Skip to main content

Jean Smart: "Hacks"

 "Hacks" is a bit like "Sunset Boulevard." An aging entertainment legend encounters trouble with the "relevance" issue. She winds up employing a younger writer to punch things up.

In both "Boulevard" and "Hacks," sexual tension becomes a problem. "Boulevard" actually has Norma sleeping with Joe Gillis. In "Hacks," Ava merely has a sex dream about Deborah. (When she confesses this to Deborah's personal blackjack dealer, the dealer shrugs. "Of course you had a sex dream. Deborah is hot.")

Unlike "Sunset Boulevard," "Hacks" becomes a portrait of a semi-functional friendship. The two hacks help each other; Deborah turns Ava's family event into a graceful affair, and Ava gives Deborah confidence to try new material. The two friends also learn from each other. Deborah learns to be a bit less tolerant of toxic men. Ava learns to recognize her own sense of entitlement--and sometimes, she is even able to mock this trait.

Certain stories work better than others. My favorite: Ava leaves an incriminating voice mail on Deborah's phone. She grabs the phone back, but she can't use facial recognition programming on Deborah's device, because a new eye-lift has given Deborah a strange, mysterious face. Finally, a trip to the local wax museum--and a visit with the Deborah statue--leads to a victory over the iPhone. Can you think of a more gripping, unpredictable storyline from 2021?

I think this show was sometimes overpraised just for being different. ("It's Billy Wilder meets Joan Rivers!") But I'll join the chorus, because I liked seeing Ava give a long speech about her sexual orientation. "I like men, you know? But I find that the climax I have with women is just.....more satisfying?" (Deborah's response: "Thank you for the TED Talk.") I hope there's a second season. 
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

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...
3 comments
Read more

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...
1 comment
Read more

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...
Post a Comment
Read more