Easy (Netflix, Season 2)
Dec. 21st, 2017 12:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chuckroRandom stuff happens to people in Chicago. Still. Again. Whatever.
I'm pretty sure I made this comment about the first season, but I feel like I'm reading the works of Harvey Pekar--it's all stories of stuff that happens, without any real overarching theme or real point. The first episode features a guy stealing packages from a ritzy neighborhood until the woman who had been upset by the neighbor's attempts to stop him spots and tackles the guy. And the moral is that pacifists will tackle a dude if he steals their stuff? (At least they made the thief white?)
This is not helpful by the show's writing style (the writer, director and producer are all the same guy), which just intersperses cuts of people just making random small talk or ad-libbed nonsense. This show doesn't have snappy patter—heck, I sometimes wonder exactly how much of a script it has, versus just, “Hey, you feel this way, so do something like this for a while.”
The show being written by a dude also remains obvious: Pretty much every episode ends with a guy being secure in his career/romantic/ethical choices, and/or a woman wracked with indecision.
I appreciate the fact that episode six focuses on a heavyset girl, and her weight is totally not a thing. She has a boyfriend who’s clearly into her, she’s got friends, and her weight is never an issue. I less appreciate that it's a bog-standard “Christians are huge hypocrites who pretend to love the poor but really just like being rich.” Which is not to say that those episodes shouldn't be made—and broadcast loudly across the American heartland—but I'm tired of them, because I've reached the age when the smug, self-satisfied atheists annoy me almost as much as the smug Christians. (That, and the close-to-home nature of Congress mugging poor people on behalf of billionaires just before Christmas.)
The seventh episode, revolving around a lesbian couple, burlesque and “feminist art” goes about as well as you'd expect, given everything so far. It's hard to get over the idea that the whole plot—which can be solved in about thirty seconds of actual communication—is an excuse to show a lot of boobs, but it's okay, they're empowering, feminist boobs.
Then, just to round things out, Kate Miccuchi returns to worry about her biological clock. Really, this one barely bothers with plot and is mostly just her playing with a toddler for twenty minutes.
Overall: Reminder to self that you don't need to watch things just because they're there and Netflix thinks you like them. Netflix has known to be wrong.
I'm pretty sure I made this comment about the first season, but I feel like I'm reading the works of Harvey Pekar--it's all stories of stuff that happens, without any real overarching theme or real point. The first episode features a guy stealing packages from a ritzy neighborhood until the woman who had been upset by the neighbor's attempts to stop him spots and tackles the guy. And the moral is that pacifists will tackle a dude if he steals their stuff? (At least they made the thief white?)
This is not helpful by the show's writing style (the writer, director and producer are all the same guy), which just intersperses cuts of people just making random small talk or ad-libbed nonsense. This show doesn't have snappy patter—heck, I sometimes wonder exactly how much of a script it has, versus just, “Hey, you feel this way, so do something like this for a while.”
The show being written by a dude also remains obvious: Pretty much every episode ends with a guy being secure in his career/romantic/ethical choices, and/or a woman wracked with indecision.
I appreciate the fact that episode six focuses on a heavyset girl, and her weight is totally not a thing. She has a boyfriend who’s clearly into her, she’s got friends, and her weight is never an issue. I less appreciate that it's a bog-standard “Christians are huge hypocrites who pretend to love the poor but really just like being rich.” Which is not to say that those episodes shouldn't be made—and broadcast loudly across the American heartland—but I'm tired of them, because I've reached the age when the smug, self-satisfied atheists annoy me almost as much as the smug Christians. (That, and the close-to-home nature of Congress mugging poor people on behalf of billionaires just before Christmas.)
The seventh episode, revolving around a lesbian couple, burlesque and “feminist art” goes about as well as you'd expect, given everything so far. It's hard to get over the idea that the whole plot—which can be solved in about thirty seconds of actual communication—is an excuse to show a lot of boobs, but it's okay, they're empowering, feminist boobs.
Then, just to round things out, Kate Miccuchi returns to worry about her biological clock. Really, this one barely bothers with plot and is mostly just her playing with a toddler for twenty minutes.
Overall: Reminder to self that you don't need to watch things just because they're there and Netflix thinks you like them. Netflix has known to be wrong.
