It’s my intention to go through the TV shows I regularly watch, and discuss same on this blog. This should take, say, a couple of years.
I am a TV addict. I’m not proud of this truth, but nor am I ashamed. That’s the great thing about middle-age: you start accepting and stop apologizing for who you are. I will never understand the mechanics of an automobile and I am a TV addict. I can live with both these things.
For seven years, I’ve (breathlessly) watched the Fox TV show, “The Gilmore Girls.” For this offense, my brother regularly refers to me as "the girlie-man.” I accept this appellation. He’s a younger brother, and I teased him relentlessly through his entire childhood, so he’s entitled. Anyway, I don’t mind being a girlie-man.
Why “The Gilmore Girls?” Well, it’s about 3 generations of women: the middle-aged grandmother, Emily; the thirty-something daughter, Lorelai; and the, now, 21 year-old granddaughter, Rory. (When the show began, Rory was just 15. Awww.) The show is unique in this regard: Lorelai is a terrific, if unconventional mother, and Rory is a smart, well-adjusted kid. How often do you see that dynamic on TV, or movies for that matter?
This is not to say that the show is realistic. It’s set in the fairytale town of Starr’s Hollow, where everyone knows, loves and respects each other. Another conceit is the dialogue: every character speaks in the quick, witty repartee of a ’30s screwball comedy.
But the show is heartfelt and extremely well-written. The characters feel like real people and, by now, I care about them. Ah, the magic of drama. When the show ends – perhaps this season, it’s not yet been decided – I fear I shall have to weep.
Any G-Girls aficionados out there?