may not live up to its subtitle, but it certainly calls up the era for anyone who lived through it.  The music of that year may have changed nothing, but it was certainly reflective, and definitive, of popular culture and politics at the time, and I was decidedly engaged with its recollection, even artists who didn’t mean anything to me at the time.  It’s a curated cross-section of music in a specific period, post-hippie, pre-punk.  For the most part eschewing talking heads, the series combines performance with newsreel footage in a very effective way, with voiceover narration and commentary.  Eminently watchable, and more than simply nostalgic.
 
There are plenty of Sundance faves to which I remain impervious, but I totally fell for CODA (MC-75), accepting its formulaic elements and relishing its idiosyncrasies.  As in Lady Bird or Wild Rose, the key is the lead actress, in this case Emilia Jones, whom we root for to escape the trap of her marginal existence.  She is the teen Child Of Deaf Adults, who has all her life been their interpreter to the hearing world, helping out on their Gloucester MA fishing boat, and suppressing her own aspirations – to sing and to go away to college.  The acting is excellent all round, including Oscar-winner Marlee Matlin and other deaf performers.  Writer-director Siân Heder adapts a French film to a well-defined American locale, and achieves sentiment with more authenticity than sentimentality (though there is that).  She went to great lengths to portray ASL (extensively subtitled) and deaf culture as accurately as possible.  I’d wondered how they found a young woman who could both sing and sign fluently, but the British Emilia Jones deserves credit for months of studying both when she got the role (plus mastering an American, if not specifically North Shore, accent).  She’s definitely someone to watch for in the future.  Sure, the film is tailored to be a crowdpleaser, but in my view displays more truth than mendacity.  On this one, consider me among the pleased crowd.

I came to Velvet Underground (MC-87) more for the filmmaker Todd Haynes than for the musicians, who meant nothing to me in their heyday, or since.  Nor do I have a particular interest in the specific cultural moment of the Warhol Factory days.  Nonetheless I watched this distinctive documentary with interest, if not enthusiasm.  It was certainly evocative of an era and an aesthetic approach, but not really on my wavelength.

For a different sort of musical experience, also not on my wavelength, but recommendable nonetheless, watch Come From Away (MC-83), a popular Broadway musical about 9/11, from the perspective of the 7000 in-transit air travelers who were grounded for days in Gander, Newfoundland, doubling the town’s population in a matter of hours.  I don’t know what’s more commendable, the unexpected documentary quality of the script, taken from the words of actual “plane people” and residents, or the incredible staging, continuously in motion as the admirably diverse cast takes on a variety of roles, with a set of chairs standing in for bus or plane cabin, Tim Horton’s restaurant or seaside cliff.  It moves fast, remains deeply sympathetic and empathetic, and maintains a Celtic lilt to the nonstop singing and movement.  I read that the movie was planned to be filmed on location, but instead the play was the first to reopen on Broadway after Covid lockdown, and was filmed judiciously in front of an audience of 9/11 survivors and responders.  The movie was released on the 20^th anniversary of 9/11, and the play itself ends with the 10^th anniversary “reunion” of travelers and townspeople in Gander.  It recalls the feelings at the time of the horrific event, while still remaining an uplifting celebration of commonality.

Though I’ve never listened to a true-crime podcast, and never will, I gave a look-see to the tv adaptation of The Shrink Next Door (MC-61), because of its stars, Paul Rudd, Will Ferrell, and Kathryn Hahn.  Made it through three episodes of the limited series, but could not be bothered to continue, as the show failed to deliver the humor suggested by its cast, and did not offer anything more in its portrayal of a therapist taking over the life of his client for his own benefit.  Like therapy, it’s unconscionably protracted with no clear reward. 
 
[P.S. as of 12-24-21]  As much as I like Ted Lasso, there are two series on AppleTV+ that I truly love and want to urge upon you, even if your interest in the subject matter is not as intense as mine.  Either would amply reward a month’s subscription to the streaming channel.  I’ve repeatedly telegraphed my devotion to Dickinson, but there was another series that grabbed me from the get-go and never disappointed.
 
Swagger (MC-79) emerges from the experiences of NBA MVP Kevin Durant as a 14-year-old hoops star, which may seem a thin premise for ten hour-long episodes, but this series is eminently topical (Covid, BLM, abusive coaches, etc.) and takes in many storylines, familial as well as athletic, social and political too.  It’s a team effort in the best sense.  For a group selected primarily for authentic basketball skills, the acting is excellent across the board.  These are kids you really come to care about, led by Isaiah Hill as the Durant stand-in.  O’Shea Jackson Jr. is also good as the coach of a basketball team of 8^th-graders, which already has college scouts and shoe companies sniffing around.  Though there is so much else going on around it, the game coverage is excellent, with drone footage putting you literally in the middle of the action, where there’s never a cutaway from ball release to going through hoop.  All these shots are truly made.  This series rivals Friday Night Lights in making family and community the center of a well-made sports-themed show.  A taste for hoops helps, but there’s a lot more here of interest and appeal.  Created by Reggie Rock Blythewood, the series recalls Love & Basketball, the fondly-remembered 2000 film directed by his wife Gina Prince-Blythewood.  I found it satisfying in every respect.  Even when everybody is wearing masks for the final episodes, it only highlights how well the performers can act with their eyes and posture.  Here’s hoping it returns for a second season.
 
If I make exaggerated claims for Dickinson (MC-91), you may dismiss them as hyperbole, but I am truly hyper about this show – I feel part of an exalted fellowship while watching it.  It resides in my chosen period and place – mid-19^th-century Massachusetts – which the show approaches with irreverence but veracity.  The dialogue and music may be 21^st century, but the settings, costumes, and situations reek of authenticity.  The third season takes place during the Civil War.  Walt Whitman, Louisa May Alcott, Thomas W. Higginson, and others have cameos that are more fact than fantasy, comic but accurate (even Sylvia Plath – don’t ask).  Hailee Steinfeld remains terrific as Emily, and is well matched by the rest of the cast.  I can’t say that Emily was ever one of my favorite poets, my understanding of her verse is very hit or miss, but as a literary figure she’s the epitome of the anonymous recluse and therefore significant to me.  In Hailee’s portrayal, she also comes across as a woman of spirit and resolve, a dynamo rather than the pale lonely spinster of legend.  This show led me to fact-check by reading Martha Ackmann’s bio These Fevered Days: Ten Pivotal Moments in the Making of Emily Dickinson, for a fascinating back and forth between historical fact and contemporary imagination.  Though a few episodes were a bit too imaginative for me, the same is true of Emily’s poems.  And if you’re unfamiliar with the first two seasons of Dickinson, check out my comments here.  For me, the only question remaining is just how high this series will rank retrospectively among my all-time favorites.