It's Fathers Day--we're all thinking about parents--so: A few thoughts about one famous SATC episode, "My Motherboard, My Self."
This was a first--a first!--SATC writing assignment for two extremely young writers. Did you know that? The storyboard for season four had a few loose strands. At some point, Miranda's mother was to die. At a different point, there was to be a storyline about choosing a proper bra, and a story about what happens when your computer crashes. (The writers for SATC would list their problems in a van ride everyday, to Silvercup Studios, and then those problems would become the basis for new episodes.) In a planning session, the show-runner had a stroke of genius. (What else could you call this?) He would link the death of Miranda's mother to the quest for a correct bra: Two different stories about a search for support. And the rest is history.
There's a great deal to love in "My Motherboard, My Self," and the Number One thing is this: The idea of displacement. This is an idea handled with surprising subtlety, given that we're talking about SATC. The human comedy happens because we are so clueless about our own emotions, and our feelings often come out in ways we can't anticipate, when we would most like to be impregnable fortresses. In "My Motherboard," Samantha won't acknowledge her grief, so her grief makes itself known through the phenomenon of "the lost orgasm." And Miranda can't begin to articulate her sadness, for Carrie, on the phone--but that sadness comes out in a thrilling, disquieting interaction with a motherly bra-saleslady in a suburban mall. (The awkwardness, the boundary-negotiation. The way the older woman calmly says, "I'm not trying to be fresh." This is handled so beautifully--by the writers, the director, and especially Cynthia Nixon. It's worth noting that the SATC writers tackle displacement elsewhere--for example, with Charlotte. As a way of not thinking about her divorce, later in the series, Charlotte takes a tap-dance class. Perky, repressed Charlotte throws herself into the effort. But when the teacher asks her to do a duo as a solo figure, Charlotte erupts. The teacher becomes a stand-in for Trey. So smart, embarrassing, and real. This show doesn't get the credit it deserves.)
Some other things to notice in "Motherboard." The writers made a point of not including many family storylines throughout the run of the series. That's because they wanted to drive home the point that these four women *were* family for one another. (When Miranda learns of Samantha's breast cancer, Charlotte says, "Go and be a part of your wedding. Be with your people." Miranda pointedly says, "You are my people. We will talk about this now." Early in the series, when the four women are alone, Charlotte famously suggests: "Maybe we can be soulmates for one another.") It's interesting to watch how family does creep into "My Motherboard"--I'm fascinated by that non-glamorous, redhead, straight-talking, non-Manhattan Miranda sibling we see for about three seconds--and how the focus still remains on the four friends. It's also fun to see Charlotte's fixation on the one-hundred percent appropriate floral arrangement--a crazed, irritating response to death that is actually as dysfunctional as Samantha's insistent denial. The floral quest blows up in Charlotte's face, as so many other things do; this show constantly gives us tutus, and then it gives us the filthy NYC puddle-water splashed, over and over, on the once-pristine tutus.
And then--and this isn't news--"Motherboard" gives us the gift of Nixon's precise, intelligent performance. Recently, I wrote that Nixon has a Tony; she actually has two, with her second resulting from "The Little Foxes." Her colleague, the guy who authored "Steve," recognized that Nixon was "one of the great American actors" and regularly felt intimidated by her. (He also felt defensive of Miranda--as a character--and that's sweet.) In "Motherboard," as in so many other episodes, Nixon does an exciting portrait of inner torment: She wants to be vulnerable and human, and she also wants to have everything under control. You can find an entire filmed segment on the NYT site where Nixon talks about the different smiles you can produce, as an actor, and how a slight re-calibration, a dimming of the eyes, can mean a world of difference. I recommend this clip. It seems to me few actors think as deeply, or as idiosyncratically, as Nixon does--on a consistent basis.
So--on that note--Happy Fathers Day! At its best, SATC really did have surprising insights into how people behave. Lest we forget. That's the greatest thing we can require from a piece of writing. This particular staff mined life stories for bits of unintentional comedy, weird ellipses, mysterious moments where the heart was clearly at war with the brain--and the results could occasionally be striking, as they were, again and again, in season four.
*P.S. I realize I'm not talking about Carrie's tense Aidan conversation--w/r/t the broken computer. This is another thing "Motherboard" handles so well. When we talk about a screwy computer, we are really testing how we function as a pair. Quiet, thoughtful writing--again, a part of knocking-it-out-of-the-park.
This was a first--a first!--SATC writing assignment for two extremely young writers. Did you know that? The storyboard for season four had a few loose strands. At some point, Miranda's mother was to die. At a different point, there was to be a storyline about choosing a proper bra, and a story about what happens when your computer crashes. (The writers for SATC would list their problems in a van ride everyday, to Silvercup Studios, and then those problems would become the basis for new episodes.) In a planning session, the show-runner had a stroke of genius. (What else could you call this?) He would link the death of Miranda's mother to the quest for a correct bra: Two different stories about a search for support. And the rest is history.
There's a great deal to love in "My Motherboard, My Self," and the Number One thing is this: The idea of displacement. This is an idea handled with surprising subtlety, given that we're talking about SATC. The human comedy happens because we are so clueless about our own emotions, and our feelings often come out in ways we can't anticipate, when we would most like to be impregnable fortresses. In "My Motherboard," Samantha won't acknowledge her grief, so her grief makes itself known through the phenomenon of "the lost orgasm." And Miranda can't begin to articulate her sadness, for Carrie, on the phone--but that sadness comes out in a thrilling, disquieting interaction with a motherly bra-saleslady in a suburban mall. (The awkwardness, the boundary-negotiation. The way the older woman calmly says, "I'm not trying to be fresh." This is handled so beautifully--by the writers, the director, and especially Cynthia Nixon. It's worth noting that the SATC writers tackle displacement elsewhere--for example, with Charlotte. As a way of not thinking about her divorce, later in the series, Charlotte takes a tap-dance class. Perky, repressed Charlotte throws herself into the effort. But when the teacher asks her to do a duo as a solo figure, Charlotte erupts. The teacher becomes a stand-in for Trey. So smart, embarrassing, and real. This show doesn't get the credit it deserves.)
Some other things to notice in "Motherboard." The writers made a point of not including many family storylines throughout the run of the series. That's because they wanted to drive home the point that these four women *were* family for one another. (When Miranda learns of Samantha's breast cancer, Charlotte says, "Go and be a part of your wedding. Be with your people." Miranda pointedly says, "You are my people. We will talk about this now." Early in the series, when the four women are alone, Charlotte famously suggests: "Maybe we can be soulmates for one another.") It's interesting to watch how family does creep into "My Motherboard"--I'm fascinated by that non-glamorous, redhead, straight-talking, non-Manhattan Miranda sibling we see for about three seconds--and how the focus still remains on the four friends. It's also fun to see Charlotte's fixation on the one-hundred percent appropriate floral arrangement--a crazed, irritating response to death that is actually as dysfunctional as Samantha's insistent denial. The floral quest blows up in Charlotte's face, as so many other things do; this show constantly gives us tutus, and then it gives us the filthy NYC puddle-water splashed, over and over, on the once-pristine tutus.
And then--and this isn't news--"Motherboard" gives us the gift of Nixon's precise, intelligent performance. Recently, I wrote that Nixon has a Tony; she actually has two, with her second resulting from "The Little Foxes." Her colleague, the guy who authored "Steve," recognized that Nixon was "one of the great American actors" and regularly felt intimidated by her. (He also felt defensive of Miranda--as a character--and that's sweet.) In "Motherboard," as in so many other episodes, Nixon does an exciting portrait of inner torment: She wants to be vulnerable and human, and she also wants to have everything under control. You can find an entire filmed segment on the NYT site where Nixon talks about the different smiles you can produce, as an actor, and how a slight re-calibration, a dimming of the eyes, can mean a world of difference. I recommend this clip. It seems to me few actors think as deeply, or as idiosyncratically, as Nixon does--on a consistent basis.
So--on that note--Happy Fathers Day! At its best, SATC really did have surprising insights into how people behave. Lest we forget. That's the greatest thing we can require from a piece of writing. This particular staff mined life stories for bits of unintentional comedy, weird ellipses, mysterious moments where the heart was clearly at war with the brain--and the results could occasionally be striking, as they were, again and again, in season four.
*P.S. I realize I'm not talking about Carrie's tense Aidan conversation--w/r/t the broken computer. This is another thing "Motherboard" handles so well. When we talk about a screwy computer, we are really testing how we function as a pair. Quiet, thoughtful writing--again, a part of knocking-it-out-of-the-park.
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