Armed with an old friend’s cable account login information, I was finally able to crack into Showtime and check out a show I had heard whispers about—Yellowjackets, created by Ashley Lyle and Bart Nickerson.
That was 10 hours ago. I just binged the whole thing.
And I have a few comments and questions, the first of which is “where has a show like this been all of my life?” I am f@cking in love. Not just in love, but energized. I feel actually, f@cking energized. And seen. I feel oh so seen.
Why? Because these females are angry. Like, really angry. Not “You can call me Karen” or “I want to speak with the manager” kind of angry, but earth-shaking, sky-ripping, animal-howling angry. And these are just the high school girls who got stranded in the wilderness back in 1996. They may not seem mad at first, but if you stare long enough, you can visualize the rage boiling just beneath the surface.
When we see them all grown-up in present day reality, they are in their early 40s and living fully on the grid. One is a nurse, one is a middle-class homemaker, and one is running for public office. Yeah, one just got out of rehab, but she looks f@cking great, and no one has to boil their drinking water or make their own maxi pads anymore.
But are they really better off?
That is the question I plan to wrestle with as the series goes on, hopefully for the full five seasons that have already been teased. I, too, am angry. I am angry that we are alive during a plague; I’m angry that the powers-that-be have been putting profits over people while convincing millions that that’s OK. I’m angry that kids have been put in cages, that people Uber to the hospital because they know they can’t afford the ambulance let alone the emergency visit, and that voting rights have pretty much shit the bed.
Inspired by the stunning plot lines, characters and audio-visual palate of Yellowjackets, in the meantime, I propose the following:
- Revise that playlist. Delete your kids’ crap and put Lauryn Hill, Fiona Apple, Tracy Bonham, and Shirley Manson back in.
- Take that Reality Bites poster down from the attic and put it over the fireplace. You really shouldn’t be buying that Bed, Bath & Beyond “art” anyway. (NB: Support real artists and buy direct from them).
- Refill those Caboodles (because you know you still have yours stashed somewhere). Fill them with jars of Manic Panic and flasks of your favorite liquor. No miniature wine bottles, though. This is not for the Basics among us.
At this point in the series—the end of season one—we are probably about 95% sure that the girls ate each other back when they were stranded in the Canadian Rockies. Maybe they did it to stay alive, but maybe they did it because they wanted to.
And if these erstwhile gals-next-door are willing to do that to each other, imagine what they are willing to do to you.
p.s. Sorry about the wine comment. Sort of.
