| Everything we can't stop loving, hating, and thinking about this week in pop culture.
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Everything we can't stop loving, hating, and thinking about this week in pop culture.
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Pamela Anderson's Redemption Has Arrived
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There were certain things we always watched as a family when I was growing up: VHS tapes of Rodgers & Hammerstein musicals, on a constant loop; new episodes of 7th Heaven every Monday night; and Baywatch. Looking back, it is inexplicable that this fell into the tightly defined category of wholesome, family-friendly viewing that dictated my pop-culture diet when I was a kid. But at the time, I was riveted. The whole family was. Maybe it shouldn't be a surprise that we were such Baywatch enthusiasts. It was, after all, the most popular TV show in the world. And, despite frequent suspicions that various members of us clearly hailed from another planet, what were we Fallons, if not a part of the world?
People snickered at the show, with its slow-motion shots of the centerfold-ready cast running down a beach in bathing suits. But its massive success correlated with an unprecedented global horniness. Even Baywatch star Pamela Anderson herself has joked that "you could watch that show with the sound off, actually." Far be it from me to contradict the Baywatch Queen, especially at such a beautiful, long-overdue moment of respect for her and her career, but—I swear—we really did watch it for the plot.
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You know that show 9-1-1 on Fox that everyone supposedly loves, with its outrageous, bordering on preposterous calamity of the week? Baywatch did it first, with prettier people. I was riveted by every bizarre wharf explosion and boat kidnapping that, nonsensically, these beach lifeguards were tasked with, like they were some red swimsuit-wearing PAW Patrol of the Santa Monica State Beach. I was obsessed with the characters the way that people are with soap opera stars—like Caroline (Yasmine Bleeth), Cody (David Chokachi), Stephanie (Alexandra Paul)—but it was C.J. Parker, played by Anderson, who always had my eye. Not for that reason; I think I was slightly too young for that to be the source of fascination. Later on in life, I would come to understand why, even if I had been old enough, she wouldn't have been who I was ogling anyway. (Hello, David Chavert.) But Anderson set off some sort of spark that crackled through the screen into my consciousness, where it would flicker for decades to come. Friends, I even watched the 2005 sitcom Stacked. There's exhausting talk amongst people in a certain age range about what qualifies as millennial vs. Gen X and, in some cases, Gen Z: what years; what kind of upbringing; what pop-culture memories. But there's a realization I had this week, while reading through the gossip around Anderson's just-released memoir, Love, Pamela; taking in her major interviews in support of it; and, now, having just watched the new Netflix documentary Pamela: A Love Story. We're all the Pam Anderson Generation. And it's time for our reckoning. Anderson is a celebrity that we have been preoccupied with for decades and, for reasons both earnest and unsavory, have granted permanent residence for in the zeitgeist. Even when there wasn't anything particularly huge happening in her career, there she was still, as if her place in the public's consciousness was less a home than it was a fortified war bunker she'd been forced into. This week's slew of Anderson-centric projects are forcing us to recognize that she hadn't been given a say in that matter. Even when she was speaking, we weren't hearing what she had to say.
Pamela: A Love Story is eye-opening and perspective-changing.
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Yes, we remember all of it: the Playboy centerfold, the Baywatch breakout, the whirlwind marriage to Tommy Lee, the sex tape, the Scary Movie franchise appearance, the random gigs throughout the years, the multiple husbands and divorces, the PETA activism, the Julian Assange friendship. And most recently, we remember the release of the Hulu series Pam and Tommy, which dramatized the most tumultuous. invasive part of her life without her consent. We even, if shamefully, remember the more unscrupulous milestones: the way Anderson couldn't give an interview without her breasts being mentioned, how she was misogynistically vilified after the sex tape was stolen and released, and how she soldiered on, willing to take part in playing the caricature of "Pam Anderson" if it meant continued work and survival. Now is, really, the first time Anderson has been given the opportunity to explain how she feels—and felt—about all of those things. Or, to clarify, it's the first platform she's been given to do so, at a time when we are ready and willing to listen. Because of the nature of everything that's tied to Anderson's fame, one—as in me—might press play on this tell-all documentary expecting something juicy, salacious, and fiery—as was her life as we thought we knew it. What a refreshing surprise it was to encounter Anderson in a space that was so warm, funny, and even goofy. Her humor and insights are equally sharp. Most impressive, though, is her clarity. As she gave the filmmaker Ryan White access to her personal diaries and, on camera, watched the hours and hours of home-video footage she kept over the decades, it was, quite often, moving.
There are certainly insightful observations about the invasion of privacy she suffered when the sex tape was released and the cruel humiliation she endured. And Anderson exhibits nothing but candor throughout, especially when discussing her "sick" feeling when Pam and Tommy was released and the past she'd worked so hard to move on from was in the news again. But, overwhelmingly, she talks through her feelings about love, trust, taking risks, and figuring out who she really is, after years of being told to be a certain way.
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I started transcribing quotes, assuming I'd find explosive fodder for a grabby headline about Anderson clapping back at her abusers. Instead, by the end of the documentary, I had a Google Doc assembled that might as well be retitled "Therapy Session via Pam." I don't think we necessarily "owe it" to Anderson to watch this documentary and hear her thoughts on everything she's experienced in the public eye. If anything, Pamela: A Love Story proves her admirable capability of moving onto next chapters of her life no matter what the public cares or says. But maybe we owe it to ourselves, a generation continuing to learn and grow from our past, well, awfulness.
As a brilliant piece of music writing once passionately put to song: "Some people stand in the darkness / afraid to step into the light…" Well, after this week, "I'll be ready."
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Trend forecasters and economic analysts are once again predicting a massive migration of adults in their twenties, thirties, and perhaps even forties—all going back home to live with their parents. The reasoning this time, as far as I can tell, is not because of a recession, debt, or job opportunities. It is to continue using their parents' Netflix account. |
The juggernaut streamer, my best friend and greatest nemesis, is unveiling a plan that would crack down on the number of subscribers who share their passwords with others. Like the gross inaccuracies of the "good by" date on containers of lettuce and the countdown clock for the next train on the subway platform, this is yet another egregious blow to my trust issues. This isn't some naive delusion that we all have the right to freeload; it is a legitimate act of betrayal. For years, Netflix advertised and encouraged password sharing, embracing it as part of its growth strategy. Now, it's taking away the love it gave. The new rules will require subscribers to choose a "primary location," and anyone who uses that password will have to log into the Wi-Fi at that location once a month. (This all started when these new terms were first uploaded to a FAQ page in a handful of foreign countries, but given Netflix had already announced that it would begin charging for password sharing this year, U.S. customers saw the writing on the wall—and hysteria ensued.) Are college students going to start figuring the cost of monthly travel home into their student loan applications? Is my frequent flyer status about to become platinum-elite-diamond? Are all of my family members, our exes, and assorted randos (someone started a profile called "C" in our family Netflix account years ago, and no one can figure out who it is: A24's next horror film) going to all now live together in one, password-sharing commune? I'm only half-kidding that people would sooner do these things than pay for their own Netflix accounts. There are other annoyances, like what to do if you travel a lot and can't sign into your own "primary location." Actor Justice Smith lamented that he has appeared on Netflix shows for which the shoots were so long that he would presumably be locked out of his own Netflix account during filming. There are, of course, loopholes for this in Netflix's plan, but it doesn't mean that they're not annoyances just the same. And guess what we already have enough of in the world: Annoyances! Let me watch New Girl episodes while I fall asleep using my dad's Netflix account in peace! |
This is going to be a seismic test not just for Netflix, but the whole industry. Netflix is HUGE. Whenever I recommend a TV show or movie, the immediate response I get is, "When will it be on Netflix?" If the service decides to spotlight a title in its algorithm, subscribers will watch no matter how good or bad it is, like streamer lemmings. (Hence You People and Ginny & Georgia being the top movie and series right now.) Even Blonde is now an Oscar-nominated film. But is that enough of a lifestyle habit to convince people who had been sharing passwords to suddenly factor their own personal subscription into their budgets? Is seeing the next season of Stranger Things that important? (That said, Girls5eva is supposedly coming to Netflix this month. Everyone subscribe immediately. It's worth it.) |
The Legacy Is in Question! |
It's a juicy report, and who knows how much of it is actually true, as it's all anonymously sourced. But my favorite part is, after detailing which cast members were demanding more money and which were happy to sign on the dotted line, there was this gem of a detail about my queen, the Lady Morgan: "Sources say Morgan was barely paying attention to the whole affair." In any case, since then, Andy Cohen has cryptically posted on social media that you should not to believe everything you read, three of the women staged an epic PR stunt by having lunch together, and I would be shocked if we don't see some version of this show, in one form or another. |
$50 Million Is Not Enough |
Once in a while, when I'm scrolling through my cursed social media timelines, I come across a news headline that makes me pause, lightly clap my hands together, and whisper, "Yayyyy." That happened this week, when I saw that Julia Roberts and Jennifer Aniston will be starring together in a new comedy for Amazon. There are few details beyond that, other than it will be written and directed by Palm Springs' Max Barbakow and will be a "body swap comedy." Finally, decades of Julia Roberts honing her Rachel from Friends impersonation pays off. Puck's Matthew Belloni reported in his newsletter this week that Roberts and Aniston will earn $25 million each for the project, plus extra producing fees, for the project. That seems like an exorbitant amount of money, but counterpoint: It's not enough. Open up Fort Knox. Give it all to them. It's what they deserve. |
I'm Not Emotionally Ready |
On Monday, the full hour of The Kelly Clarkson Show will be devoted to Pink performing songs and sharing stories with Clarkson, who will also jump in for some duets. They've already released one clip of them singing "What About Us?" that is absolutely masterful. (Watch it here.) |
Honestly, what are our priorities as a nation? Replace the Super Bowl with this. |
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80 for Brady: The cinematic event we've all been waiting for is finally here. (Now in theaters) Knock at the Cabin: The new horror film stars Jonathan Groff and Ben Alridge as a couple, raising the question of how scared and horny I can be at the same time. (Now in theaters) You: Get your hot psychopath fix in, while you still have a password you can use. (Thurs. on Netflix)
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