Gilmore Girls takes a page from the classics
It takes one observant person to notice the similarities between the Gilmore Girls and classic novels of the 20th century. Probably I like them both for the same reasons.
One journalist notes various similarities: how idle wealth is questioned as well as glorified, how old and new wealth are compared, how references are made to both ‘high’ and pop culture, how fashion is glorified, how women seem to take the lead, and how comedy is a part of daily life.
Here is the authors observations:
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…
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…
From the Sun Times
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