“As a woman known for her “candor,” I feel a special connection to HBO’s Olive Kitteridge, a miniseries about a cantankerous woman in Maine who does nothing to soften the strength of her personality.
We tend to look for an essentially kind nature in people, particularly women. But some of us just aren’t that kind. Some of us are like my Great-Aunt Edna, who used to work herself into such a rage that the only way to soothe her was to go to the drive-through liquor store or for her to tell you exactly how she felt in that moment. And when she dies, the way she lived—not giving two fucks what anyone else thought—you realize you miss that awful, unrelenting, unapologetic honesty.
Sometimes the essential nature of a woman is a bitch. This is the type of woman that Olive Kitteridge celebrates.”
I’m not going to spend much time trying to convince you that HBO’s newly released adaptation of Elizabeth Stout’s Novel Olive Kitterridge is one of the best shows on television right now, but I will say – and forgive me if I’ve mentioned it before at some point (because boy did it left a major impression on me – that I once ran into Frances McDormand at a random bar in Greenwich Village on a post graduate trip to New York in my mid twenties with a group of girlfriends where she sat alone, all wild haired clad in a black leather jacket drinking a glass of wine and smoking a cigarette while reading the newspaper in which I decided then and there that she was possibly one of the coolest people on this planet.
A declaration I still stand behind to this day. It’s her everything. The lines of her face, her on (and off) screen style, her name itself, her chosen roles. Her accents for God’s sake! Everything that woman does and is a part of I absolutely adore. Needless to say, I was quick to get on board with this latest series.
In fact I stayed awake on my birthday, late this past Monday night and watched all of three out of four episodes. And then went to bed sad and heavy with the pressing questions of death and mortality weighing my poor aging heart. Realizing too late that maybe watching that particular show wasn’t the very best way to ring in a new life year. But, all birthday blues aside, it is pretty damn powerful.
So get to watching and let me know what you guys think.
*Plus, a bit of Billy Murray sprinkled in there too.