Recently, I met with a wedding photographer. It was an unusual hour, because he spent the time trashing many of his former clients. One couple was absurdly wealthy, and they altered their vows to read: "For richer or richer." Another couple wanted to include a "jumping the broom" routine, and the photographer judged them for being "basic," for appropriating "something from slavery," until he learned that the broom routine had roots in other areas; it wasn't solely a relic of a time in America when people were enslaved. Other couples had offended this guy because they hadn't shared his progressive view of gender; they were tiresomely "binary"; they weren't as enlightened as he was. The point seemed to be I am inviting you into my inner circle; I am sharing my cattiest secrets with you, because you have earned a golden ticket for admission. But of course the effect was the opposite: You sat and listened, and thought, This guy is going to be judging me just as seriously, and broadcasting his judgments, the moment I leave the room. All this made me think of a line from "Enlightened"; Amy's colleagues correctly observe to Amy, "Hey, you look like you're disappointed in me all the time." (I also think of a friend of mine who seems silently, consistently, to be judging me for my use of plastic water bottles, my consumption of fish that do not come from pre-approved bodies of water, and my interest in Taylor Swift. He has never--not once--articulated these grievances, but that doesn't mean they're not there, and the non-articulation is deafening. The awkward pauses are like roaring waterfalls. There's so much buzzing in all that stilted quietness!)
I love the episode "Higher Power," from "Enlightened," for a few reasons.
First, it's a classic journey story. Levi enters an Enchanted Land. He can't bear himself; movingly, he goes to Amy and confesses his desire to be someone else. Enough cocaine. Enough alcohol. (People say, in her final weeks, Nora Ephron "became so porous." All the brittleness, the judgment, seemed to evaporate. She was quite a bit more relaxed and pleasant.) Levi has some allies and enemies and tricksters on his path toward enlightenment--his path toward Open Air, in Hawaii. Trickster: The Sea Turtle, who has disappeared. ("I keep looking, but all I see is garbage on the ocean floor.") Enemy: The roommate, who is substantially overweight and maybe slow-witted, and who spends a great deal of time in the bathroom, making odiferous farts, narrating the creation of those farts. Trickster/friends: Christopher A., from "Girls," and a young blonde. Chris and Blonde reject the platitudes of Open Air; they roll their eyes when patients blubber about past betrayals. They "sexualize" the group. They get into trouble. They have illicit substance-intake time on an outdoor hammock. Torn, Levi must make a decision. He does genuinely want to improve. But Chris and Blonde represent an escape, a pleasurable return to annihilating cynicism. And why not take the escape? It's hard to be good. Here's where "Enlightened" does the thing it does so well. We expect that the naughty trio will get into serious trouble: Someone will die, there will be a drug overdose, some major physical fight will break out. But that's not what happens. The trio gets stoned at a hotel and jumps around and seems exhilarated. Then the evening passes. Highs wear off. Blonde sits with Eli and encourages him to talk about Amy, then grows disgusted when he seems to express fondness for Amy. (This is like picking a wound; we sense that Blonde finds ways to disappoint herself, and to grow quickly disappointed in new crushes, all the time.) Blonde drifts off and finds a wealthy, drug-addled, older man--he has a plane!--and we sense that she's now going to drift into something meaningless with this guy. ("That's life. I'm living my life.") Chris watches from afar and harshly judges his supposed friend: "Look at her. She's such a slut." (This reminds me of Plato, and the idea of a band of thieves. The problem with immoral people working together is that--inevitably--the immoral people will turn on each other, and will practice the tricks on each other that they have been practicing on the outer world.) Levi listens with waning interest to Chris's tale of self-pity and deflation, and then he drifts away. That's all. The opposite of dramatic. But haven't you had evenings play out like this? And when have you seen another TV show give such an honest account of such an evening?
Disgusted, Levi wanders back into his Open Air room and learns that his gross, farting roommate has "done him a solid." Farting Roommate has lied to cover for Levi: "I think he just went out for a walk." Thus, Levi won't get expelled. Levi rudely confronts the roommate about all the gross farting, and the roommate gives one of the most remarkable speeches in this remarkable show: "I know I fart a lot. It's years of heavy drugs and really bad eating. I'm trying to get my bowels under control. I'm really sorry that it's causing a problem." This astonishing piece of dialogue--pitiful, vulnerable, aching, with bits of self-acceptance--puts Levi on a new path. He won't be an ass to the roommate anymore. He'll attend Open Air meetings and attempt to put a happy spin on things. He will continue to look for the sea turtle.
Isn't this one of the greatest half hours of TV you've watched? And unlike just about anything you've seen on HBO? I'm in awe of "Enlightened" because it seems to dramatize so much of my own life on a regular basis. I hope this helps, if you're watching the show. And I hope Levi will find that turtle.
I love the episode "Higher Power," from "Enlightened," for a few reasons.
First, it's a classic journey story. Levi enters an Enchanted Land. He can't bear himself; movingly, he goes to Amy and confesses his desire to be someone else. Enough cocaine. Enough alcohol. (People say, in her final weeks, Nora Ephron "became so porous." All the brittleness, the judgment, seemed to evaporate. She was quite a bit more relaxed and pleasant.) Levi has some allies and enemies and tricksters on his path toward enlightenment--his path toward Open Air, in Hawaii. Trickster: The Sea Turtle, who has disappeared. ("I keep looking, but all I see is garbage on the ocean floor.") Enemy: The roommate, who is substantially overweight and maybe slow-witted, and who spends a great deal of time in the bathroom, making odiferous farts, narrating the creation of those farts. Trickster/friends: Christopher A., from "Girls," and a young blonde. Chris and Blonde reject the platitudes of Open Air; they roll their eyes when patients blubber about past betrayals. They "sexualize" the group. They get into trouble. They have illicit substance-intake time on an outdoor hammock. Torn, Levi must make a decision. He does genuinely want to improve. But Chris and Blonde represent an escape, a pleasurable return to annihilating cynicism. And why not take the escape? It's hard to be good. Here's where "Enlightened" does the thing it does so well. We expect that the naughty trio will get into serious trouble: Someone will die, there will be a drug overdose, some major physical fight will break out. But that's not what happens. The trio gets stoned at a hotel and jumps around and seems exhilarated. Then the evening passes. Highs wear off. Blonde sits with Eli and encourages him to talk about Amy, then grows disgusted when he seems to express fondness for Amy. (This is like picking a wound; we sense that Blonde finds ways to disappoint herself, and to grow quickly disappointed in new crushes, all the time.) Blonde drifts off and finds a wealthy, drug-addled, older man--he has a plane!--and we sense that she's now going to drift into something meaningless with this guy. ("That's life. I'm living my life.") Chris watches from afar and harshly judges his supposed friend: "Look at her. She's such a slut." (This reminds me of Plato, and the idea of a band of thieves. The problem with immoral people working together is that--inevitably--the immoral people will turn on each other, and will practice the tricks on each other that they have been practicing on the outer world.) Levi listens with waning interest to Chris's tale of self-pity and deflation, and then he drifts away. That's all. The opposite of dramatic. But haven't you had evenings play out like this? And when have you seen another TV show give such an honest account of such an evening?
Disgusted, Levi wanders back into his Open Air room and learns that his gross, farting roommate has "done him a solid." Farting Roommate has lied to cover for Levi: "I think he just went out for a walk." Thus, Levi won't get expelled. Levi rudely confronts the roommate about all the gross farting, and the roommate gives one of the most remarkable speeches in this remarkable show: "I know I fart a lot. It's years of heavy drugs and really bad eating. I'm trying to get my bowels under control. I'm really sorry that it's causing a problem." This astonishing piece of dialogue--pitiful, vulnerable, aching, with bits of self-acceptance--puts Levi on a new path. He won't be an ass to the roommate anymore. He'll attend Open Air meetings and attempt to put a happy spin on things. He will continue to look for the sea turtle.
Isn't this one of the greatest half hours of TV you've watched? And unlike just about anything you've seen on HBO? I'm in awe of "Enlightened" because it seems to dramatize so much of my own life on a regular basis. I hope this helps, if you're watching the show. And I hope Levi will find that turtle.
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