The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Friday, April 10, 2015 — 5
Foster fights to save
lackluster ‘Younger’
TV LAND
“Is that a money phone?”
By ALEX INTNER
Daily Arts Writer
Let me get this out of the way
first: I am not the target audience
for “Younger.” I am a 20-year-old
male
college
student, not the
type of person
TV Land goes
after
with
a
show about a
woman in her
40s
pretend-
ing to be, well,
younger. How-
ever,
there’s
one
element
that
peaked
my interest in the series: its star,
Sutton Foster. She has won two
Tony Awards for her Broadway
work (and has been nominated
for several more), and she starred
in the short-lived “Bunheads.”
After four episodes, it’s clear that
the show revels in Foster, but it
doesn’t quite have the supporting
material to create an interesting
series around her.
“Younger” follows the recently-
divorced Liza Miller (Sutton), a
40-year-old woman trying to break
back into the publishing industry
after taking time off to raise her
daughter (newcomer Tessa Alb-
ertson). After being berated for her
age in an interview, she meets Josh
(Nico Tortorella, “Make it or Break
It”) at a bar. Josh thinks she’s in
her 20s, so she decides to pretend
to be 26. When she does, she lands
a job as an assistant to Diana Trout
(Miriam Shor, “Hedwig and the
Angry Inch”) the head of market-
ing of a major publisher, and she
meets Kelsey (Hilary Duff, “Lizzie
McGuire”), Diana’s publisher.
If “Younger” has one saving
grace, it’s the leading lady. On
“Bunheads” and her other Broad-
way performances, Foster proved
her wry sense of humor, which
she uses effectively on this show.
She plays off of her fellow actors
well, as it is clear she and Duff
have genuine comedic chemistry.
However, what makes her per-
formance strong is how, over the
course of multiple episodes, she
elucidates Liza’s vulnerability and
uncertainty surrounding her work
and relationship. She doesn’t get to
show the range that she showed
in “Bunheads” but she does more
work than what’s on the page,
making the series better as a result.
Unfotunately, the show around
Foster isn’t nearly as strong. It
tries to be funny, and some jokes
work thanks to Foster (about
Liza’s inability to use social
media). However, the rest of the
show’s humor comes off as lazy.
If viewers took a shot each time
they heard a line about lazy, enti-
tled, bratty millennials, they’d
probably die. It’s one thing if the
show quips about the concept a
few times in an episode, but that
one-note idea is the center of all
the humor in the office. Comedies
become boring after they berate
the audience with punchlines
written using a thesaurus.
If it wasn’t for Sutton Fos-
ter, “Younger” would be ter-
rible, especially for someone
completely out of the target audi-
ence. However Foster’s genuinely
funny and moving performance
elevates the show from forget-
table to bearable.
I
have never had much
patience for masculinity. Or
at least, not the restrictive
and gendered version of masculin-
ity, all machismo, beer and hot
wings, and the
eschewal of
any emotion
or sincerity.
I have been
quoted saying
that Captain
Von Trapp
from “The
Sound of
Music” is the
only “manly
man” I have
ever loved. And even he had his
moments of vulnerability — if
“Edelweiss” didn’t make you go
weak at the knees then you’re a
lying robot.
Masculinity in pop culture
takes on many forms. Sometimes
it’s the central code of what we
watch — wrestling, Bud Light
commercials and “Two and a
Half Men” all thrive on the idea
of masculinity, that biological/
sociological creed that makes
dudes dudes. But pop culture
can also criticize masculinity.
Sometimes
it’s
by
showing
counterpoints, like J.D. and Turk’s
nine-season long “bromance” on
“Scrubs,” which was sincerely
intimate and nuanced. Sometimes
masculinity
—
meaning,
the
negative stereotype of macho
dude-ness — can be criticized
by showing it at its worst, most
manfully harmful. This is the case
with Netflix’s “Bloodline.”
A Netflix original from Todd and
Glenn Kessler, the masterminds
behind the oft-overlooked but
excellent “Damages,” “Bloodline”
is a dark, studied tale of family
and revenge, loyalty and lies. The
Rayburns are a storied Southern
family, owners of an inn on an
island at the tip of the Florida Keys.
Led by ukulele-playing patriarch
Robert (Sam Shepard, “August”),
it’s clear from episode one, scene
one that the Rayburns are not the
upstanding Floridians they make
themselves out to be.
Responsible,
dependable,
good guy second brother John
is the narrator and supposed
protagonist, and he is played
with strong-jawed consistency by
Kyle Chandler. Through him we
learn of his fuck-up older brother
Danny’s return to the island —
a return that is anything but
prodigal. Season one examines
the impact mysterious Danny’s
return has on the lives of the entire
family, slowly twisting its way
through the tangled lies and knee-
deep resentment lying below the
Rayburns’ chilled-out surface.
Unlike “Damages,” which was
fueled by its two strong female
characters, both brilliant and
calculating
and
unapologetic,
“Bloodline” is all about the men.
Distant and formidable Robert,
family man and island hero John,
their volatile and boorish youngest
brother Kevin, and Danny — sly,
wounded and threatening.
Masculinity is the lynchpin of
“Bloodline.” The brothers idolize
and fear their father, whose violent
tendencies are reflected in all three
of them. Danny is rejected by the
rest of the family because he failed
in the most masculine of tests —
protecting their sister when it
mattered most. Conflicts, both
real and imagined, are addressed
with fists and baseball bats and
“fuck you”s. And when they aren’t
fighting they are swearing, fishing,
drinking or fucking. These are
men, and the overt masculinity
would be offensive — an affront
to the lack of similar complexity
afforded the female characters
— if they all weren’t so obviously
messed up.
By the end of the intense
season it’s clear that none of these
characters are redeemable, their
constant violence and bullishness
inextricably
tied
to
their
relationship with their father, to
their own sense of self, to their
manhood. We aren’t supposed to
respect them and their blustering
strength — this masculinity is
the hamartia of them all. In fact,
the only likable male character,
Meg Rayburn’s cop fiancé Marco,
is doomed because of his very
sensitivity — he is willing to be
vulnerable in ways the Rayburns
just can’t handle.
“Bloodline” is as bloody and
clannish as its name suggests.
There is a point in episode 13,
when things have begun to
unravel, that John needs to
counsel his younger brother. He
tells Kevin to “be a man.” The
irony is that it’s their “manliness”
that
has
gotten
them
into
trouble — their hotheadedness,
inability to compromise, fierce
loyalty to a troubled father
and dangerous competition as
brothers. This is a show about
men, about a lineage of men
supposedly bigger and better
than the world around them. But
the Rayburn men are not placed
on thrones, and their violent
actions are not gratuitous — the
Kesslers
progressively
show
that their downfall is rooted in
this anarchic, archaic role of
masculinity. The truth is, if they
all were a little more like Marco,
the “Bloodline” Keys would be a
much more tranquil place.
Gadbois is drinking beer and
lifting waits. Give her your football
tickets at gadbonat@umich.edu.
GENDER AND MEDIA COLUMN
The toxic manly
men of ‘Bloodline’
B
Younger
Series
Premiere
Tuesdays
at 10 p.m.
TV Land
NATALIE
GADBOIS
TV REVIEW