Emotionally Volatile Baby Reindeer

Once again, Netflix goes out on a limb to reach beyond the predictable feelgood fair so many seem to want - and possibly need - in this dawn of a dystopian age we find ourselves living in. Baby Reindeer is tagged as a dark comedy, and while there are certainly comedic elements in it, it is steeped - almost mired - in a tragedy that already I'm hearing as being misunderstood by viewers dismissing it as unfunny, and  describing the tragic protagonist as "self absorbed" and "lazy."  I found Donny neither of these, but rather twisted with self-hatred and crippled by indecisiveness. We sense his desire to be wanted and loved, while fully aware aware that in his eyes he is unworthy of either. 

As Donny, Richard Gadd gives among of the most harrowing, frustrating and ultimately heartbreaking performances I've seen this year. Lanky and raw, his eyes, mouth and jaw move constantly from a place of fear that is set across his scraggly bearded, hollow face, both handsome and homely.  Every thought, every emotion plays across this mask in direct opposition of the poker face he imagines hides the true Donny.  

The pathetic journey of this failing and flailing comic becomes painful to witness - almost unbearable at times, but that is the point isn't it? To show what real suffering is, to reveal that complete inability to move forward because one is held back by fear and hatred.  This level of self-loathing is addictive and isn't meant to be pretty or funny. That's because it isn't. It cannot be.  It's made manifest through the jokes that die before they're even emitted from his lips, from the juvenile props that fail to offer any comic relief from his torment. And yet he goes on, confusing the now familiar humiliation of his life as a kind of twisted comfort.  

I grew frustrated to the point of anger with Donny, thinking "there are easy fixes, mate . . . just buck up, be honest be . . ." before realizing how many years I spent telling myself those same things. How frequently my looking in the mirror, telling myself "it's an easy fix, mate," when the reality was not only wasn't it not easy, there are times where there seemed to be no fix at all. Ever. Gadd captures this paralyzing inability with such poignancy I more than once found myself unable to hold back tears.  Finally, at long last comes the moment of self-confrontation one sensed had to happen to make all of this work.  Without knowing Mr. Gadd personally, all I can say is, he brings us to that place where actor and character fuse into a oneness, something so beautifully raw, so abraded it can only be seen as a revelation, a catharsis.  Yes, it's acting, masterful even, but it feels is more than that as well.  Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I I don't want to know.

On the opposite side of that same coin is the chilling, harrowingly raw portrayal of Martha by Jessica Gunning. It is incredibly easy to dislike a creature such as Martha . . . manipulative, foul, deceitful, and wonder why Donny allows himself to be torturously abused by her at every turn. But we know why don't we? We know. First and foremost, he pities her, but it's more than that. He, unwittingly at first, recognizes that, beneath the surface, Martha is the same emotional ticking time bomb as he. Gunning brilliantly uses her face to convey elation, naughtiness, rage, pain and emotional blankness with an ease of facility equal to Gadd's Donny. Indeed, the two make an uncomfortably powerful match in Baby Reindeer. 

Time prevents me from going on, but I must at least in passing say that Nava Mau, Nina Sosanya, Tom Goodman-Hill, and Shalom Brune-Franklin, all give sensational performances in supporting roles that contribute to, and flesh out this dark, powerful story.  

In addition to portraying Donny, Gadd served as executive producer, and provided the excellent script, sensitively directed by Weronika Tofilska and Josephine Bornebusch. The series has a look that captures its mix of locations - homes, flats, bars, and London nightlife through its terrific cinematography. Similarly, the music flushed throughout the score's soundtrack is an emotional wild ride spanning more than a century ranging from Dvorak to Dusty Springfield, Bronski Beat, The Cars, King Crimson and Gary Numan - for starters..  

All in all, everything about Baby Reindeer makes it, at least for me, one of Netflix' most difficult to watch, yet gripping and emotionally satisfying shows from the past few seasons. That's something to be proud of. More, please.

Big Mouth: Filthy, Vulgar, Vile, Hilarious and Sweet

At the recommendation of a friend I watched the first episode of “Big Mouth” the Nick Kroll produced series for Netflix. My first reaction after only a few minutes in was of something hilarious yet, vile, filthy, and taking full advantage of not having to be censored. It didn’t take long before I realized the show was going to be taken in in a two day binge, 5 episodes at a time.

The familiar topic of teenage awkwardness at the onset of puberty has seldom, if ever, been addressed so matter-of-factly and in terms and visuals as disgustingly hilarious as it has here. For one thing, generally the domain of a “boys only” realm, “Big Mouth” gives equal time and opportunity to show just what a disgusting, tragic and confusing mess this time of life is for girls as well. The series revolves around 8th graders, Andrew (John Mulaney), Nick (Kroll), Jessi (Jessi Glaser), Missy (Jenny Slate) and Jay (Jason Mantzoukas). The series – definitely for adult only audiences – is, almost necessarily animated for a number of reasons. First and foremost, a live version would require child actors, and, given the material, language and . . . well, it’d have had mothers and churches and civic groups protesting to shut it down, and rightfully so. Instead, we’re given exquisite voice performances by adult actors, who do very little to sound childish, their own vocal imprints coming through so we’re always, at some level at least, aware these are not children, but actors reliving childhood.



At its heart, “Big Mouth” is not only about the changes our bodies go through at that age, but about loyalty, friendship, social structures, family dysfunction, and secrets so terrifying one dare not share. In addition to the kids, the show is populated by two hormone monsters (over-the-top, terrifying performances by Maya Rudolf and series creator Kroll), and most hilariously, Nick’s unlikely confessor and mentor, the ghost of Duke Ellington. Frequently offering the worst possible advice, Duke is brutally honest as he shares memories of a bygone era, and delivers, in my opinion, the series best lines.

There is component of vulgar sexual violence that is pushed to its comedic limits and, definitely not for more sensitive viewers.
At times “Big Mouth” has the feel of an existentialist/absurdist work of theatre, not just crossing lines, but obliterating them into Kingdom Come . . . or is that Kingdom Cum?