Everything’s Amazing & Nobody’s Happy
Brief notes on episodes of the TV series Louie.
“Subway/Pamela”
Louie stands across from a violinist busking in Grand Central station. The young musician, clad in a well tailored suit, draws out of the thin underground air a forlorn tune (Csárdás by Vittorio Monti). His phrasing is exquisite, for the melody waxes and wanes but never truly severs. Louie looks on. A homeless man descends into view, draped in a cloud of plastic; upon reaching the platform, he peels away the cloud and begins to bathe himself with a water bottle, just as the music’s tempo changes to Allegro vivace. The violinist plays on without interruption, oblivious to the show(er) that he is now accompanying. Both performances end in an expulsive finale.
The juxtaposition of events is modern day tragicomedy — a display of cognitive dissonance so common to the cosmopolitan experience — but the true genius of the scene is in the way that it haunts Louie through to the end of the episode. This opening sequence is, in fact, a sardonic misrepresentation of what he aspires (but desperately fails) to accomplish with Pamela: to declare his love for her in a virtuosic manner, to take her up on a random offer to shower together. Whereas the timing, ease and lyricism of the scene could not possibly be better, Louie’s sense of timing, ease and lyricism could not possibly be worse.
“Daddy’s Girlfriend”
A cumbersome middle-aged man named Louie finds himself enamoured by an adorable bookseller, so he does everything in his power to try and ask her out. This woman (the incomparable Parker Posey) finds Louie’s awkwardness somewhat endearing, so she agrees to go on a date with him. Throughout their evening together, Liz lets Louie in on some moments of darkness in her life, both present and past, which catch Louie by surprise. She has flaws and is unashamed to bare them, and she expects the same of him, so she confronts him about it. But how does a stand-up comedian address his own life beyond the guise of ridicule? The night becomes a vessel for Louie to learn just that, though he's quick to resist involvement. Liz is the night, brimming with life and allure despite her melancholy. Her darkness is illuminating, compelling even, and it serves to light the way for Louie.
After climbing an endless staircase to the top of an unknown building, the pair arrive, with ragged breath, before a breathtaking view of the New York skyline. A rendition of Donald Byrd’s Cristo Redentor begins to play. They both approach the ledge looking down, and it sure is a long way down, but Liz stays there, sitting along the precipice, presiding over the city as does Cristo Redentor atop Corcovado. Louie tries to convince her, out of his own insecurity, to come away from the ledge. “But the only way I’d fall is if I jumped,” she says breathlessly. “But I don’t want to jump, so I’m not afraid. I would never do that… I’m having too good of a time.” The music reaches full bloom, Louie smiles as we have never seen him smile before. In this very moment, the mood is at once both golden and blue.
