Among other things, Big little lies (HBO) offers a subtle portrait of the eternal immaturity of adults, of the irredeemable confusion that accompanies us throughout life, of our uncertainties before day to day, beyond the security image that we try to offer in public to camouflage our private frailties. Her aesthetic treatment has some desktop telefilm , but the female cast is spectacular: Nicole Kidman, Reese Whiterspoon, Laura Dern, Shailene Woodley and Zoë Kravitz, with the stellar incorporation of Meryl Streep in the second season, in a role that seems devised for her and that only she could interpret with the necessary dose of repellency caused by her character.
The seven are in a state of grace, and each one's psychological drawing goes beyond the strategic sum of stereotypes. (Even children and adolescents are impeccable.) It is a series of light appearance and abyssal background, offering emotional skeins that are not only convincing, but also disturbing: the contrast between the public image and the intimate image of a person , each with his portrait of Dorian Gray hidden in the closet.
Wealthy women, hyperprotective mothers, owners of high-design houses, elegant and mundane, who, however, hide thorny secrets and who resort to those "big lies" to sustain and bande in reality, although, paradoxically, they are fond of exchange of confidences, between truths, lies, half truths and half lies .
The second season leaves an open plot, but, it seems, the series, which has been very successful, will die precisely of success: the requirement of elevation of the cache by the actresses and the difficulty of reuniting actresses so sued Be that as it may, the two seasons are more than enough to make it worthwhile to go into that subworld of conflicting pijerío , with a bright surface and a cloudy core.
I fear that the same cannot be said of the fourth season of Billions (Movistar +), which in my opinion has never been a big deal, but that in these new episodes it is possible that it will hit bottom: characters turned into gesturing dolls , and the recurring ones and already tired judicial and financial intrigues resolved in a farce tone. Who has a fondness for the ins and outs around the managers of great fortunes, better to look at Succession (HBO), which goes from less to more and has the presence, always powerful, of Brian Cox, this time on paper of tyrannical president of a powerful business network, in struggle with the mercantile swings of his empire , with the challenges of new technologies, with the greed of all his children and with the idiocy of some of them. (And one of that frivolous apothegma of Scott Fitzgerald remembers that the rich "are different from you and me", to which Hemingway replied maliciously: "Yes, they have more money.")
The fifth season of the British series Luther (Netflix) insists on police cases that have to solve a detective of gloomy mood and heterodox professional methods. These new episodes repeat formulas, while their protagonist gives the impression of having lost dramatic bellows. The resolution of the case in question, on the other hand, I think is touching the involuntary comic nonsense . There is also a new season of another British series of police plot: Line of duty (Netflix), which, without being brilliant, is effective, without abuse of truculence, with intrigues that, not simply, cease to be enjoyable, without major pretensions .
The French series Family business (Netflix) is a comedy about idiots, and we already know that a comedy about idiots can be anything but an idiot comedy . This is fought by the hair. It has good occurrences, which does not prevent its occasional falls in fat salt and astracanada. To hang out, fine. If that time is not available, better other options.
I think almost everyone will agree that The Maid's Tale (HBO) is one of the most relevant productions of recent years. And it is for many factors: for the imaginative brilliance of the story, based on a novel by Margaret Atwood; for the forcefulness of his script, for his splendid performance and for the interpretive work of Elisabeth Moss. It is, as you well know, a series I will not say that slow pace, but yes ... delayed. That characteristic is accentuated in the third season, perhaps because it is stretching from the details and not from its core, with the recurrence even to a dangerous factor that until then it had managed to avoid: melodramatism. The distressing sensation remains, but the expectation is likely to decline, and not only because the story begins to enter into a spiral of already squeezed tactics , with a somewhat chaotic and imprecise direction, but also, and above all, because they are not lacking the inert and narratively inoperative sections. I'm not sure if the announcement of a new season is good news or not. Even so, a hypnotizing nightmare.
And that's all for today.
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