The lies we tell others and ourselves

I am currently watching The Lying Life of Adults series on Netflix, based on the book of the same name by Elena Ferrante. I read the book in 2021 and wrote a post about it (A New Yorker in Oslo: Elena Ferrante's The Lying Life of Adults (paulamdeangelis.blogspot.com). The Netflix series encompasses six episodes, and I've already seen four of them. Elena Ferrante has been involved in the writing of the script for the series, and you can always tell when she has had her hand in things. There is a certain identifying mark that raises the overall quality to very good (this series: The Lying Life of Adults (TV Series 2023– ) - IMDb) to superb (My Brilliant Friend on HBO: My Brilliant Friend (TV Series 2018– ) - IMDb ). The series was created by Edoardo De Angelis (every time I see his last name on the screen I have to smile since it is my last name as well, spelled the same way). His wife Pina Turco plays Nella, whose husband Andrea leaves her for Costanza, a family friend. But by extension, he leaves his teenage daughter Giovanna as well. The series is about Giovanna (very well-acted by Giordana Marengo) and her growing up amidst the turmoil around her: her parents' separation and divorce; her father's eventual remarriage to Costanza and his new home in Posillipo (an affluent area of Naples) on the Gulf of Naples; Giovanna's introduction to her aunt Vittoria (wonderfully-acted by Valeria Golino) and to the family of Enzo, Vittoria's now-deceased lover; her relationships with her two best friends, Angela and Ida, who just happen to be Costanza's daughters. But it is her relationship with Vittoria (Andrea's sister whom he cannot abide) that changes her life and moves her firmly into adulthood. 

Andrea, Nella, Costanza, Mariano (Costanza's ex-husband), and Vittoria all lie to others and to themselves. Andrea and Costanza have lived a lie for years by having an affair and keeping it secret. Nella has either refused to see the truth or has turned a blind eye to it; in any case, she continues to defend Andrea and to call him a good man. Vittoria initially seems to be the most honest of all the adults in Giovanna's life, but she too turns out to be a liar who tells herself and others (particularly Giovanna) that she loved only Enzo and has never been with another man since he died, but this is not true. Giovanna learns that she cannot trust very many people, which of course is the demarcation between childhood and adulthood. What do you do with that knowledge? What do you do when you find out that the adults in your life are no better at handling/navigating their lives than the teenagers they are trying to raise? What do you do when you find out that their lives are as miserable and chaotic as yours? 

The lies we tell others and ourselves, when others ask us how we are, how our lives are going. How many people really answer honestly? We do so with those few people we love and trust, with our closest friends. We know we can trust them to listen to us without judging us, without abandoning us. That is a rarity in a world that seeks to judge (and cancel) another immediately without knowing or being interested in the facts. Of course we can ask, what is the truth? Is your side of a story truer than mine? We all lie to ourselves to some extent; we do so in order to deal with each day. We tell ourselves that our spouses and children are better than those of others we know, but the reality is otherwise. All families have problems, perhaps the same types of problems but to varying degrees. All families have squabbles, some have real fights, and some are on the outs with other family members for entire lifetimes. We may not have much of a relationship with a sibling, but we say that he or she has a busy life and we talk to them when we can. A spouse may not be all that involved in the family life at home, and we make the same excuse--he or she has a demanding job that keeps him or her busy. Those who are workaholics know that they are overworking to avoid something else in their lives, perhaps an unhappy home life, and those who are diehard alcoholics, drug addicts and overeaters tell themselves that they have their addictions under control, that they can quit drinking, doing drugs, or overeating any time they want. But deep down inside, they know the truth; they can't quit overworking, drinking to excess, doing drugs, or overeating, not without help and a lot of motivation to change. Lying to ourselves, even just a little, helps to mitigate the intensity of our problems. And for most of us, it does; we get through each day without major calamities ensuing. But for those with serious problems, those problems just get worse. 

It might not be a good thing if we were always honest about our thoughts and feelings in relation to others. Little white lies help us survive in what could be awkward situations with loved ones. We do our best to be truthful, but sometimes you have to weigh the situation and ask yourself if others (or you yourself) can tolerate hearing the truth or the answers to the questions they've asked. I think of those I know with health problems; is it better for them to hear that their overall prognosis could be good if they do this or that, rather than dismal because of the type of illness they have or because of one's hereditary tendencies? Nobody wants to be told straight out that they are going to die in a few months or years. And if people are told that, they often want to consider themselves the outliers--those few who fall outside the norm. Can you blame people for thinking this way? I think we are hotwired to think this way to some degree, due to the idea of self-preservation and the instinct for survival. We lie to ourselves in the hope that it will turn out alright. And sometimes it does. 

My Brilliant Friend and The Gilded Age

Both My Brilliant Friend and The Gilded Age are currently streaming on HBO Max, and I have to say that I am immensely glad for that. Both series make for a perfect streaming experience in the midst of the wasteland that linear television has become. Linear television is a joke; there is nothing of real value being offered for viewers. Bad reality tv has won out completely; most shows have no substance and no real value and are quickly forgotten. What happened to tv shows like Everyone Loves Raymond, Seinfeld, King of Queens, The Sopranos, Sex and the City, Friends, and The X-Files to name just a few of the shows that were popular during the 1990s and early 2000s? I could continue, but it would be pointless, because it's unlikely that linear tv will ever invest in quality programming again. If there were no streaming channels, I'd quit watching tv altogether. 

That's not to say that everything on Netflix or HBO is of high quality. It's not. Many of the crime series on Netflix are trashy and easily forgettable. I have become much more selective about the crime series I watch; I simply don't want my mind contaminated by a continual rehashing of the same themes--rape, revenge, gratuitous violence, and so on. Women are nearly always the victims of rape and gratuitous violence. It gets repetitive after a while. Then there are the psycho films; woman meets man, woman marries man, man has a secret life/lover/past and a tendency toward violence. Woman ends up being the abused person until she grows a pair and fights back. I could write this stuff in my sleep. 

Thank God for the good series like My Brilliant Friend and The Gilded Age. I've written about My Brilliant Friend before (A New Yorker in Oslo: My Brilliant Friend is a brilliant HBO series (paulamdeangelis.blogspot.com); I've read the entire Neapolitan quartet by Elena Ferrante and seen the first two seasons of My Brilliant Friend on HBO. Season 3 is now being shown and the quality of this season is just as good as the first two seasons. For me it is a perfect tv show; when I watch it I am transported to the world as it was in Naples Italy during the 1960s, a time when there was a lot of political upheaval and societal changes. The acting is excellent, likewise the storylines and the sets. I recommend the series for anyone looking for quality entertainment and a show that you will not easily forget. 

The Gilded Age was an era in US history extending from 1870 until around 1910. The HBO series focuses on the opulent lives of the New York City elite in the 1880s and the clash between 'old wealth' and 'new wealth'. The series is the creation of Julian Fellowes who was the creator, writer and executive producer of the multiple award-winning ITV series Downton Abbey (2010–2015) (info from Wikipedia). It has a Downton Abbey feel to it, but transferred to the fast-moving society of Manhattan. It is quality tv all the way, with very good storylines, sets, and acting. It mostly shows the rich as rather petty, snobby and vindictive, in other words, it's a soap opera offering quality entertainment. I've watched four episodes so far and am hooked. 

And just like that, Big died

And just like that, I cried. I knew Big's death was coming, because it's all anyone who's watched And Just Like That (the Sex and the City reboot) has been talking about. It's been discussed on social media and media generally. He died of a heart attack after training on a Peloton machine, Peloton got involved and then uninvolved, and then the entire issue died once Chris Noth who plays Mr. Big ended up in real trouble with women who have claimed he sexually assaulted them years ago. But it is a testament to both Chris Noth and Sarah Jessica Parker (who plays Carrie) that they could enact such a moving scene--Carrie coming home to find her husband close to death. It follows earlier sequences that show Carrie and Big interacting at home, making dinner together, listening to music--Todd Rundren's Hello It's Me, Big singing along to the song, and both acting lovingly toward each other. They were finally happy, enjoying married life, doing the things that happily-married couples do. That's why the scene where she finds him slumped on the floor was so emotional and raw, it was preceded by happiness of a special kind, the kind of happiness that was the reward for years of pain and waiting. Carrie waited a long time for Big to acknowledge that he loved her. 

The reboot itself has been painstakingly dissected and either praised or panned. I've watched three episodes so far, and the first one was by far the most moving. I'm sure there's a lot to criticize but I'm not in the mood to do so. I'm in the mood to praise the series for what it gets right, because there are certainly things it doesn't get right. But the woke reviewers who demand complete social and racial awareness/relevance in every episode need to remember one thing--this show was always a fantasy show for many people. It wasn't meant to be a 'deep' or relevant show. I know many people who didn't like the show because it was not a real depiction of the lives of single women in Manhattan. The original show was about four friends living in Manhattan who worked, made decent livings, but who always had more than enough money for clothing, shoes, eating out, wine, expensive vacations, and whatnot. I don't think I ever heard any of them say they couldn't afford something. They dated men and talked about the men they dated and the sex they had; they married and divorced and then married again. There was never a dearth of male suitors waiting in the wings for these women. That's not reality for a lot of women. But a focus on reality wasn't what viewers required; I loved the show because it showed how four women remained friends through thick and thin, who were pretty much always there for each other. Men came and went, but the friendships survived. That was what was truly real about the show; when you have women friends like these four had, you know you are blessed. The Sex and the City films were a bit over the top, especially the second one. But I challenge you to prove to me that any of the adventure/crime thriller/drama films starring our reigning male heroes (Bruce Willis, Brad Pitt, Dwayne Johnson, Tom Cruise, Daniel Craig, to name a few) are films that depict real-life. Get over it. They're fantasy films, pure and simple. We accept them as entertainment, knowing that most men will not be hanging off planes trying to save humanity, or jumping off buildings, or surviving being shot at by automatic weapons. We don't require these films to be 'real' and woke. These films are rather silly as well, yet we accept them. It's in that spirit that I watched the original Sex and the City series. I enjoyed the escapist fantasies of the lives these women led. 

The series was criticized for portraying independent single women whose lives revolved around having men in them. But the show never pandered to those who thought it should be about women who didn't need men at all. Because the reality of life for most women is that their lives often do revolve around men in one way or another. And many women make foolish choices when it comes to men; many make stupid mistakes as well (sleeping with men too soon, that sort of thing). When they're older, they may look back and regret that they did both, but the fact remains that these choices and mistakes are part of their past, part of who they are. They learned from them and moved on. We cannot require perfect women, any more than we can require perfect men. There is no perfect world. What does exist is forgiveness, of others and of ourselves. 

And that leads me to the few things that the series could omit. Some of them are the cringe-inducing scenes where Miranda (played by Cynthia Nixon) tries to show that she's not a racist. She's trying too hard, and that is rather out of character for Miranda, who always seemed to be the sensible one before. So far these are the only scenes that I've wanted to fast-forward. But I haven't, because I'm giving the series a chance and trying to understand why they're included at all. Why can't there just be important black characters without all the hoopla, as was the case in the first Sex and the City film (Carrie's assistant Louise, played by Jennifer Hudson)? There's no need to try so hard to make it all so relevant; just introduce the characters naturally and it will be fine.

And now I've seen all ten episodes. All I can say is that the show dragged me back into their messy lives again and I'm better for it. Watching it was cathartic in some ways. Perhaps you need to have lost a loved one to death in order to relate to it on some level. I don't know if there will be a season 2. Even if there isn't, season 1 did a bang-up job of reintroducing us to Carrie, Miranda, and Charlotte. There are critics who wrote that the show was too sad, too flat, lacking fun, and lacking sex. I disagree. I'm not sure what those reviewers wanted, but Big was a huge part of Carrie's life, and to make a new show that honors the death of a loved one, grieving and trying to find meaning in life again needs to be applauded, not panned. But I think it's because you either like the show and the characters, or you don't. I happen to be one of those who loved the original show and the first movie (not the second). The reboot deals with the lives of these characters who are now in their 50s, with all that entails--menopause, teenage children, sexless marriages, happy marriages, childless marriages, not being on the same page, new friends, old friends, and just change that is part of life. Change plays a big role in the reboot, not surprisingly. Miranda changes (divorces Steve and falls in love with a queer nonbinary stand-up comedian and podcast host), Charlotte's life changes (her daughter Rose changes her name to Rock and does not want to be labeled a girl, a boy, a nonbinary, Jewish, or a New Yorker), and Carrie's life changes (Big dies and the rug is pulled out from under her). The show would have been roundly criticized if Carrie had just bounced back from Big's death and went out dancing a month later. Real life isn't like that. It takes her a year to grieve, and the last episode ends with her taking his ashes to Paris to spread them in the river Seine from the Pont des Arts bridge where he found her at the end of the original series. I wish Big could have made a final appearance but that was not to be. I think Sarah Jessica Parker did a great job with a tough storyline for Carrie. She made it real, emotional, raw, and heartbreaking at times. Just like real life. Perhaps the objections of the reviewers lie there. This time around the show was more like real-life. I want more of that, and they want less of it. That's fine, we can agree to disagree. 

Exit and the quest for more and more money

It strikes me, after having seen seasons 1 and 2 of Exit, the Norwegian series about four investment brokers--Henrik, Jeppe, William, and Adam--in the Norwegian financial world and their (mostly miserable) personal lives, that we have been handed a morality tale, yet again, on the evils of greed. Much like Wall Street and The Wolf of Wall Street, where ‘greed is good’, except that it isn’t. We the viewers know it, the creators and producers of the series know it, and the actors know it. There’s a price to pay for being greedy, and it’s huge, even though payment might not come due immediately. But because Exit is a series and not a movie, it’s possible to delve into the lives of each of these men, and you come to learn quite a lot about them and what made them the way they are. None of them are nice men, none of them are men you root for, and none of them are men you’d like your daughters to marry. They are actually evil men, except that their brand of evil is banal—they are unfaithful husbands, whore chasers, alcoholics, and drug users—by choice. Some of them are bullying and aggressive (violent) toward other men (Jeppe and Henrik) while one of them (Adam) is a bona fide wife abuser. There are several scenes with William, where the camera focuses on his face and his eyes, which hold a contempt for others that is positively chilling. Overall, these men are dinosaurs when it comes to their views on women and careers. Their dinosaur stance is that they are the providers, they want to marry trophy wives who don’t work and who bear them children who are mostly raised by au pairs, and they end up resenting their trophy wives for loving the life and the money that they provide for them. Part of the deal between marital partners is that the trophy wives don't complain when their husbands work long hours, are out late, don't account for their absences, and have little or nothing to do with raising the children. 

Exit is not for everyone, definitely not for the prudish, because of the amount of sex and no-holds barred presentation of prostitution and sexual activity. It’s all staged, that I know. But nevertheless, it pushes the boundaries for what could be considered decent behavior in most circles. Perhaps there is a point to it, or perhaps not. Perhaps the series’ creators and producers are cynical enough to know that sex sells. It does, because Exit has been a ratings hit here in Norway (both seasons 1 and 2). When the series is sold to other countries, it will probably do well there also. The acting is very good, the storylines likewise. It’s a soap opera for adults with lots of sex, about the financial world, the highs, the lows, the drug abuse, the alcohol abuse, the cynicism, the hubris (that comes before a fall), and the daily abuse by these four men of people who would be seen as normal people under most circumstances. These four men have zero concept of what happiness is; the strange thing is that they know it, and still they carry on doing all the things that most of us would never do. They are on a quest for more and more money and greater and greater kicks, and that can only lead to one end—the deaths of others or the deaths of themselves, or both. At heart, they are miserable human beings who ruin the lives of most people with whom they come into contact.

The character William tried to commit suicide in season 1 after many bouts with cocaine abuse and alcoholism. He enters rehab, only to return to the same environment that he left—an empty soulless environment that really does not permit or encourage sobriety, monogamy, fidelity, kindness, or empathy. So he falls again and again, and by the time season 2 ends, it’s not clear whether he will survive. The story does not really create much compassion for him; rather, it seemed that the inevitable outcome of the storyline will be his death, and it seemed almost natural that it should end up that way. That actually seemed fine with me since he doesn’t really want to continue living and since no one can get through to him. He wants to die. The others lead pointless lives with wives and children for whom they have little or no feelings or connection. They would rather party, screw hookers, and dull their consciences with booze and cocaine. They would do that 24/7, except that they cannot because they always have to wake up, sober, and start a new workday, until they can dull their consciences again later on in the day.

One of the best scenes in season 2 is when Jeppe manages to get his divorced elderly parents together in the same restaurant. His mother and father (who now has a terminal illness) divorced due to his father’s predilection for whores, his infidelity, and his mistreatment of his wife. When you see the father who once was like Jeppe, but who is now lonely and decrepit, you see Jeppe as an old man, and he is aware of that on some level. His mother has no use for his father, and only agreed to the restaurant meeting to please Jeppe. When they all sit down at the table and begin to look at the menu, his mother suggests to his father that perhaps he should order some ‘ung due’ (young pigeon) or ‘små rype’ (small birds). The insinuation is clear, and it is an excellent scene showing his mother’s visceral hatred of her ex-husband. Jeppe’s father gets the not-so-subtle message, some unkind words are exchanged, and he leaves the restaurant. There is no reconciliation as Jeppe had hoped for before his father dies. Again on some level, it registers inside of him that this could well be his future as an old man.   

So what is the point of their lives, of living in this way? These men have it all—great material success and a lot of money--and yet they have nothing. They are morally bankrupt. It’s been said many times before--the quest for more and more money is nothing but greed. I look at the television portrayal of these men and their ‘successful’ lives--beautiful large houses, expensive sports cars, extensive wine cellars, built-in pools, yachts, private planes, being able to afford expensive restaurants and to travel, and I think to myself—so what? Absolutely none of it appeals to me—not the materialism, not the unbridled ambition and aggression, not the greed, not the cynicism attached to the greed, not the cynicism attached to the abuse and exploitation of women, not the ennui. It’s a bore, all of it. To paraphrase the bible—what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world but loses his soul? Indeed. Is it worth it? What is the meaning of life between birth and death? What should one do with all those years in-between, if one is so lucky to have been given a long life? Should one waste it on activities that produce nothing, like working as an investment broker, partying, contributing nothing of value to society and the lives around you? It seems to me that a life spent on intellectual, vocational, and/or creative pursuits is a much better life, not necessarily always happier, but much better spent, with something concrete to be proud of at life’s end.

There are also people who don’t work as investment professionals for whom money is paramount. They live their lives in an endless quest for more money, and the more money they go after, the more they fail at one scheme or another that is going to make them rich. They want money too much. They make stupid and irrational mistakes trying to attain it. They don’t use their heads. They trust the wrong people. They exploit their families and friends. They are rude to other people, behave like narcissists, and think that the world owes them a living. They are ‘high maintenance’ individuals, often live (or have lived) lives of privilege, generally lack gratitude for most of the good things in their lives, and have no idea of what it means to be happy. Some grew up without money, some grew up with plenty of it; thus there is no meaning to be derived from their upbringings. Some of them have fallen on hard times. I observe such people from a distance. Like the scientist I am, I study them and have for years. If they ever do become rich, it will have less to do with brains and intellect and more to do with pure luck, just statistics. Perhaps it was ‘just their time’. Or perhaps not. It is strange, this thing called greed. It makes people behave in strange ways, it makes them rude to others, it makes them proud, it makes them abusive, and it makes them miserable people to be around. There are wealthy people who have learned to live with their wealth, who live their lives wisely, who do not abuse others, who have humility, and who do not feel the need to flaunt their material possessions. So it is possible to behave decently and have a lot of wealth. It's just that we rarely hear about such people. 

Television shows from the 1960s and 1970s

We watched all of these television shows as children and teenagers growing up in the 1960s and 1970s. Looking at them all from today's vantage point, I'd say that these decades were the golden age of television. And when I compare the television offerings on regular channels today to the shows from  these decades, I'd have to say that the shows on regular channels (linear tv) cannot hold a candle to the old shows. Most of what passes for tv entertainment on the regular channels at present is a wasteland. Streaming channels like Netflix and HBO have supplanted the regular channels, and they are far and away a better deal in terms of watching good films and series. 

Here are some of the shows we watched, enjoyed, and sometimes loved:

1960s shows

• Bewitched 
• Bonanza
• Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons
• Flipper
• Get Smart
• Gilligan's Island
• Gomer Pyle USMC
• Green Acres
• Hogan's Heroes
• I Spy
• Land of the Giants
• Leave It to Beaver
• Maya
• My Favorite Martian 
• My Three Sons
• Petticoat Junction
• Star Trek: The Original Series
• That Girl
• The Addams Family
• The Andy Griffith Show
• The Avengers
• The Dick Van Dyke Show
• The Beverly Hillbillies
• The Donna Reed Show
• The Flintstones
• The Ghost and Mrs. Muir
• The Lucy Show
• The Munsters
• The Prisoner
• The Twilight Zone

1970s shows

• All in the Family
• Columbo
• Kojak
• Kolchak: The Night Stalker 
• M*A*S*H
• Night Gallery
• Quincy, M.E.
• Sanford and Son
• The Bob Newhart Show
• The Brady Bunch
• The Mary Tyler Moore Show
• The Partridge Family
• The Rockford Files
• The Six Million Dollar Man
• The Streets of San Francisco
• The Waltons
• WKRP in Cincinnati

Picnic at Hanging Rock--the movie and the series

Picnic at Hanging Rock--the movie--came out in 1975 and was lauded as a great film. Indeed, its director, Peter Weir, of The Last Wave fame, went on to make some hugely popular movies, among them Witness, Master and Commander, Green Card, and The Truman Show. The Last Wave, with Richard Chamberlain, is a masterpiece of a film about a lawyer defending several Aboriginal men accused of murder, who falls under the spell of the Aboriginal culture; he begins to have premonitions about a last wave, which may or may not be a huge tidal wave or a tsunami. The film was released in 1977, two years after Picnic at Hanging Rock, which I never saw until recently. I watched it after I had seen the BBC television series of the same name (now available on the streaming channel Cirkus here in Norway). Although most reviewers and viewers preferred the film, I preferred the television series. 

I have not read the novel by Joan Lindsay on which both the film and series are based, but I plan on doing so. That said, I found the series to be quite good, and I liked it better than the film version, probably because it was longer and viewers could get better insights into the characters and what made them tick. Additionally, I had read movie reviews that kept mentioning how eerie the film was; I thought the series was far more so. It really got under my skin. I do agree with the naysayers that the series could probably have been shortened to four episodes instead of six, but regardless, it held my interest throughout.

I liked that series viewers learned a lot about the main characters--where they came from, their backstories. The series got the chance to really flesh out the characters. They took liberties with the actual story, I am sure of that. But it worked. I liked the dreamy atmosphere that hovered between the natural and the supernatural, I liked the flirtation with subtle horror and madness. Was satanism or witchcraft involved in the disappearance at Hanging Rock of four women from a Victorian era girl's school? Were there evil spirits there, or spirits protecting the rock against trespassers? Was there a time warp into which they slipped, never to return? Why did watches stop in the vicinity of the rock? Were they murdered by local men in the area, or did they commit suicide? Their bodies were never found. One of the women does return, but unfortunately, she cannot remember anything that happened, and that by itself unnerves most of the townspeople as well as the school staff. A run of bad luck ensues, and the wealthy parents whose daughters go to the school begin to withdraw them, one by one, which leads to a crisis for (and eventual suicide of) the headmistress Mrs. Appleyard (played by an excellent Natalie Dormer). 

There are many theories as to what could have happened to the girls. The film and the series tantalize us with possible answers, but never really make clear what actually did happen to them. Apparently that was the ending in Lindsay's book as well, although she purportedly wrote a a rather bizarre ending that never made it into the published book. The ending of the film and series give viewers some ideas of what probably happened to the missing girls, but it remains up to the viewers to intuit how large a role the atmosphere at the rock and legends surrounding the rock played. The series moved slowly in terms of building up to the reality of the horror that occurred; a creeping sense of creepiness as it were. I do not agree with the critics of the series that the focus was not on the picnic. It was, in every episode: it is the backdrop in every episode. The fact that the girls went missing affected just about everyone at the school, and each episode revealed that in one way or another. Bad fortune found a number of them. The music was a good accompaniment to the goings-on--eerie at times, dreamy at other times. 

I suggest watching the 1975 film first, and then the television series. The acting in both is very good, but I prefer the acting and cinematography of the television series, as well as the ever-present intense atmosphere of foreboding in the series, even in daylight. I did not get that same feeling from the movie.  

Reflections on what was and what can no longer be, and how important it is to remain awake

I was on Twitter the other day; I have an account from back in the days when I was working for the science library at the University of Oslo. Twitter is dominated these days by political tweets, most of them having to do with the upcoming presidential election. Both sides are at it, furiously attacking and condemning the other side. One of the tweeters is Rob Reiner, the actor who played Michael Stivic in the sitcom All in the Family that ran from 1971-79 on American television. Reiner is rabidly anti-Trump, and it struck me the other day how his character Michael and Archie Bunker (played by Carroll O'Connor) would probably have been at each other's throats over Trump's presidency had the sitcom appeared now. One thing always leads to another; I googled the show's theme song Those Were the Days to read the lyrics, and realized that the America presented in the lyrics is perhaps the America that Trump supporters want a return to. Unlikely? I don't think so the more I think about it. But there is no returning to what was, ever. Since 1979, the world has seen the rise of the digital age, cell phones, internet, and social media. The way we live our lives is completely different than how we did growing up in the 1960s and 70s. Television is not even what it once was. It is no longer a medium for social change; it merely reflects the vacuity of modern society with the majority of its programming. If we're busy watching mindless television like reality-TV programs, then we won't be paying attention to what goes on around us, or to the power-grabbers and would-be dictators. Google 'Bread and Circuses' to read about how easily people can be pacified (lulled into a stupor) with food and entertainment, whether it be from their government or from societal institutions/businesses whose sole goal is to create addicts who won't and don't think in the name of greed. And if not greed, you could wonder what the goal is. If we readily give up our free will and ability to think for ourselves, we will find that it will not be easy to get them back, especially if our country moves toward autocracy. 

The world waits for no one, and change is the only constant in life, whether or not you like it. You can be a reactionary; it won't matter because the world will not wait for you anyway. You can work to create the type of world you'd like, but I'm not sure we'd want an Archie Bunker world as our reality. Women and minorities would be most affected (subjugated) by it.

Here are the lyrics to Those Were the Days; you can judge for yourself whether this is the America that Trump supporters want a return to. As always--my opinion. Others are entitled to their opinions, because that is the basis for our democracy. Let's hope the USA remains one. 

Boy, the way Glenn Miller played

songs that made the hit parade
Guys like me we had it made
Those were the days

Didn't need no welfare state
ev'rybody pulled his weight
gee our old LaSalle ran great
Those were the days

And you knew who you were then
girls were girls and men were men
Mister we could use a man like Herbert Hoover again

People seemed to be content

fifty dollars paid the rent
freaks were in a circus tent
Those were the days

Take a little Sunday spin

go to watch the Dodgers win
Have yourself a dandy day
that cost you under a fin

Hair was short and skirts were long
Kate Smith really sold a song
I don't know just what went wrong
those were the days

Songwriters: Charles Strouse / Lee Adams

Two Netflix series that make television worth watching again

As I've written before in other posts, most of the programs on television these days are reality TV programs that reflect the wasteland that TV has become. I counted at least fifteen reality TV shows the other night after flipping through about twenty channels--everything from shows about people with strange illnesses, people who have suffered surgical mishaps, people in debt, people competing to open storage lockers, people who are hoarders, people who are grossly overweight, young adults living together on an island where they are expected to party and have sex, young people who marry strangers, young women looking for wedding dresses, cringe-worthy dating shows, people competing in weird sports programs, and cooking competition shows. The only 'reality' shows I think are worth watching are shows having to do with cooking--hosted by real chefs who prepare interesting meals. Jamie Oliver's show, or Guy Fieri's 'Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives' (a favorite of mine) fall into this category. But cooking shows have been around for years--and they serve a purpose, which is to show how different dishes are prepared so that viewers could try to do the same. I see no purpose for the other reality shows; I don't want to see other people's weird or bad behavior, illnesses, surgical mishaps, dating mishaps, fake weddings, or the like.

I miss the golden age of television, when the major channels produced interesting shows and movies that were entertaining and quite often meaningful. Shows, movies and series that challenged the imagination and touched the heart. Shows that made us think about other people and the society we lived in. Nowadays the major point seems to be to embarrass other people, or laugh at them for their lack of couth or intelligence. There is no heart or intelligence in the creation of such shows.

It is no surprise to me that companies like Netflix, HBO and Amazon have stepped into the business of making movies and series and that they are successful at it. Their products are far superior to what is ordinarily available on television. The majority of their movies and series are quality productions, with some few exceptions. There is something for everyone's taste. And that's a good thing.

There are two Netflix series that I can highly recommend: After Life with Ricky Gervais, and Russian Doll with Natasha Lyonne. Both series are for adults, not for children. They deal with adult themes; the conversations, arenas and language are for adults who are searching for meaning. Both shows are excellent in their own ways. One deals with grief connected to losing a loved one, and how that affects one man's behavior (After Life). The other deals with the evolution of self from unenlightened and narcissistic to enlightened and caring via a series of personal and continual deaths (Russian Doll). Both are wryly humorous, touching, engaging, and ultimately human. They offer everything that reality TV lacks.