Television series are like visual Cliff Notes when it comes to romance. In the span of a half hour or an hour, each episode must hit emotional high notes that romance novel builds up to in 300+ pages. Naturally, since TV is a visual medium, clothes are the easiest ways to hit these notes. Sometimes the cues are subtle: In the series, Justified, for example, Marshall Raylan Givens, wears an off-white Stetson—the first sign that this good guy might not be quite so good. He also wears the dark colors that are the uniform of the bad boy, usually an elegantly tailored sport coat, paired with jeans. This combination signals to the viewer that while Raylan has gained a veneer of sophistication during his time away from his hardscrabble Kentucky home, at heart, he’s still a rough and tumble cowboy.
Some visual cues are even more obvious. Dyson in Lost Girl favors black shirts and a dark blue and black vest with his jeans. (That is, when he’s not half, or completely, naked.) Occasionally, he tosses on a leather jacket. No doubt about it, black makes a bad boy even badder and when it’s black leather…rowwrrr. (If you doubt me, Google Richard Armitage and Guy of Gisborne. Or Richard Armitage and black leather. In fact, there are entire websites devoted to evolution of the 6’2 blue-eyed, black-haired actor’s leather costume in the BBC’s Robin Hood series.)
Okay, I’m as big a Downton Abbey fan as any of the rest of you. But when I saw the trailer with Matthew Crawley preparing to go over the wall, I immediately thought:
I’m old enough to remember when Pop Warner cheerleading was the only sport girls could play, when female doctors and lawyers were rare as hen’s teeth, and “you’ve come a long way baby” was an ad campaign designed to get women to smoke more cigarettes.
I confess, despite its popularity, I’ve never seen the American version of The Office. The reason is this—I’m a huge Ricky Gervais fan. What I appreciate about his comedy is that he’s not afraid of being disliked; indeed, he revels in making his viewers uncomfortable. And within this discomfort is his edgy genius. I could be wrong, but I have a hard time believing that the Steve Carell, who always seems to emanate a certain ineffable sweetness, could ever match Gervais’s appallingly insensitive David Brent or would even try.
Though I’m not a gambler, I’d be willing to bet that “Cinderella” is the fairy tale most commonly retold in modern-day romances. What’s more appealing than the mistreated scullery maid who, with the wave of a wand, is provided a complete makeover, including fabulous shoes, and entrée to a ball, where a handsome prince instantly falls in love with her?
Over the last few months, I’ve been obsessed with Bernard Cornwell’s Sharpe series. I’ll confess, it was initially Sean Bean who brought me to the series. After Game of Thrones ended on HBO, I wanted more sexy, craggy-faced, Yorkshire-accented thrills. A Bean-related searched on Netflix introduced me to his role as Richard Sharpe in the British television series.
I was talking to an old friend about books, and she asked, do you think your favorites from childhood would still hold up if you reread them? I thought about one of my favorite books of all time, and suddenly I was dying to know.
“You had me at 'Hello.' ”
At any given moment in time, there's something I can't find—my keys, my reading glasses, my cup of coffee, the portable phone. I'm constantly missing appointments. And if we've been introduced, there's a good chance I won't remember your name. If you've told me something about yourself, however, I will remember it. I never forget a story. Which is why I rarely, if ever, reread a book.
I have two sons, and while both are voracious readers, my younger son is severely dyslexic. Not surprisingly, when they were little, reading was a weapon in the arsenal the older one used to torture his younger brother. He’d loudly announce he’d just finished a great book, then proceed to describe the story with just enough detail to make it irresistibly appealing. When his younger brother took the bait and asked, “What happened next?,” he’d fold his arms, smile and say, “I can’t give away the ending, you’ll have to read the book.”
When the going gets rough, the tough turn to romance . . . at least, that’s what I do. Usually, it’s a romance novel, but since life’s been unusually tough lately, I've found myself scrolling through Netflix, jonesing for a hit of sweeping, swashbuckling, toss-me-over-your-shoulder-and-carry-me-away to-a-magical-world-of-happily-ever-after romance in film or television. Imagine my delight when I discovered, under New Direct-to-TV Releases, Season 1 of Poldark.
