Somewhat misappropriating the words of a much more important writer than I could ever aspire to be, I've increasingly come to swear over the course of these thirty-seven years by the maxim “Hell is other people.” Therefore, I found myself thoroughly and unexpectedly moved by Natasha Lyonne’s RUSSIAN DOLL, which is equal parts gorgeous, haunting, funny, and profound. The easily-binged series ultimately concludes as an invigorating argument for making connections with those we brush by while shuffling through daily, if not deathly, routines —and I cannot recommend it enough. As a steadfast cynic and inveterate grouch whose personal anthem is likely a toss between Simon & Garfunkel’s “I Am A Rock” and Cat Steven’s “Sad Lisa,” I intimately know of the temptation to reject meaningful interactions, to wear emotional armor in a bid for relative autonomy. My days are purposefully built of repeated steps, revisited goals, with the completion of such familiar tasks and walking routes the price for basic pleasures —be they food, art, television, what-have-you. Deciding to become a participating, cooperative member of society is a tenant of personal growth, of real maturity, and the first season of “Russian Doll” neatly builds an argument for turning down that road, flanked by the quirky guardian angels we otherwise so often might ignore. If there is ever was a theme song I’ve long wanted to depict on film it would be hands-down Harry Nilsson’s “Gotta Get Up,” and as bummed as I am that someone else beat me to it, I’m glad it was included in this dark and ominous parable.
“You promise me if I don’t jump, I’ll be happy?” - ALAN
“Absolutely not. But I can promise you that you won’t be alone.” - NADIA
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