One of the really nice things about coming from New York is that you don't have to look very far to find movies and TV shows that feature your very own hometown. There's Blue Bloods, Girls, Elementary, How I Met Your Mother, Ugly Betty, 30 Rock, CSI: NY and, of course, Sex and the City. The Good Wife is supposed to be set in Chicago, but it's filmed in New York, and if you think about it, Washington's Embassy Row in Madam Secretary looks just like Manhattan's Riverside Drive.
Oh wait ... it is Manhattan's Riverside Drive.
Whenever I'm homesick, all I have to do is find You've Got Mail on cable or pull out my well-worn DVD. Meg Ryan's adorable "Shop Around the Corner" is quite literally around the corner from where I grew up. The whole movie is pretty much a love poem to my neighborhood (not surprising, it was Nora Ephron's 'hood too). I may live in New England, but I'm still an Upper Westsider.
Maybe that's why I don't get Gossip Girl.
Maybe you have to be from the East Side.
In the last two weeks, we've had four snow days (the first and only snow days of the year — so far at least). Once she slept in until 11, once her homework was (halfheartedly) done, once she and a neighbor and the neighbor's little brother went sledding, my daughter was b-o-r-e-d. Bored. Luckily, despite snowmageddon rounds one and two, we never lost power or cable service or WiFi. My high honors high school student — who has been exposed to fine art and world-class culture since, well, birth — did what any red-blooded American teen would do.
She binged on Netflix.
Did she watch documentaries? The Colin Firth Pride & Prejudice? Downton Abbey? The BBC's Little Dorrit? Of course not. She watched back-to-back (to-back-to-back) episodes of Gossip Girl.
Here's where I came in. I was getting some cabin fever of my own. Although most of my clients were working through the blizzards, it was fairly quiet. The Y was closed and the lack of sidewalks and 8-foot snow piles at every intersection kept me from my usual walks. So, I decided to settle in and watch with her.
"Hey, Upper Eastsiders," saluted the anonymous and oh-so-snarky eponymous narrator at the beginning of the show. She then proceeded to air all the dirty laundry of Serena van der Woodsen, Blair Waldorf and assorted other prep school pretties with preposterous names. Apparently Manhattan's elite high schoolers party very hard, wear multiple designer outfits each day and live in absolutely palatial apartments on Park Avenue. (Except for one artsy family that lives in a funky, though equally palatial, loft in Brooklyn.) There are affairs and intrigues and eating disorders. The mothers (all of whom look considerably younger than I do) veer toward the frowsy and slightly inebriated. Then again, they aren't the main event. Their kids are. They own Manhattan.
Just like we did back in 1979, right?
Um ... not!
I went to high school on Park Avenue myself, but my experience couldn't have been farther from that of Serena and Blair. We were a school full of brainy kids, and accordingly most of us were, shall we say, fashion-challenged. No designer outfits (except, naturally, my Calvin Klein jeans). No outrageous parties. No last minute trips to Rio with a new boyfriend. We did homework, and went to the library and violin lessons and play rehearsals, and babysat on the weekends so we'd have pocket money.
It makes me wonder if today's teen audience thinks that there are really people living the Gossip Girl life. Not many, I'd tell them. Not many, if any.
Then again, people still ask me if living in NYC is like Seinfeld or, worse, The Real Housewives. No. It's not. And growing up there wasn't like The Carrie Diaries either.
Maybe someday I'll write a TV series about what it was really like.
Then again, I don't think it would do very well on Netflix.
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A few years ago, my then tween daughter begged to watch Sex and the City with me. At first, like any conscientious mother, I resisted. I mean sex and cosmopolitans and sex and Manolas and sex. (Did I mention sex?) Oh my!
Soon, she grew up a little (and wore me down a little), so I let her watch the basic cable version of the show, which was by then in syndication on E! and Style Network. This was the kinder, gentler Sex and the City. No nudity, less profanity, more euphemisms, more commercial breaks.
We had to laugh at some of the rules for bleeping out foul language. For example, they could say "ass" but not "hole," so if Carrie or one of her BFFs was putting down a particularly jerky guy, they would call him an "ass-BLEEP!" Shouldn't it have been the other way around?
If the adult content was a bit much for my daughter at times, I was right there beside her. Explaining, demystifying, assuring her that some of it was a little far-fetched. Let's not kid ourselves, though. Teens today know more (way more!) than we did about ... well, about pretty much everything. I'd rather have my daughter learn about the details of sex through an entertaining show than through some shaky handheld video on YouTube. I know a lot of moms wouldn't agree — and that is absolutely their prerogative — but this is how I saw it.
At one point, my daughter asked me, "Mom, which are you? Carrie, Samantha, Miranda or Charlotte?" I didn't know what to say. She had already decided for me, apparently, and informed me that I was half-Carrie because I'm a writer and half-Miranda because I'm a workaholic. So, I was spared the slut and the romantic. Okay, I guess I can live with that.
At any rate, we were both fans, and it gave us something to do together. I also hoped it might make my daughter appreciate my hometown a bit more. Sex and the City is as much about the city as the sex.
And so is the new prequel series, The Carrie Diaries.
Set in the mid-80s, the new show follows the adventures of a starry-eyed young Carrie Bradshaw, a small-town high school student who is just beginning her love affair with the big apple. Recovering from her mother's death, Carrie takes an internship at a law firm in Manhattan. She immediately (as in on her very first lunch break) meets some fabulous urban types — editors, artists, fashion designers — and the rest is, as they say, history.
It took a little while to accept that this was the same Carrie even in the hands of a young pro. AnnaSophia Robb is no newcomer, having acted half her life. In fact, a younger daughter and I knew her well as the very first American Girl in the very first American Girl movie. (How I miss those days sometimes!) More starring roles followed, including Bridge to Terabithia, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Because of Winn Dixie. She's very good as Carrie, it's just that it's hard to think of anyone other than Sarah Jessica Parker.
Then there's the issue of the backstory. We have seen all six seasons of Sex and the City (many times, too many times — just ask my husband), and I don't remember ever hearing that Carrie's mother was dead. Or that she had a sister. Or a father. Or any old friends either. Hmmmmm ...
Then again, part of the magic of New York is that it is a place where people reinvent themselves. So can we really blame Ms. Bradshaw for leaving the past behind?
The 80s references in the new show are fun, as is the fashion. (I keep telling my daughter "Yes, we really dressed like that!") The teen angst is familiar from countless other shows my daughter's already addicted to. I let her watch them on her own; I just can't quite get my arms around The Lying Game.
But, I think I'll stick with The Carrie Diaries. For a while anyway. Being "on the groundfloor" of a new show? Nice.
Having a reason to share something with my daughter for an hour every week? Priceless.
