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 some sniffing about valuing white tears over black blood. Ali protests that this isn't what she's doing--and no one seems to hear her. She then finds her hand semi-forcibly inserted into a colleague's vagina. ("I think I cheated today. Or I was raped. Well, my finger was raped by someone's vagina." All three of these statements seem at least partially true; life is such a mess! Also, the rape/cheat comes about because the teachers discover that the Cherry Jones character uses testosterone cream to up the frequency of her orgasms. Say what you will about "Transparent": It continuously finds fresh terrain for the TV world to explore, and I'm grateful for that.) In any case, Ali's passivity, Ali's confusion, and Ali's frustration all strike chords for me. Who wouldn't identify with this state of being? Chelsea Handler? (Ms. Handler once said, "Confidence is not my problem. I've never--in any setting--lacked confidence." This, to me, sounded like a dispatch from Mars. Maybe Ms. Handler would relate to Sarah Pfefferman.)
I'm floored, as well, by the early scene between Maura and Bryna. Lost in the netherworld of the non-Jewish hospital, Maura finds herself in the company of her estranged sister. Why? She had listed an old phone number--back from the days when Maura and Bryna were close--as an emergency contact. (I love this. Ghosts of old identities haunt you--even when you think you've escaped from slavery.) The spell-binding early scene between Maura and Bryna has them "connecting"; they remember their old phone number because their grandmother, who raised them in Mom's absence, made them sing a song about that number. (This is one of two moments when siblings "connect" via memories of childhood music. We'll see it mirrored by Josh's lovely moment with Ali toward the end of the episode. Also, do you think of that line from "Feud"? "Great feuds are not about hatred. They're about pain." We can only imagine what kind of pain was hatched in the motherless house of horrors in which Maura and Bryna grew up. And I love that Bryna/Maura have a shared memory of intense grandmotherly anxiety. "Grandma was always worrying." Understandably, intense anxiety is an experience frequently reported by survivors of the Holocaust, and by their offspring, and by their offspring's offspring.)
The nice sororal moment between Maura and Bryna quickly evaporates. Maura has noticed that her name, on her medical board, has been spelled "Feffman." Also, her gender is listed incorrectly. Can Bryna help? No, of course Bryna will not help; acknowledging Maura's correct gender is a step too far for Bryna, and Bryna will attach herself to the faceless doctor over/above/in place of a--saner, healthier--attachment to her own sister. Maura could take a Barack Obama stance here; she could lower the emotional temperature and try to understand where Bryna is coming from. (Or--most intelligently--she could have refrained from asking Bryna for something Bryna clearly was not equipped to give. Don't go barking up that old, forbidding trunk. Embittered Bryna could easily quote from Shirley Jackson, from a letter Jackson wrote to a disapproving reader: "If you don't like my peaches, don't shake my tree.") Anyway, Maura isn't Mr. Obama. Maura erupts: "Go fuck yourself." And, as if anticipating this commandment, Bryna quickly says, "I WILL," and flees the room. Funny, dirty, sad: This is Jill Soloway's Holy Trinity, and all three points of the triangle are in evidence here. (Tambor has written that the actress playing Bryna reminds him strongly of his sick mother, such that he sometimes has trouble finishing the Bryna scenes. He relies on Anjelica Huston for quick boosts of confidence. Anjelica--Saint Anjelica--does not need to get asked; she freely offers her services.)
I can even add that I relate to Josh--to his passive-aggressive withdrawal from work, his loony insistence on browsing menus of guitar pics instead of making money. The young man who can only speak in un-funny strings of references to emojis--this guy is genuinely annoying. In a more charitable mood, Josh might play along--but, today, he's having none of this political niceness/inauthenticity, and here, too, I can relate.
That's all for today. Do you see these people as irredeemably annoying? Is there something wrong with me that I frequently "feel" for them? Probably. Well, as Raquel has asked: "Then what?"
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 some sniffing about valuing white tears over black blood. Ali protests that this isn't what she's doing--and no one seems to hear her. She then finds her hand semi-forcibly inserted into a colleague's vagina. ("I think I cheated today. Or I was raped. Well, my finger was raped by someone's vagina." All three of these statements seem at least partially true; life is such a mess! Also, the rape/cheat comes about because the teachers discover that the Cherry Jones character uses testosterone cream to up the frequency of her orgasms. Say what you will about "Transparent": It continuously finds fresh terrain for the TV world to explore, and I'm grateful for that.) In any case, Ali's passivity, Ali's confusion, and Ali's frustration all strike chords for me. Who wouldn't identify with this state of being? Chelsea Handler? (Ms. Handler once said, "Confidence is not my problem. I've never--in any setting--lacked confidence." This, to me, sounded like a dispatch from Mars. Maybe Ms. Handler would relate to Sarah Pfefferman.)
I'm floored, as well, by the early scene between Maura and Bryna. Lost in the netherworld of the non-Jewish hospital, Maura finds herself in the company of her estranged sister. Why? She had listed an old phone number--back from the days when Maura and Bryna were close--as an emergency contact. (I love this. Ghosts of old identities haunt you--even when you think you've escaped from slavery.) The spell-binding early scene between Maura and Bryna has them "connecting"; they remember their old phone number because their grandmother, who raised them in Mom's absence, made them sing a song about that number. (This is one of two moments when siblings "connect" via memories of childhood music. We'll see it mirrored by Josh's lovely moment with Ali toward the end of the episode. Also, do you think of that line from "Feud"? "Great feuds are not about hatred. They're about pain." We can only imagine what kind of pain was hatched in the motherless house of horrors in which Maura and Bryna grew up. And I love that Bryna/Maura have a shared memory of intense grandmotherly anxiety. "Grandma was always worrying." Understandably, intense anxiety is an experience frequently reported by survivors of the Holocaust, and by their offspring, and by their offspring's offspring.)
The nice sororal moment between Maura and Bryna quickly evaporates. Maura has noticed that her name, on her medical board, has been spelled "Feffman." Also, her gender is listed incorrectly. Can Bryna help? No, of course Bryna will not help; acknowledging Maura's correct gender is a step too far for Bryna, and Bryna will attach herself to the faceless doctor over/above/in place of a--saner, healthier--attachment to her own sister. Maura could take a Barack Obama stance here; she could lower the emotional temperature and try to understand where Bryna is coming from. (Or--most intelligently--she could have refrained from asking Bryna for something Bryna clearly was not equipped to give. Don't go barking up that old, forbidding trunk. Embittered Bryna could easily quote from Shirley Jackson, from a letter Jackson wrote to a disapproving reader: "If you don't like my peaches, don't shake my tree.") Anyway, Maura isn't Mr. Obama. Maura erupts: "Go fuck yourself." And, as if anticipating this commandment, Bryna quickly says, "I WILL," and flees the room. Funny, dirty, sad: This is Jill Soloway's Holy Trinity, and all three points of the triangle are in evidence here. (Tambor has written that the actress playing Bryna reminds him strongly of his sick mother, such that he sometimes has trouble finishing the Bryna scenes. He relies on Anjelica Huston for quick boosts of confidence. Anjelica--Saint Anjelica--does not need to get asked; she freely offers her services.)
I can even add that I relate to Josh--to his passive-aggressive withdrawal from work, his loony insistence on browsing menus of guitar pics instead of making money. The young man who can only speak in un-funny strings of references to emojis--this guy is genuinely annoying. In a more charitable mood, Josh might play along--but, today, he's having none of this political niceness/inauthenticity, and here, too, I can relate.
That's all for today. Do you see these people as irredeemably annoying? Is there something wrong with me that I frequently "feel" for them? Probably. Well, as Raquel has asked: "Then what?"
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