(2005) Girl power rules on 'Gilmore'
October 25, 2005
BY DOUG ELFMAN TELEVISION CRITIC
'GILMORE GIRLS' / **1/2
Fans of "Gilmore Girls" and TV critics wring their hands about why the show, now in its sixth season, gets shafted by the Emmys and remains a niche in TV ratings. But its fate -- to beat ceaselessly against the currents of mass consumption -- is sealed.
Why? Because it seems as if one must have enjoyed the escapist, female sensibilities of literature classes to get "Gilmore." If you were won over by Hemingway's expatriate cafe dwellers and Fitzgerald's lushly wasted lives, you might be among those who like spying on the chronological narratives in "Gilmore's" idyllic village of Stars Hollow, Conn.
Just like in those early 20th century fictions, the value of idle wealth is both questioned and glorified in "Gilmore." Earlier this year, daughter Rory stole a yacht with her rich boyfriend. When she was released from jail, her Yalie friends threw her a party where everyone dressed in black-and-white prisoner outfits and sang, "For she's a jolly good felon."
That Gatsby-esque gathering followed last season's extravagant outing where everyone dressed as a character from a Quentin Tarantino film. Such references to pop culture and intellectual sustenance whiz by in a flurry. In another episode, verbal allusions covered painter Frida Kahlo and the 1970s sitcom "Benson,"; the movies "Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice" and "Paper Moon," and Mennonites and meth heads.
To say "Gilmore Girls" leans implicitly to the cultural left, then, is an assumption about intellectual fiction that, regarding "Gilmore," is not off base. That's why Madeleine Albright, the former secretary of state, fits in during a one-scene appearance tonight (7 p.m., WGN-Channel 9).
The significance of Albright's role is to comfort Yale dropout Rory (Alexis Bledel), who was such a bluestocking as a small child she became upset after learning the late Charlotte Bronte was unable to attend her sleepover.
There's even a difference struck between old wealth and new. A few shows ago, a new-wealth woman took a dig at the riches of Rory's grandmother, Emily (Kelly Bishop), who then put the woman in her place -- during a Daughters of the American Revolution party, no less. Each affluent woman smiled with grace during the exchange.
"You were a two-bit golddigger fresh off the bus from Hicksville when you met Mitchum in whatever bar you happened to stumble into," Emily told the woman with royal composure. "He's still a playboy, you know. Well, of course, you know. That would explain why your weight goes up and down 30 pounds every other month. But that's your cross to bear. But these are ugly realities. No one needs to talk about them."
A sharply feminine aesthetic of the show is acted out by the leads, Lorelai (Lauren Graham), her daughter Rory and grandmother Emily. It's womanly, not because Rory's boyfriend this season bought her a handbag costing between $800 and $8,000. Such consumerism would merely make it a mainstream show targeted at women.
It's womanly in its empowered, lit-class way. The females, who wear youthful applications of blush, are captains of their ships. They never seem to cry. Their witty anger turns outward, not inward. They lead. Men follow.
This isn't man-bashing fiction. It's a positive-reward system for males, though. They keep women satisfied, and for that wise choice, they are allowed to be peripherally heroic. Lorelai asked her boyfriend to marry him. He said "yes" faster than a Jane Austen bride. They celebrated by drinking Zima and falling into bed.
"We should drink Zima and have sex every single night," Lorelai announced.
"OK," he said meekly.
As in seasons past, the dialogue is quicksilver and often broadcast as loud as in a stage play. "Gilmore Girls" scripts are so wordy, actors have undergone vocal coaching to spill it all out; "Gilmore" is a throwback to dramatically comic plays that inspired black-and-white films.
It's all very unusual for TV or any other contemporary medium. I have found myself rooting for "Gilmore," even though the sixth season has been weighed down by drawn-out story lines and overly eccentric acting. The exception is tonight's episode, the best in some time. It's funny and thematically satisfying.
The season's crisis remains mother-daughter. Will Lorelai and Rory repair their rift -- concerning Rory's dropping out of college -- so that Lorelai may attend Rory's 21st birthday party? One thing's for sure. There will be cake. Rory's grandmother assures us of "a chocolate praline crunch cake completely covered in pearls -- ah, to be 21 again."
Oh, yes, I remember that birthday cake well.
http://www.suntimes.com/output/entertainment/cst-ftr-elf25.html
- Submitted by Trisha
BY DOUG ELFMAN TELEVISION CRITIC
'GILMORE GIRLS' / **1/2
Fans of "Gilmore Girls" and TV critics wring their hands about why the show, now in its sixth season, gets shafted by the Emmys and remains a niche in TV ratings. But its fate -- to beat ceaselessly against the currents of mass consumption -- is sealed.
Why? Because it seems as if one must have enjoyed the escapist, female sensibilities of literature classes to get "Gilmore." If you were won over by Hemingway's expatriate cafe dwellers and Fitzgerald's lushly wasted lives, you might be among those who like spying on the chronological narratives in "Gilmore's" idyllic village of Stars Hollow, Conn.
Just like in those early 20th century fictions, the value of idle wealth is both questioned and glorified in "Gilmore." Earlier this year, daughter Rory stole a yacht with her rich boyfriend. When she was released from jail, her Yalie friends threw her a party where everyone dressed in black-and-white prisoner outfits and sang, "For she's a jolly good felon."
That Gatsby-esque gathering followed last season's extravagant outing where everyone dressed as a character from a Quentin Tarantino film. Such references to pop culture and intellectual sustenance whiz by in a flurry. In another episode, verbal allusions covered painter Frida Kahlo and the 1970s sitcom "Benson,"; the movies "Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice" and "Paper Moon," and Mennonites and meth heads.
To say "Gilmore Girls" leans implicitly to the cultural left, then, is an assumption about intellectual fiction that, regarding "Gilmore," is not off base. That's why Madeleine Albright, the former secretary of state, fits in during a one-scene appearance tonight (7 p.m., WGN-Channel 9).
The significance of Albright's role is to comfort Yale dropout Rory (Alexis Bledel), who was such a bluestocking as a small child she became upset after learning the late Charlotte Bronte was unable to attend her sleepover.
There's even a difference struck between old wealth and new. A few shows ago, a new-wealth woman took a dig at the riches of Rory's grandmother, Emily (Kelly Bishop), who then put the woman in her place -- during a Daughters of the American Revolution party, no less. Each affluent woman smiled with grace during the exchange.
"You were a two-bit golddigger fresh off the bus from Hicksville when you met Mitchum in whatever bar you happened to stumble into," Emily told the woman with royal composure. "He's still a playboy, you know. Well, of course, you know. That would explain why your weight goes up and down 30 pounds every other month. But that's your cross to bear. But these are ugly realities. No one needs to talk about them."
A sharply feminine aesthetic of the show is acted out by the leads, Lorelai (Lauren Graham), her daughter Rory and grandmother Emily. It's womanly, not because Rory's boyfriend this season bought her a handbag costing between $800 and $8,000. Such consumerism would merely make it a mainstream show targeted at women.
It's womanly in its empowered, lit-class way. The females, who wear youthful applications of blush, are captains of their ships. They never seem to cry. Their witty anger turns outward, not inward. They lead. Men follow.
This isn't man-bashing fiction. It's a positive-reward system for males, though. They keep women satisfied, and for that wise choice, they are allowed to be peripherally heroic. Lorelai asked her boyfriend to marry him. He said "yes" faster than a Jane Austen bride. They celebrated by drinking Zima and falling into bed.
"We should drink Zima and have sex every single night," Lorelai announced.
"OK," he said meekly.
As in seasons past, the dialogue is quicksilver and often broadcast as loud as in a stage play. "Gilmore Girls" scripts are so wordy, actors have undergone vocal coaching to spill it all out; "Gilmore" is a throwback to dramatically comic plays that inspired black-and-white films.
It's all very unusual for TV or any other contemporary medium. I have found myself rooting for "Gilmore," even though the sixth season has been weighed down by drawn-out story lines and overly eccentric acting. The exception is tonight's episode, the best in some time. It's funny and thematically satisfying.
The season's crisis remains mother-daughter. Will Lorelai and Rory repair their rift -- concerning Rory's dropping out of college -- so that Lorelai may attend Rory's 21st birthday party? One thing's for sure. There will be cake. Rory's grandmother assures us of "a chocolate praline crunch cake completely covered in pearls -- ah, to be 21 again."
Oh, yes, I remember that birthday cake well.
http://www.suntimes.com/output/entertainment/cst-ftr-elf25.html
- Submitted by Trisha
posted by MissCoffee @ 12:20 p.m.
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