Liars and Saints

  One piece of "Sex and the City" lore is that no plot or subplot can see the light of day unless it has its roots in an actual event from a staff writer's life. Again and again, you can think, "Yes, that does seem like something that might actually happen to me." Some examples. Che Diaz seems to reject physical contact, and this behavior sends up red flags, but really Che is just feeling weird about Che's gut (because of comments from TV producers). Or: Seema dumps a guy because he has an odd "renter" arrangement with his ex-wife, and then Seema becomes defensive when her hairdresser accuses her of always rushing to judgment. Finally, Nya's discovery of her own "extramarital feelings" happens on the same night that she (accurately) accuses her estranged husband of indulging a roving eye. All of this interests me, but here's my concern: The stories don't add up to a TV show. There isn't a sense of urgency on the page. Also...

I can't ever tire of "Sex and the City," so here are a few new thoughts. Shrewdly, last week, the writers swerved away from the Miranda/Che melodrama. I thought there would be big, predictable fights--and I was wrong. Score one for the writing staff. I'm also a fan of the strange plot the writers actually selected: Charlotte fights with her daughter about using a tampon. To me, this was educational; I hadn't realized there was a thing called tampon angst, and of course I should know that, because most bodily events are just complicated. Charlotte and her daughter struggle with change--"there's no string? did you check your butt crack?"--and the struggle is surprising and plausible. (I would have liked the scenes more if the writers had any real interest in Charlotte's daughter as a human being, but we can't always ask for everything.) I was intrigued by the business about wedding rings. Carrie's young neighbor spots Carrie's ring and ...

Some Things to Love in Season Two of "Divorce": - Smart graphic design. The NYT has published an entire piece about one critic's fondness for the opening sequence of "The Good Fight." (Understandably. That's a delightful opening sequence.) I'd like to say something similarly breathless about the (quick, plot-less) opening of "Divorce." All you see is the word "Divorce," in caps. There's a jaunty little tune in the background. The "O" in "Divorce" splits into halves, and the "O" seems to pulse, like a beating heart. The halves pull away from each other, then bounce back inward, then away, then in, then away again. Tension builds. (I'm reminded of the opening of "Six Feet Under," which involved, as far as I recall, two people releasing themselves from a handshake.) After a moment of the pulsing, all of the color suddenly drains from the frame. The music stops, and on the "button...

People say women (and gay men) get half-hours of prestige TV, and their shows are called comedies. Straight men get hour-shows, and those shows are called dramas. Women/gay men: "Enlightened," "Girls," "Insecure," "Nurse Jackie," "Weeds," "Sex and the City," "Divorce," and so on. Straight men: "House of Cards," "Game of Thrones," "The Wire," "Sneaky Pete," "Breaking Bad," "Mad Men," and so on. I have to say, I almost always prefer the comedies (or faux-comedies). I think a half-hour is almost always preferable to an  hour-show . I think an hour-show is almost always given to bloat. This has become a cliche about Netflix programming, specifically. I'm looking at you, "The Crown." And "Ozark." And "House of Cards." -When Sarah Jessica Parker unrolled "Divorce," she said it would be the opposite of SATC. That'...

It's Tuesday! Some SATC trivia to brighten your afternoon. (1) Tutu. Carrie wasn't meant to wear a tutu in the opening credits. She was meant to wear a fairly conservative dress. But smart people had another idea. The showrunner(s) felt doubtful about the tutu idea. So the opening credits were shot in two ways: conservative, and with tutu. The climbing marimba slides down, and climbs again, and slides back down (just as Carrie is often tripping over herself). The bus that does the splashing happens to feature an image of Carrie in all her powerful-icon glory--so we have Carrie-at-her-best juxtaposed with mortified-Carrie (Carrie-splashed-with-muddy-water). Watching Carrie in the tutu, the showrunners understood that the weird costume was the way to go. For Carrie, eccentric clothing can be an expression of confidence. That tutu makes the interlude seem especially high-stakes. Wonderful. (And it seems to me that Patricia Field deserves major credit for what this show becam...