In 1998, almost a quarter of a century ago, a show called Sex and the City hit TV screens in the US. An adaptation of Candace Bushnell’s novel of the same name, it was groundbreaking in the way women and their friendships were portrayed in popular culture.
The four female protagonists were not what society considers young—they were in their thirties and forties—had fulfilling careers and were not terribly keen on getting married. They were also dressed in the trendiest outfits for women viewers to aspire to and sigh over, but that was just an added attraction for a series that brought up issues that affect women—health, baby blues, fertility troubles, job glitches, ageing—not just love, sex and men.
There were dozens of me-too shows all over the world, aping the friendship-and-fashion formula. Not many got the mix right. The friendship part maybe, but the women characters were often off-putting. On The Verge (Netflix), created by a woman, Julie Delpy, about four middle-aged female friends, was supposed to be warm and witty, but it made one wonder if this is the way people view older women—shrill, hysterical, clueless, desperate?
Women of a certain age
Nobody can argue the point, that in a youth-obsessed culture, women over forty find themselves suddenly invisible, unemployable, and possibly de-sexed. That is the age when all but the strongest marriages break up (men over forty are considered ‘distinguished’ and still attractive to other women), kids are grown up and leading lives of their own, parents are old and need attention, and careers if not at a peak and in danger of burnout, are sliding down under the onslaught of a younger workforce.
Look at the women in On The Verge (of what?) set in Los Angeles—Justine (Delpy herself) is a chef in a popular restaurant, trying to write a ‘wise’ book about life and cooking. Her husband Martin is a French architect who cannot find work in the US, which leads him to be either whiny or mean to his wife. She has a precocious piano-playing son she dotes on and an incontinent cat Martin hates. Her life is stable, if a bit boring, and she is willing to change that in an instant when she runs into a handsome Argentinian chef, who talks in Mills & Boon clichés about magic in a marriage.
Yasmin (Sarah Jones) is a black, Muslim academic, who is turned down for jobs because she is ‘overqualified’ – read overage. She is prone to panic attacks (the menopause word is not heard), married to a white man and has a son she almost smothers with motherly adoration.
Anne (Elizabeth Shue) is a trust-fund overgrown ‘kid’ at 55, whose lifestyle and fashion designing business is financed by her controlling mother. She and her decade-younger husband are stoned all the time; their son is left to a cranky German au pair, who would have been sacked immediately by any sober woman.
The last of the foursome, Ell (Alexia Landeau) is the most deplorable of the lot. She is broke, has three racially diverse kids by three men, cannot hold down a job and cannot manage even the simplest tasks given to her by supportive friends, claiming she suffers from ADD (attention deficit disorder). Living in LA, she tries to push her kids into showbiz (“pimping your kids” as one of her friends comments) and when all else fails, records her own antics and those of her hybrid family for a YouTube channel.
Fast friends
The women are loyal to each other, dropping everything to immediately materialise by the side of the one who may be having a crisis. There is no guarantee that age bestows wisdom or a sense of responsibility—Justine’s male partner, Jerry, flits from one casual relationship to the next, under the excuse of sex addiction—but not one of the four women seems to have much sense or even a shred of dignity.
So many male writers and filmmakers easily diminish older women if they see them at all (Meryl Streep is a glorious exception), but it feels like a punch in the gut when women do it. Julie Delpy co-wrote and starred in Richard Linklater’s cult movies Before Sunset and Before Midnight and has directed some fine movies in the past.
If the series were about the problems and insecurities of growing older, On The Verge would have been somewhat meaningful. But it just portrays women in their forties and fifties as juvenile, aiming perhaps at cute, landing at demented. Which woman in her late forties, for instance, would come unhinged by a common cold and behave as if she never had one before! By the third episode, the shenanigans of these women get tiresome.
Money matters
Then, coming from Nigeria is a romcom series (Netflix), titled The Smart Money Woman, based on the novel by Arese Ugwu, who also created the show. The foundation of the show is that women—and men—should plan their financial future well.
There are five women in their late twenties, best of friends and a failsafe support system in the capital city of Lagos, when families have been left behind in their hometowns. Zuri (Osas Ighodaro Ajibade) finds herself in a mess, when her rich boyfriend dumps her and she is put on probation at her workplace for shoddy work. Zuri, who has been used to designer outfits and a luxurious lifestyle, now finds herself insolvent, unable to pay the service charge for her apartment or repairs for her Merc.
Tami (Ini Dima Okojie) has rich parents whom she can turn to when her boutique needs money, but she wants to stand on her own feet provided she can find an investor. Adesuwas (Kemi Lala Akindoju) is a high-flying lawyer, whose husband insists on a joint account and blows up her money on dubious ‘deals’ and a girlfriend. The woman who is respected at her office, is constantly demeaned at home by her husband and mother-in-law. Ladun (Ebenezer Eno) is married to a rich man, and wants for nothing, but her smugness is about to be wiped out. Lara (Toni Tones) is the sensible one, but even she is exploited by her sponging relatives.
Always there
The friends always have each other’s backs and no matter how busy they are, they are just a phone call away when help or a sympathetic ear is needed. They are all dressed in fancy togs and live well, but the series is a cautionary tale about what could happen if women are too trusting, too generous, too extravagant or just plain clueless.
There is an episode about a family patriarch dying suddenly, and the family is shocked to find out that not only did he not leave a will, he was bankrupt. Zuri’s mother’s house catches fire, and she had neglected to insure it. One of the quintet’s friends actually goes into debt to throw a party for her one-year-old son, because if they didn’t splurge, what would their social circle think? Women there, like those anywhere in the world, go through the same hassles if they are single and face a different set of challenges when they get married.
This Lagos-based Sex And The City may sound like a lecture, but the plot has enough light scenes and romance to temper the very sensible suggestions for cutting down expenses. Zuri, for instance, sells all her designer stuff, gives up costly salon treatments for home facials and they all go jogging instead of paying through their noses for a gym. Spend on essentials not on fripperies, is the sage advice; do not give in to emotional blackmail, and, of course, never, never have a joint bank account which does not require signatures of both partners to operate!
The writer is a Mumbai-based columnist, critic and author
