Husband, dog and I have fallen for The L Word. Thanks to James Wolcott's nifty essay in Vanity Fair about, among other things, how the show seemed to fly under the moral valuators' radar, I rented (and rented and rented) the show. And man, did we get hooked.
How many ways do I love this show? Well, along with the fantastic looking ladies, the dark/bright view of L.A., there is...the abundant casting of women over 40, starting with Jennifer Beals as Bette Porter art queen/control freak/our last best hope for contemporary art, Pam Grier as her r & b recovery babe half-sister Kit, and in smaller, smoky roles, Holland Taylor! Bosom Buddies begone! as a batty/brilliant benefactress, Roseanna Arquette as a perverse yet tragic Hollywood wife, Anne Archer burning on all nine million cylinders as an actress who's committed the sin of aging, Lolita Davidovich as pure evil in an Armani skirt.
Thank you, Ilene Chaiken. Oh yeah, and let's not forget the most wrenching cat death on TV! "Six Feet Under," eat your heart out. It's Trollope with Tribe 8, filtered through Clare B. Luce, with a couple of nods to "Bent" and "Querelle," and a passing acquaintaince with Godard. And any show with multiple manatees...well, I am so there.
posted by Martha @ 6:16 PM
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