Lena Dunham: "Catherine Called Birdy"

Marc and I really liked "Catherine Called Birdy," which feels a bit like "Girls" for the Middle Ages.

Young Catherine must marry to save her family's fortune. Around her, disastrous pairings are occurring. Her close friend has been promised to a nine-year-old boy, who has a little doll. ("The head is a turnip.") Catherine's dreamy uncle must commit himself to a much older spouse; the uncle has an actual love of his own, but financial needs create a demand for compromise. Catherine herself might end up with a man who likes oinking, as if he were a pig; he also seems not to mind rubbing poop on his arms. (He reminds me of Adam Driver, in "Girls"; Catherine seems like she is Hannah Horvath during the big "poop" scene.)

Catherine is restless and acting up, so her brother, a monk, asks that she begin to keep a diary. It's this little assignment that begins to wake her up; she takes notice of the people around her, the aspects of her world that are unsatisfactory, the things that are strange and beautiful, even in a sea of absurdity and unhappiness.

I can see why this story would resonate with Dunham -- and I laughed out loud and found that I couldn't predict several twists. I was also excited to see Andrew Scott in a leading role; I hope he will get more to do in the next several years.

Comments

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...

Joshie

When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...

Liars and Saints

Search This Blog