On Sunday, February 15, 2015, HBO aired the fifth episodes of Lena Dunham’s cultural behemoth Girls, followed by the fifth episode of the Duplass brothers’ inaugural TV show Togetherness. The fact that HBO aired these two shows back-to-back could be seen as either a genius creative juxtaposition or a sly critique of the modern TV landscape, depending on your level of cynicism. Despite my usual ability to find the downside in things, these two shows -- both alike yet strikingly different in tone and material -- composed one of the best hours of television I’ve ever watched.
Girls, as it now barrels through its fourth season, has endured a roller coaster of critical and creative highs and lows as few shows before it has. Its whimsical examination of Gen-Y woe-is-me self-entitlement, in its most basic iteration, and its cutting dissection of aimless relationships and painful self-maturation, in its fullest iteration, has made it a staple of modern television. Its cultural footprint is massive -- whether deservedly so or not -- in a way that few other shows can compete or replicate (read: Looking).
Not unlike Girls, Togetherness also explores somewhat entitled, white people in various personal and professional conundrums. But in lieu of examining recently graduated twentysomethings in New York, Togetherness centers on a yuppy thirtysomething family in Los Angeles. The parents, Michelle and Brett, have hit a wall in their marriage, despite a good job, nice home, and adorable children. Michelle’s aimless sister, Tina, and Brett’s equally aimless best friend, Alex, seem to be drawn to each other in a magnetic trainwreck sort of way, even as they try to act disinterested in one another. It’s classic sitcom material a la 1990’s Friends, only with less coffee and more hipsters.
The fifth episode of Girls, Sit-In, examined the repercussions of Hannah’s choice to leave her writing program in Iowa. Upon returning to Brooklyn, she finds out that -- surprise! -- the world has moved on without her. Marnie is busy “being an artist,” however ungracefully; Adam has a new live in girlfriend, Mimi-Rose Howard (“That’s not a name! That’s just a woman’s name and a man’s name with a flower stuck in the middle of it!”); Shoshanna is busy interviewing for jobs and seemingly spouting more logic than all of the other girls. My complaint with Hannah -- and by extension, much of the show -- over the past year has been its inability to coalesce its thoughts and observations into anything meaningful. Hannah especially seems stuck in first gear as everyone around her moves on to other adventures; she has rarely shown growth or maturity or even self-awareness. Sit-In finally examines Hannah’s changed perspective upon returning to what she considers home. It’s easily the strongest episode of the last one and a half seasons, reintroducing every significant character in the Girls canon as a foil to Hannah’s stunted growth. One by one, friends support her and critique her and rebuke her, to varying levels of severity and success, until Hannah finally confronts Adam about his new relationship. “What we had was real and it was beautiful and tense and weird and terrifying,” Adam admits, “And there was a time when I couldn't imagine myself with anyone else.” But those last words hang in the air, as if preparing himself -- and us? -- to leave forever. Hannah and Adam's time is clearly over. Will we ever see him again? In Hannah’s newfound perspective, breaking up with her old flame might be the best thing.
While Girls chose to examine its lead characters’ struggles in a confined apartment, the fifth episode of Togetherness, Kick the Can, opened up its canvas to allow its characters room to breathe. After multiple failed attempts at rekindling their sex life, Brett and Michelle begin the episode exiting a horrendous couples therapy, asking where they should go “after World War III of emotional bombing?” Instead of wallowing in their pity, Michelle plans a game of kickball in an attempt to have some fun. But after facing off against a hoard of teen hipsters, and facing certain elimination after her husband casually gives himself up, Michelle must choose whether she still wants to play the game or simply fold. The narrative thrust of the episode is clear -- the game is a stand-in for how this couple has approached their own relationship over the years. One partner puts in effort, wants to succeed, and wants to have fun doing it. The other partner would rather retreat to a Barnes & Noble and read. Yet it would be misleading and unfair to judge Michelle or Brett in such simplistic terms -- Brett tried to be spontaneous and fun just one episode prior by booking a surprise hotel trip; Michelle tried a similarly spontaneous S&M adventure the episode prior to that. It’s clear these two still care for one another; they just simply don’t know how to enjoy one another anymore.
Despite all the heartache in these two episodes, I was surprised at how much I enjoyed both shows. After all, the first few episodes in each show’s respective seasons had not amounted to much more than orientating the audience and world-building. Hannah’s short-lived excursion -- or is it detour? -- in Iowa seemed to have run its course long before she actually left. I’m still not entirely sure what the narrative point of this Iowa subplot was -- we always knew Hannah was a big-city girl with big-city dreams, as she boastfully declared she was “the voice of her generation, or at least a voice of a generation” in the show’s pilot episode -- so why stay in Iowa for four episodes? Was it to test out greener patches only to realize it’s not actually greener? Was it to reset the Hannah character by extracting her from Brooklyn, only to return to find it completely different? This is a plausible premise raised by Andy Greenwald -- and a narratively functional one when you stop to think about what this season has done with its characters thus far -- as he notes that the show has more or less spun its narrative wheels this season until this episode.
Similarly, the first four episodes of Togetherness had the unenviable job of carving out new characters in a new world. Each episode had to quickly introduce the struggles of each character without seeming preachy or verbose or boring. Fortunately, the Duplass brothers have proven to be adroit at shifting between sharp humor and genuine reflection ("Do you see this smile? I'm dead inside!"). They've managed to build characters that not only voice their problems frequently and loudly, but also honestly and more often than not, humorously. These characters carry with them new baggage that can only be brought on with age, a tiredness that only comes with growing responsibilities and waning libidos. They may be a few years older than their counterparts in Girls, but the characters in Togetherness can be just as shallow and uncouth.
But perhaps what these two shows have demonstrated best is the respective creators’ abilities to tap into both the pain and the joy of a very specific period in our lives -- periods that are exhilarating but scary, encouraging yet crippling. Hannah is clearly struggling now that she's graduated college, but did anyone really believe she and Adam would've stayed together upon her return? Their breakup was the emotional band-aid that needed to ripped off in order for the wound to heal; and I applaud the show for venturing into that dark territory. Togetherness similarly addressed the need for people to fully express their desires -- whether that be kissing in a closet or running through the sprinklers -- despite competing priorities or outside judgment. Life is too short and too cruel to live scared. Spend time with those you care about. Surround yourself with people who inspire and challenge you. Go out and shotgun a beer and hang out with some hipsters.
While Girls chose to examine its lead characters’ struggles in a confined apartment, the fifth episode of Togetherness, Kick the Can, opened up its canvas to allow its characters room to breathe. After multiple failed attempts at rekindling their sex life, Brett and Michelle begin the episode exiting a horrendous couples therapy, asking where they should go “after World War III of emotional bombing?” Instead of wallowing in their pity, Michelle plans a game of kickball in an attempt to have some fun. But after facing off against a hoard of teen hipsters, and facing certain elimination after her husband casually gives himself up, Michelle must choose whether she still wants to play the game or simply fold. The narrative thrust of the episode is clear -- the game is a stand-in for how this couple has approached their own relationship over the years. One partner puts in effort, wants to succeed, and wants to have fun doing it. The other partner would rather retreat to a Barnes & Noble and read. Yet it would be misleading and unfair to judge Michelle or Brett in such simplistic terms -- Brett tried to be spontaneous and fun just one episode prior by booking a surprise hotel trip; Michelle tried a similarly spontaneous S&M adventure the episode prior to that. It’s clear these two still care for one another; they just simply don’t know how to enjoy one another anymore.
Despite all the heartache in these two episodes, I was surprised at how much I enjoyed both shows. After all, the first few episodes in each show’s respective seasons had not amounted to much more than orientating the audience and world-building. Hannah’s short-lived excursion -- or is it detour? -- in Iowa seemed to have run its course long before she actually left. I’m still not entirely sure what the narrative point of this Iowa subplot was -- we always knew Hannah was a big-city girl with big-city dreams, as she boastfully declared she was “the voice of her generation, or at least a voice of a generation” in the show’s pilot episode -- so why stay in Iowa for four episodes? Was it to test out greener patches only to realize it’s not actually greener? Was it to reset the Hannah character by extracting her from Brooklyn, only to return to find it completely different? This is a plausible premise raised by Andy Greenwald -- and a narratively functional one when you stop to think about what this season has done with its characters thus far -- as he notes that the show has more or less spun its narrative wheels this season until this episode.
Similarly, the first four episodes of Togetherness had the unenviable job of carving out new characters in a new world. Each episode had to quickly introduce the struggles of each character without seeming preachy or verbose or boring. Fortunately, the Duplass brothers have proven to be adroit at shifting between sharp humor and genuine reflection ("Do you see this smile? I'm dead inside!"). They've managed to build characters that not only voice their problems frequently and loudly, but also honestly and more often than not, humorously. These characters carry with them new baggage that can only be brought on with age, a tiredness that only comes with growing responsibilities and waning libidos. They may be a few years older than their counterparts in Girls, but the characters in Togetherness can be just as shallow and uncouth.
But perhaps what these two shows have demonstrated best is the respective creators’ abilities to tap into both the pain and the joy of a very specific period in our lives -- periods that are exhilarating but scary, encouraging yet crippling. Hannah is clearly struggling now that she's graduated college, but did anyone really believe she and Adam would've stayed together upon her return? Their breakup was the emotional band-aid that needed to ripped off in order for the wound to heal; and I applaud the show for venturing into that dark territory. Togetherness similarly addressed the need for people to fully express their desires -- whether that be kissing in a closet or running through the sprinklers -- despite competing priorities or outside judgment. Life is too short and too cruel to live scared. Spend time with those you care about. Surround yourself with people who inspire and challenge you. Go out and shotgun a beer and hang out with some hipsters.
