Navigating NYC’s Romantic Roads with HBO Max’s “Love Life”
Published on The Interlude on July 24, 2020
Graphic by Téa Kvetenadze.
I have never been on a date. And thanks to COVID-19, what IRL dating life in New York could have been this year still remains a mystery to me. Turning to romantic TV shows and movies on streaming services has been my only source of having a taste of the ups and downs of love. From the classic When Harry Met Sally… to the quaint Modern Love, there is an endless list of shows and movies that show New York City to be a mystic romantic labyrinth. The most recent addition to that list is the debut of HBO Max’s anthology series Love Life, created by newcomer Sam Boyd and starring Anna Kendrick, which showcases the perils of romanticizing life a little bit too much.
Love Life joins the ranks with the other HBO NYC rom-coms Sex and the City and Girls. As in, they’re all centered around straight white women and their struggles to steer their romantic boat in a storm safely to shore. The first season focuses on the turbulent lifestyle of Darby Carter (played by Kendrick), a recent NYU grad and aspiring gallery owner who, from a young age after her parent’s divorce, believes that she’ll never be able to find true love. Instead of jumping around relationships, Darby’s romantic partnerships dissolve with every sense of self doubt. Kendrick’s portrayal of her character’s growth shines through as striking, however the menial activities she does to accomplish the goals of finding true love drags the plot towards what seems to be a continuous loop of discouragement.
Each individual episode highlights a different relationship, some of which are not necessarily romantic: from unrequited love, to falling out with best friends, to an unhappy marriage and divorce. At the beginning of each episode, there’s meet-cute scenarios of the first stages of being in a relationship that can be totally relatable such as conveniently meeting a partner at her best friend’s karaoke party on St. Marks. Her interactions aren’t completely dull or outrageous, but does that aspect make the show seem more realistic? Maybe so.
Darby is naive, but every decision that she makes is a profound (sometimes irrational) action that affects her outlook on love. Every stage of her romantic relationships stems from some sort of insecurity that she inherited from a wide range of her intrapersonal relationships. She’s capable of stumbling into one relationship with open arms, but once it unravels into uncontrollable circumstances, she’s thoroughly disappointed. The blame ultimately revolves around her own perception of love, having other people overanalyze each little detail of disappointment in the relationship. Relationships, including friendships, seem transactional to her. She does whatever she can to grab a person’s complete attention and consoles them in a way that only makes sense to her, such as dealing with her best friend’s heartbreak by making her decide on ultimatums on personal health or relationships.
Eventually, she slowly grasps this concept by going to therapy and reaching out to old flames from high school who made her realize that while the people around her matured, she did not. The correspondence of love and the age old question of growing older questions her (and even my) own sanity. Is there a way to be in love (or act out love) without stunting your own growth?
Darby is ready to take the challenges of love head on, while I, on the other hand, am a consequentialist — constantly debating the good and the bad in every single potential romantic scenario before it even comes into fruition. Darby and I stand on two opposite ends of the ethics spectrum, but nonetheless each are unhealthy coping mechanisms. There are so many differences between me: Asian, Queer and highly inexperienced with love, versus the white female protagonist yet I still watch it because of the high stakes relatability. There are glimpses of contentment within each of Darby’s relationship stages, but the emotional rollercoaster ends with a vicious drop. In times of viewing, it makes me wonder: is being in a relationship worth it for my well-being?
Both Darby and I rely on the idea of love and not necessarily love itself, and itching towards that fulfillment is a two-way effort that does not make room for complete selfishness. It’s good to dream about love, but it can consume morality or other real life prospects. Darby isn’t conceited or the “my way or the highway” type of gal, but she overtly relies on her high expectations of her lovers to make her feel like a happy person. At the last possible moment when she sticks the landing with (what the narrator says is) her soulmate, it’s not as gratifying as I had hoped. The multiple attempts of jumping into love contributes to the complicated depth of Darby’s character, and as an audience we are left wondering if she’s finally satisfied with a stranger after only a couple heartfelt conversations. It’s a happily ever after approach, but it’s also probably the key to a healthy and worthwhile relationship.
For people like Darby, it’s easy for them to find love because they’re ideal, but harder to retain it. For me, it’s harder to find love, but who knows if it’s easier to retain it? Their situations aren’t entirely applicable, but at least there are some references and signs that will help me go down the right path when the time comes.
Phoebe Bridgers ‘Punisher’ is the Calm in the Eye of the Storm
Published on The Interlude on June 30, 2020
Photo Courtesy of Dead Oceans
Phoebe Bridgers writes “sad-girl” songs for the masses — crafting particular narratives into tender and sentimental tunes. In her sophomore album, Punisher, Bridgers cultivates a more mature sound and delves into her signature confessional style of songwriting. From the mysterious intro “DVD Menu” to the cacophony of “The End is Near,” the album brings cathartic awareness to an anxiety-ridden world. Bridgers’ strong and genuine writing style relieves the nervousness of being a twenty-something in a period of uncertainty.
Over the past three years, Bridgers has built an everlasting presence. She was catapulted into prominence in the indie alternative music community when “Motion Sickness,” the lead single from her debut album displayed her genius songwriting ability, as she weaved nostalgic tones with the intimate details of a failed and toxic relationship. The whirlwind breakup song was written about her former partner and musician Ryan Adams, who had allegedly sexually abused many female artists, including Bridgers (she came forward along with other victims in a 2019 New York Times article). Since then, Bridgers took part in not only one, but two successful supergroups: boygenius and Better Oblivion Community Center. “I’ve been so lucky to be treated like a peer by people that I really look up to — Julien Baker, Lucy Dacus, Conor Oberst, Matt Berninger — that I think that it’s fun to kind of nerd out with a bunch of people over an idea you came up with together.” she confessed in an NPR interview. “I think that’s the best part, instead of just second-guessing yourself in your house.” It seems as though Bridgers grew extensively through collaboration and Punisher is the prime example of that growth. The emotionally-charged scenarios and the variety of characters who surround her help her musically succeed in persuasive execution while also maintaining a delicate soundscape.
Bridgers may only be 25, but on Punisher she’s constantly reminiscing. Through seamlessly pairing atmospheric instrumentals with vulnerable lyricism that depicts the realistic scenarios of a turbulent love life, her songs meditate on everyday happenings as she constantly wanders. The overwhelming grief in Punisher’s lead single, “Garden Song,” highlights the nightmarish domino effect of seeing life through different frames and acts as the shattering strongpoint of the album. She laments about a haunted idealized life with an admired character but is ultimately becoming content with her life’s new direction alone. That impact is greatly reflected in her hushed silky voice and the hollow guitar fingerpicking, which in the chorus, simultaneously contrast the deep and booming voice of her tour manager, Jeroen Vrijhoef. Dependability is her ultimate weakness and the growing absence of a beloved figure delivers her into such profound realizations of self-love.
Whereas in “Kyoto,” Bridgers recollects traveling across Japan with the constant, interrupting memories of her father neglecting her. The poignant telling of her journey is complemented by her musical versatility; instead of relying solely on guitar and slow drums like in her other songs such as “Savior Complex” and “Halloween,” she strides in confidence with the bouncy and fast-tempoed drums in the verses and the ethereal strings and horns in the choruses. Together, it’s composed into a cheery, groovy, and memorable symphonic piece. Yet the instrumentals contrast the lyrics’ disappointment and cynicism of her father’s actions towards her little brother: “He said you called on his birthday / You were off by like ten days / But you get a few points for trying.” The subject seems like it could apply to any apathetic figure, who, in last resort, is trying to make up for their mistakes, but eventually fails in the long run. These first two songs alone showcase her adept skill at lyricism in conveying her personal journeys — being devastatingly broad while also sprinkling in her remarkably unique experiences.
On the penultimate track “Graceland, Too,” Bridgers recalls trekking through Tennessee and heading towards a new and unknown direction. Rather than father figures or lovers, Bridgers confides in the intimate little joys of being with her friends in an unplanned road trip through Memphis, with drug experiences, Elvis memorabilia, and direct references to Tom Petty. The boygenius trio (Bridgers, Lucy Dacus, and Julien Baker) convenes and soars together in the outro, “I would do anything, whatever you want me to do.” It’s a great nod to the supergroup’s motif of self-soothing from their critically-acclaimed EP, where each member’s distinct and individual songwriting genre eventually meshes together for a dazzling performance of sentimental comradery and reassurance. In this track, Bridgers deeply touches upon her folk roots with banjo-flare and harmonizing fiddles, yet also presents the next step of her resounding evolution as an artist. By moving away from singularity and reliance, she turns to more collective and therapeutic healing.
After wandering with Bridgers, Punisher concludes with a grandiose finale in “I Know the End.” She takes us along on a tour experience on the road and doesn’t slow down. Halfway through the song, her confidence begins to bloom with a chorus of guest vocals harmonizing with her soft voice. She croons, “No, I’m not afraid to disappear, the billboard said ‘The End Is Near’ / I turned around, there was nothing there / Yeah, I guess the end is here.” The cacophony of voices repeatedly sings, “The end is near,” with triumphant instrumentation which erupts into blood curdling screaming and noise, only to descend into Bridgers scream whispering and coughing alone to the microphone. The screaming gives us a glimpse into the universal frustration of isolation while also portraying a world where there is a harmonious acceptance that falling into the void of chaos is inevitable. Punisher with its raw lyricism and impressive recollections, takes us on lively, expansive journeys that demand to be led to its destination. Bridgers proves that the art of confession isn’t a solitary practice, nor is it one that deals in meek songs, instead it’s a force to be reckoned with the great help of your closest collaborators.