Better Things and Pamela Adlon are two of the most subtle, intelligent and delicate wonders that have happened to TV in recent times. That's why I'm so angry to perceive that, in this third season, recently released on HBO, has lost that mixture of mordacity and uninhibited and militant ingenuity that has seduced me so much. Maybe the little projects have a little development and, like the chewing gum, lose their flavor right away: you can not stretch what was born as a tiny story to soap opera. Maybe the series has not survived the fall in the hells of its co-producer, Louie C. K., great friend of Pamela Adlon.
In principle, you should not notice his departure, but I can only attribute to his absence that what once sounded new now remember too much scenes already seen. Better Things It was wonderful because it looked at everyday life without shying away from any dilemma or discomfort, and from the least foreseeable angle. This season, however, accumulates common places without rest: on the menopause, on the empty nest, on old age. The same themes that I tried before, but without grace and I would almost say without courage, as if the writers were the very character of Pamela Adlon and were very tired of filling pages.
If you have not seen it, run to see the first two seasons. Adlon makes himself loved in them as much as he makes himself hate and presents us with something unusual on TV – and almost also in the cinema – a world without heroes where very often you would strangle the people you love, and you feel like a monster for wanting to strangle them. Those who live forcing appearances, trying to be the best parents, the best professionals and the best of their group of friends, would deserve Pamela Adlon to release four fresh ones.