Onscreen, a closeup, unflinching shot of twentysomethings become entwined after they have a fight. Then the scene fades into two fortysomethings lying in bed almost divided by an invisible line, them pretending to sleep but only desperately hoping for the morning.
With On Demand in hand, my sister and I watched nearly the entire first season of HBO’s new series Tell Me You Love Me.
Based on various reviews, it seems that it hasn’t created a following. It’s a series of honest conversations between couples. A realistic look at the problems. Even though there’s a lot of gratuitous sex (since it’s HBO, there’s no wandering shot into black), unlike most TV shows, it doesn’t use it to sensationalize. (Unlike that sensual scene in the last Matrix that kept going and going…that I started wondering why I paid full price to see it in theater…)
Three couples with separate issues see a therapist for their individual concerns. We watch the three couples (a twentysomething dealing with monogamy, a thirtysomething with infertility and a fortysomething with losing their identity as sexual beings) and the therapist’s significant other. Although everyone on the show is Caucasian and perhaps better-than-average attractive, it’s not to distract the viewer from the content of the show.
It’s nice to hear the halting speech, the attempts to clear the air during the argument. Or the intensity of someone’s anger and tragedy. A desire to communicate the need, but the inability to do so. In some way, it’s not entertainment, but it’s a I hope I won’t be them, but I’ll learn how not to be them.