Liars and Saints

People complain that the Pfeffermans are "too unlikable"--and: fair enough. I admit I have a hard time relating to Sarah. Her behavior is so outlandish--particularly in the tour de force "Jurassic Park" monologue--that she seems like an alien. But I really feel for Ali in this episode. She's getting bullied. Her girlfriend can't offer anything nice in response to her class; the only comment is "you've strayed too far from a discussion of the Holocaust." That same girlfriend won't allow herself to be seen on the campus with Ali; "I don't need students gossiping about my sex life." Ali expresses sensible reservations--sensible to me, at least--about teaching works by writers whose background she does not share. (There's so much concern about cultural appropriation right now. In this context, doesn't Ali's question make sense?) No one at the table attempts to understand Ali's reservations; instead, there's s

Favorite Moments from TRANSPARENT: "Elizah"-- -The season opener ends with a question. Maura's weird odyssey is paired with Raquel's speech about Passover. You escape from slavery; you're free! You step outside and listen for God's voice--but hear nothing. Or, at most: Stillness. You wander in the woods and sense a presence behind you, and you're not sure if it's help or an antagonist. You wait for a miracle--the parting of the sea. "But that's an old miracle." So, says Raquel: "What about this. What if you are the miracle? What if you have to be your own Messiah? Then what?" It's a smart closing line for a season-three debut of a show intent on raising questions, without clear answers. Maura has freed herself from slavery, but now she has wandered into the woods. "Why am I still unhappy?" she asks. Because she is obtuse, ill-prepared, childish, entitled, self-doubting. She doesn't know how to take care of he

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When

The children assembled first, of course. School was recently over for the summer, and the feeling of liberty sat uneasily on most of them; they tended to gather quietly for a while before they broke into boisterous play, and their talk was still of the classroom and the teacher, of books and reprimands. Bobby Martin had already stuffed his pockets full of stones, and the other boys soon followed his example, selecting the smoothest and roundest stones; Bobby and Harry Jones and Dickie Delacroix—the villagers pronounced this name “Dellacroy”—eventually made a great pile of stones in one corner of the square and guarded it against the raids of the other boys. The girls stood aside, talking among themselves, looking over their shoulders. The babies rolled in the dust or clung to the hands of their older brothers or sisters. ­ Shirley Jackson was a kind of anthropologist; she enjoyed watching humans behaving. So, in this horror story, “The Lottery,” we get a density of detail that we

Years ago, at Oberlin, a young artist's daughter began posting YouTube videos of herself.  In at least one video, she-- Lena   Dunham --was semi-nude, and she provoked a strong reply. Many people really hated the clip--but, regardless, they did *not* feel neutral about the work. Post-college:  Dunham , in her early twenties, moves back to New York City and makes "Tiny Furniture," which everyone sees. Jenni Konner sees it. Envious show-runner Liz Meriweather sees it. Judd Apatow and Nora Ephron see it. They see it--and they all talk about it--and suddenly  Dunham , still sort of an adolescent, has for herself a major TV contract.  That contract grew out of  Dunham 's own soul; she had put her most objectionable, most entitled self on-camera, whining at her mother, enraged by her sister's reasonable wish for quiet and for some personal space.  Dunham  was honest, and people replied. She wrote her own future.  I did possibly my last post on GIRLS toda

More Favorite Moments from Foote/Lee's "To Kill A Mockingbird," Act I: -"Boo Radley? His parents keep him chained to his bed, and he only comes out at night. By his tracks, you'd say he's six-and-a-half feet tall. He eats squirrels, and there's a big scar on his face. His eyes are popped, he drools all the time, and his teeth are rotten and yellow." (I know Lee says that this novel is the opposite of Southern Gothic; you're not going to find a deranged Bette Davis shooting her gun at strangers here. But I do like the Gothic elements of Jem's imagination. I would read a novel Jem wrote on his understanding of Boo Radley, if Jem were real and such a novel existed. I'm also immediately transported to my childhood when Jem speaks--to a house that was said to be haunted, and an old bachelor neighbor who handed out candy and seemed, at least according to many, to be "touched in the head." Act I is partly about a child's capacity

Sundays too my father got up early  and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,  then with cracked hands that ached  from labor in the weekday weather made  banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.  I’d wake and hear the cold splintering,  breaking.   When  the rooms were warm, he’d call,  and slowly I would rise and dress,  fearing the chronic angers of that house,  Speaking indifferently to him,  who had  driven out the cold  and polished my good shoes as well.  What did I know, what did I know  of love’s  austere  and lonely offices? Do you know why I love this poem? Because it's the opposite of Taylor Swift's "Shake It Off." In "Shake It Off," we're asked to identify with a superwoman, a character unflappable, unmoved by life's indignities. (At least, that's how the speaker portrays herself; we might wonder, after the Kanye situation and the Trump debacle, whether the speaker continues to feel so

Into the Ordinary World: A summons. A mentor/guide arrives in the form of Atticus's boss: Will Atticus defend Tom Robinson, a black man accused of having raped and beaten a white woman? The boss: "I know you have kids, and this is a good deal of stress." A silent moment in which Atticus weighs these words and entertains the thought of refusing, then that blunt, terse: "I'll take the case." And we're off to Hell. Allies become enemies. (Is that Mr. Cunningham, the friendly poor man, in a KKK outfit? Shiver me timbers!) There are tests, tricks, mini-showdowns. The "rape victim" claims to have been assaulted by a left-handed man--but Tom Robinson's left hand is mangled. The victim claims to have been forcibly kissed, but in fact Tom Robinson says it was he who suffered an unwanted erotic advance. The victim has a father--and aren't all fathers like Atticus? Or is it possible that some fathers would beat their own daughters--fathers with a

-We see four scenes from Lena Dunham's "Full Dis:closure" (the film-within-a-film in "Girls"). They're out of order. (And I love this. There's a faint suggestion that time is a myth; experience is circular; the past isn't dead, or past, yada yada.) -Leos Carax said: Look for the ugly in the beautiful and the beautiful in the ugly. Who does this better than Dunham? Who more regularly rubs our face in life's ostensibly "ugly" moments? A sample of the dialogue from "Full Dis:closure": "Your p*ssy's too tight!" "Then fix it! Fix it with your d*ck!" "If I stay here longer, I'll get a UTI." "Sl*t! Whore! Filthy pig!" "I'm gonna f*ck all your holes!" "That hurts? Good. You'll remember it." These lines evoke memories of other gems from "Girls" history: "I'm gonna leave a c*m puddle on you bigger than Africa." "I knew it! I knew

Eve arrives in Paradise and surveys the scene. Talking animals—a bonus! And the weather is ideal, so you don’t need clothing. (In this way, Paradise resembles the Perpetual-Summer-in-New-York-City in which Dunham’s “Girls” is set.) Problems arise, though, in this New Land—an abundance of problems, particularly for someone who likes clarity. One: Should the animals really be in dialogue with Eve? (“A snake just talked to me; is that, like, normal?” This makes me think of some of the many times when “Girls” asks what “normal” is. “I mean, of course there’s human shit in the street. Are you trying to tell me you’ve never taken a shit in the street?” “If you think breast milk is Liquid Gold, then I’m not sure why I have to keep asking you to try my breast milk—and why you keep turning me down.” “I’m pregnant; does that mean I have to start drinking water now?” Oh, come on, it’s fine to smoke in a bar; Giuliani let us do it.” “It’s totally acceptable to wear a bikini at the grocery store.