Well, it's official. I'm going to make like a blogger and
It's no longer the little Judd Apatow-produced teevee show that could. There's no more shooting in the streets of New York in complete anonymity save for the random person who goes, "Oh, that's the girl from Tiny Furniture, have you seen it? Yeah, no one really has." The cast have become celebrities — celebrities! — and, unfortunately for itself, it shows. Granted, Donald Glover can't act his way out of a ziplock bag with his name scrawled across it, but last night's episode was so self-aware that it might serve as a sign that it's all downhill from here.
That housewarming party. From streamer-hanging to sexually confused acts, it felt like a one-act play a friend in college guilted you into buying a $8 ticket to. Sure, the bit justifying moving to Greenpoint with a love of pierogies is spot on — pickle soup all winter long almost makes riding the ugly runt of the MTA family every day nearly worth it — but each character became an ugly caricature of themselves, like men wearing wigs reenacting the entire thing on an obscure YouTube channel. Between Shoshanna digging through a pile of purses as though she had large, gangly toy claws for arms and Marnie uttering that Dr. Oz-style tome about love to Charlie, the entire thing was infuriating, and — can I say it? — makes it hard to argue for the show's virtue.
And that sex scene. All I saw was a tushie and Allison Williams' terrified eyes that the camera would get a shot of her boobs, it would end up on TMZ, Gawker would run a series of close-ups and her dad would forced to make some public statement about it. The gratuitous nudity in this episode was truly at an all-time high, but I'd happily take Lena Dunham prancing around naked like the Twenty Four Hour Woman over being forced watching an actress terrifyingly clutch her mammaries while cloaked in sheet-white fear.
Above all, though, I wonder this — what have we been led to believe these people have become in the last three months? Happy, free spirits don't cut the cab line; awkward moments with an unrequited lover end in someone leaving a party early, not singing karaoke alone and air-DJing in the kitchen to avoid them. Even Marnie's become emotionally homeless, despite that if you put that girl like her at that fighting weight in a Midtown bar at 5:45 pm, she'd have to fan away a flock of suits' proposals. Girls like her are never single unless they choose to be, and honestly, girls like Hannah never have two men trying to date them at once.
Speaking of, where is Hannah, the dependent forever-child who begs her parents for money to live out her dreams but does nothing to accomplish them? She's gone from being a post-graduate with potential mildly aspiring to get a real job or make something happen for herself to shitty neighborhood barista and uninspired sad sack. Ironically, her character's inability to write and commit herself to her passion is a mirror-image of that of the majority of LD's same-sex haters, as well as the silent reason why many despise the show. But, to lie to Marnie about being so busyyyy between shilling syrupy soda water and pretend-writing was cold. Between that and Hannah somehow having reinvented the confidence sector of her brain to believe she could and should be happier with someone else is mind-boggling. How has she 360ed from that surprise wedding, shouting to the sky about how she hates herself to girl who shushes lovey-dovey remarks? How is she, suddenly, a whole enough being to be deserving of another? She shat on someone's heart, coldly uses her new fling for his late-night wang — she's no better than being the male He's Just Not That Into You archetype, only with more tattoos and pastry bag boobs*.
And, above all, perhaps in the most skin-crawling of sartorial moves, she complains about "being selfless and caring about everyone before me" while the girl's paring a $10 Urban Jungle dress with toddler choking hazard-sized clips in her hair. No one — and I repeat no one — who consciously cares about others and puts friends before themselves wears baby barrettes. You step into that aisle at Rite Aid willingly, and you knowing what type of bad pseudo-teen you are.
But sweet, beautiful Adam, with his Casper-colored body and incredibly long leg cast, saves the day, the scene and the confusing sequence of second-season events. "I came, you came hard, we all laughed, what's the issue." NONE! There should be none. I can't help that I'm the type of lady who is wooed by the offer of Bagger Vance DVD extras, but even still, Girls' main dawg is out of her gourd for not seeing what's in front of her. Word to the wise and/or anyone who will listen: you don't date the guy who has a dog-eared copy of Ayn Rand readily available, you date the one who got hit by a van and still somehow unconditionally loves you.
Too bad it seems like she'll never quite understand that.
Girls Season 2, Episode 1: It's About Time
Best Line: "Maybe I want to be Wendi Murdoch. Maybe that's my new thing"
Best Mate: Adam. Re-read that proclamation above until you agree.
What Kind Of A-Hole Was Hannah This Week?: The Jeremy Piven variety. So cocky, so confident, so unbelievably toeing the line between two significant others.
I Give This... 2 out of 4 bathtub snax. The editing was whackadoo, the plot skipped a whole bunch of shit, and poor Adam couldn't even get a neon green leg cast, but Jessa got braids like we all did in 5th grade after Winter Break, which is an attention to detail I can't ignore.
*Boobs, when dangling, look like pastry bags. Whatever, don't worry about it.