Skip to main content

Bridget Everett (II)



 Lisa Kron wrote a beloved play, "Well," and she adapted "Fun Home," and now she is writing for Bridget Everett.


"Number Two" refers to Everett's episode 2.2., but it also refers to "doing number two," or pooping. Everett spent her childhood writing silly songs about her own body parts, and you can see that spirit in her current TV show. People have explosive diarrhea while chatting on iPhones. ("This is a new level of intimacy!") A trip to the local sex shop introduces viewers to a new product: the "Clone-a-Pussy."

Running parallel to the raunchiness is this strange current of sadness. I especially like Tricia, who finds herself in limbo after her divorce. This should be a "new chapter," but Tricia spends her evenings sending nasty DMs to her former friend through a fake Facebook account. Also, Tricia can't escape the people who conflate her with her former friend -- even though, in her new job, she wears a tag that says, "Tricia." How we wrestle -- or avoid wrestling -- with ghosts is a main preoccupation. Tricia goes with Sam to the nursing home to see Mom, and Sam childishly celebrates when she discovers that she is on the "No Visits" list. This is surely a sign of gray clouds to come -- but Sam just decides to do a joyous little dance. Meanwhile, Tricia pouts and sulks. "You have a pass today," she says. "But this ends tomorrow."

Wonderful "phase two" for this 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