David Simon, a former reporter for the Baltimore Sun, has a knack for creating television series with complex characters from various walks of life. He has a reporter's knack for getting "gritty"--with corrupt cops, violent crime, liberal doses of sex--all part of the juicy plots.
I've enjoyed every series he's had a hand in writing/creating, from the groundbreaking "Homicide, Life on the Street," a show that along with the original "Law and Order" brought police dramas to the top of the ratings in the 90s, to his two HBO series, "The Wire," which was also set in Baltimore, and his current series, "Treme," which is set in New Orleans.
"Treme" is a departure from his earlier series because rather than focusing on cops and crimes, the central characters are all musicians, looking to make a life in the Big Easy following Hurricane Katrina. For me, the show had a bit of a slow start, somehow the characters seemed at little wooden, and I felt that I was watching something from a white, male liberal who was working overtime to prove he could present strong, authentic men and women of color to the screen. I don't know--fortunately, as the series has progressed, the characters seem to be getting their footing--and as stories go deeper, the too self-conscious "I may be white, but I'm down with the brown" aspects of the scripts and dialogue are fading.
In fact, by the end of Season One, the show seemed to be hitting on all cylinders with one glaring exception, Creighton Bernette, the character played by John Goodman--the portly actor who shines in every role.
Goodman's character in Treme was a Tulane University English professor who lived with his wife and daugher in the heart of New Orleans. Throughout the season, the scripts drop big hints that all is not well within the mind of Professor Bernette. First, in a number of scenes we see him staring blankly at a computer screen, clearly agonizing through intense writer's block. Yeah, we hear he's a novelist--and despite his words to family that the book was coming along, pretty much he was still stuck on the first paragraph of chapter one.
Next we see scenes of the Professor teaching a freshman literature class where the students can't muster up much enthusiasm for the literature, but want to know every detail about "what's on the test." The good professor gamely tries to warm up his students, but they never come around.
Finally, once the first post-Katrina Mardi Gras celebration comes, the Professor tries to get in the spirit, but instead goes home from the revelries dejected, muttering to his wife and daughter, "I just don't feel it this year."
So what does Professor Bernette do? Well, he heads off to school one day. Tells his wife to kick some ass (she's an attorney who battles police corruption) . Tells his daughter how pretty she looks. Then he goes off and kills himself.
Of all the inauthentic moments of Treme, the disposal of Professor Bernette, seemed to me most hollow. And, of all the characters, this should have been the one writer Simon nailed--the middle-aged white writer experiencing all sorts of angst over the many changes swirling around him--and feeling powerless in the wake. I understand that sense of helplessness, and I'm sure Simon did, too. But the character was not suffering financial stress. His wife and daughter appeared loving and dutiful. No abuse or addiction in sight, other than the obligatory bourbon swilling while trying to put words on the page.
Despite John Goodman's best efforts to play this part with sensitivity, I just didn't buy it. He did not appear mentally ill, narcissistic, or all that depressed really, just sad and wistful. Does a person who longs for the pre-Katrina New Orleans kill himself and abandon his beloved wife and daughter?
As I continue to define my life in the face of advancing age and changing circumstances, I can't imagine why someone cashes in the chips, when clearly there are more hands to play in the game. We all experience setbacks, and its depressing to realize our ambitions for changing the world have shrunk to far more modest goals. However, when the sun rises over a lovely lake. When we eat a delicious meal or savor a glass of fine wine. When a story grips us and we want it to go on and on. Isn't it wonderful to be alive?
Bad days visit us. But fortunately, there's always tomorrow. And in my book, tomorrow is always gonna be a good day. Sorry Professor Bernette didn't know that.
I've enjoyed every series he's had a hand in writing/creating, from the groundbreaking "Homicide, Life on the Street," a show that along with the original "Law and Order" brought police dramas to the top of the ratings in the 90s, to his two HBO series, "The Wire," which was also set in Baltimore, and his current series, "Treme," which is set in New Orleans.
"Treme" is a departure from his earlier series because rather than focusing on cops and crimes, the central characters are all musicians, looking to make a life in the Big Easy following Hurricane Katrina. For me, the show had a bit of a slow start, somehow the characters seemed at little wooden, and I felt that I was watching something from a white, male liberal who was working overtime to prove he could present strong, authentic men and women of color to the screen. I don't know--fortunately, as the series has progressed, the characters seem to be getting their footing--and as stories go deeper, the too self-conscious "I may be white, but I'm down with the brown" aspects of the scripts and dialogue are fading.
In fact, by the end of Season One, the show seemed to be hitting on all cylinders with one glaring exception, Creighton Bernette, the character played by John Goodman--the portly actor who shines in every role.
Goodman's character in Treme was a Tulane University English professor who lived with his wife and daugher in the heart of New Orleans. Throughout the season, the scripts drop big hints that all is not well within the mind of Professor Bernette. First, in a number of scenes we see him staring blankly at a computer screen, clearly agonizing through intense writer's block. Yeah, we hear he's a novelist--and despite his words to family that the book was coming along, pretty much he was still stuck on the first paragraph of chapter one.
Next we see scenes of the Professor teaching a freshman literature class where the students can't muster up much enthusiasm for the literature, but want to know every detail about "what's on the test." The good professor gamely tries to warm up his students, but they never come around.
Finally, once the first post-Katrina Mardi Gras celebration comes, the Professor tries to get in the spirit, but instead goes home from the revelries dejected, muttering to his wife and daughter, "I just don't feel it this year."
So what does Professor Bernette do? Well, he heads off to school one day. Tells his wife to kick some ass (she's an attorney who battles police corruption) . Tells his daughter how pretty she looks. Then he goes off and kills himself.
Of all the inauthentic moments of Treme, the disposal of Professor Bernette, seemed to me most hollow. And, of all the characters, this should have been the one writer Simon nailed--the middle-aged white writer experiencing all sorts of angst over the many changes swirling around him--and feeling powerless in the wake. I understand that sense of helplessness, and I'm sure Simon did, too. But the character was not suffering financial stress. His wife and daughter appeared loving and dutiful. No abuse or addiction in sight, other than the obligatory bourbon swilling while trying to put words on the page.
Despite John Goodman's best efforts to play this part with sensitivity, I just didn't buy it. He did not appear mentally ill, narcissistic, or all that depressed really, just sad and wistful. Does a person who longs for the pre-Katrina New Orleans kill himself and abandon his beloved wife and daughter?
As I continue to define my life in the face of advancing age and changing circumstances, I can't imagine why someone cashes in the chips, when clearly there are more hands to play in the game. We all experience setbacks, and its depressing to realize our ambitions for changing the world have shrunk to far more modest goals. However, when the sun rises over a lovely lake. When we eat a delicious meal or savor a glass of fine wine. When a story grips us and we want it to go on and on. Isn't it wonderful to be alive?
Bad days visit us. But fortunately, there's always tomorrow. And in my book, tomorrow is always gonna be a good day. Sorry Professor Bernette didn't know that.
