Friday Night Lights

Jeremy Strong just won the Emmy for Best Actor-Drama, and that's great, but my all-time favorite winner in this category is Buffalo native Kyle Chandler. You know the role. Here is what Lorrie Moore had to say:

Chandler can do just about anything with a look. The expressive restraint of his smoldering gaze and his squinted grin of chagrin is one of the most intriguing aspects of FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS, even if it is over-relied on. When called on to say lines such as I'M OFFERING YOU EVERYTHING I GOT. THIS IS NOT JUST ABOUT FOOTBALL. I BEG OF YOU: THINK ABOUT WHAT I JUST SAID, he makes the words pierce and soar. When he says to his team, LISTEN UP, GENTLEMEN, it doesn't much matter what he actually says afterward: everyone is drawn to attention. And when at a coaches' poker game he gets up to leave early, saying, I'VE BEEN CHEATING ALL NIGHT, LOOKING AT HIS CARDS, AND I STILL CAN'T BEAT HIM, the line reading is such that we know he is actually a bit tipsy and missing his wife.....

Sometimes, a show is sort of neglected at the Emmy Awards, and then, in the final season, the judges try to atone by handing the lead actor the Best Actor statue, at long last. (I believe this happened with "Friday Night Lights," "The Americans," AND "Mad Men." Correct me if I'm wrong.)

FNL is Kyle Chandler's show. It's about Chandler's character--Coach Taylor--and the drama that ensues when Taylor takes over a certain West Texas football team. Not much is happening in West Texas, so the Friday high-school football game has a high-stakes aura. We need these boys to win (even if the winners of today become jobless zombies tomorrow, distraught alumni pretending to own car dealerships as a way of saving face).

Taylor's arrival coincides with several other journeys, big and small: A beloved QB gets his spine snapped, a politically savvy mom reenters the work force, a budding Melville scholar goes on her first date. One of the more mesmerizing stories in the first season concerns a love triangle: Having watched her boyfriend morph, overnight, into a paraplegic, Lyla Garrity acts out by sleeping with a close friend. The town shuns Lyla; people are quickly willing to forgive Lyla's hunky bit-on-the-side, because of double standards. It's a great thrill to watch Lyla come to terms with her mistake, and to watch her forgive herself. She endures name-calling, sabotage, a vicious website. When she seems ready to move past the drama, she looks at a male teacher, a leering man who should know better, and she rolls her eyes. "Yep," she says. "I'm the whore with the website." She keeps moving. It's one of the more triumphant scenes I've seen on TV.

But back to Kyle Chandler. He was just a hook, a way for me to begin talking about this show. I understand "Bloodline" wasn't quite on par with FNL; I *did* like Chandler in "Carol." I hope I'll see him on new screens, big and small, post-Covid.

How to Host a Baby

-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...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic. She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...

My Favorite Pop Song

One thing I admire about Prince is his weirdly pretentious verses: Dream, if you can, a courtyard-- An ocean of violets in bloom. Also: Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside. No one else writes like this. Did people try to shoot down these choices? Did a producer say, "We'd like to rethink this one... Touch, if you will, my stomach...." I can't help but wonder. But it's the chorus that makes this a classic. It's direct and universal--and it ends with that bizarre flourish, the allusion to "the crying doves." (Prince's song was number one in America for quite a while; it defeated Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark.") How can you just leave me standing-- Alone in a world that's so cold? Maybe I'm just too demanding. Maybe I'm just like my father--too bold. Maybe you're just like my mother; She's never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cr...

Liars and Saints

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