100 Favorite Shows: #86 — Normal People
“I don’t know why I can’t make people love me.”
By the very nature of being a television show about two specific characters falling in and out of love with one another in County Sligo and Dublin, Ireland, they are not normal people because there’s no one identical to them. And yet, Normal People does strive to depict a romantic dynamic that’s more common than we might think. The twelve-episode miniseries debuted on BBC Three in the United Kingdom and on Hulu in the United States back in April; it was far and away one of the best new shows of 2020 and one of the best miniseries ever put to screen. Normal People tells the story of Marianne Sheridan (Daisy Edgar-Jones) and Connell Waldron (Paul Mescal), two unlikely lovers who spend their youths in the orbits of one another. It’s based on a book by Irish author Sally Rooney and it was developed for television by Rooney herself, in addition to some assists from directors Hettie Macdonald and Lenny Abrahamson. Deserving more attention (Emmy nominations are not enough!), Normal People is another solid entry in the genre of Irish dramatic romance.
(Tragically, this essay does contain spoilers for Normal People, so if you were hoping to avoid them, you best be turnin’ ‘round.)
From the very beginning of Normal People (which situates itself in either an Irish boarding school or an Irish public school that just happens to resemble an American boarding school), it’s clear that it’s based on a book. Poetry and prose in the history of Irish literature is long-rooted in trauma and interiority. From Seamus Heaney to James Joyce to Eavan Boland, the story of Irish written works is a story of tragedy and Normal People palpably matches this same atmosphere and aesthetic from its first frames. Characters rarely smile, the skies rarely shine. Rooney’s book and Macdonald’s and Abrahamson’s subsequent direction are perfectly dug within the same lineage as those stories that came before it. Even if the journey of Hulu’s miniseries wouldn’t necessarily be rip-roaring, these early elements at least promised indistinguishable merit from most other shows that debuted in the first half of 2020.
In the case of Normal People, the Irish tragedy at the center mostly involves the tragedy of soulmates who are at their truest and most affecting for one another when they are alone together (a Heaney oxymoron if there ever was one). However, they allow distance to tear them apart when time had never managed to invoke discord before. Throughout the years on Normal People, Marianne and Connell find their way back to each other time and again. This comes in spite of Marianne’s shame at partaking in a relationship she knows is partially disrespectful and Connell’s shallowness at disposing Marianne for clout when he’d previously used her for intimacy. When the series arrives at a conclusion that features two characters who’ve developed to become mature enough to love one another in the manners they deserve, though, opportunity awaits elsewhere. And love slips through the fingers of both.
Normal People wisely trots out a number of classic romantic tricks to get us to buy into the Marianne and Connell relationship. Aside from their chemistry and series of “firsts” they share with one another, “Episode 8” also sees the two in Italy together, while Marianne visits family and Connell backpacks across the continent. The image of the two of them riding bicycles across vistas and countrysides to the tune of Dandelion’s “Jealous of the Birds” is something that could have been directly plucked from Master of None or one of the movies in the Before trilogy. It’s idyllic, romantic iconography that makes easily lovestruck people like me swoon.
The scene is so obviously beautiful, but it also marks a slight departure from the direction and framing that mostly defined Normal People’s visual language up until this point. When Marianne and Connell are around other people, the direction narrows and focuses solely on the people acting in the scenes. However, when they are apart, wider angles take the place throughout Macdonald’s and Abrahamson’s direction. When they’re alone, their surroundings matter, but when they’re not, they’re crowded by public opinion.
It is heartening to see their vulnerability result in them opening up to one another (for the eighth time we’ve seen, by this point), but also in opening up the world. There is so much to take in and so much to sanguinely give oneself over to and without the vulnerability they share, they might never realize this. Even still, when Connell remarks that his email correspondence contains better stories than anything he could personally verbalize to Marianne, it’s clear that there’s some arrested barricade they’re unable to breach. Both Connell and Marianne are too conscious of themselves and of the world to fully give themselves over to one another.
Yet, they still come the closest to doing so when they are with each other. A few episodes later, in “Episode 11,” the two share rocket popsicles together in Connell’s humid, stale bedroom. There, Connell admits that his university girlfriend, Helen (Aoife Hinds), never allowed him to feel like himself the way he did when he was around Marianne. Similarly, Marianne believes her openness of sexual expression is feebly harnessed when she’s with people who are not Connell.
“I don’t find it obvious what you want,” she remarks to Connell when he hedges over whether or not he wants her to stay for the rest of the afternoon. At the core of Normal People’s conflict that eventually renders them both asunder, it’s this sense of poor communication. If Connell could express himself fully to Marianne, he’d learn that’s exactly what she’s wanted. If Marianne could advocate for herself more, she’d find new avenues of comfort with Connell. But because the pair are so accustomed to the suppressing of their feelings, they shy away from fully committing or clearly communicating. Eventually, it’s the knell of their relationship.
It makes sense, though. The best Connell and Marianne manage to communicate is when they are engaged sexually with one another, becoming both intimate and vulnerable, in spite of their perpetual repressing of feeling. For the most part, Mescal and Edgar-Jones deliver performances of inference, but when they have sex with one another, no emotions are withheld from their partners. Normal People is a long way from the separate beds of The Dick Van Dyke Show on television, but the depiction of sex is handled sincerely. There are occasional fumbles, as with any sexual relationship, but through the employment of an “intimacy coordinator” on set, tact was paramount on Normal People and the sexual frames reflected that.
Through physical communication, Marianne and Connell manage to vividly express themselves in ways they’d never before imagined themselves being comfortable with. Looking back to “Episode 8,” an installment which ends with Connell and Marianne staring at European artwork in a gallery, the silence always managed to say so much on Normal People. That is, earlier in the episode, Connell told Marianne he felt guilty about using his education to travel around Europe and gaze at art. In that moment, he confesses that he envies Marianne’s inability to feel guilt, which she immediately shrugs off, but refuses to elaborate upon. Instead, they resign themselves to silence and seemingly channel Cameron from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, looking closer into the stitches of the canvas and wondering if it contains any more depth than they do.
By its nature, though, Normal People obviously delves deeper into its characters than Ferris Bueller (a perfect movie, if I might add). Before they attend the gallery showing together, Connell and Marianne hold each other in bed (“Jesus Christ, come here,” Connell says before holding her after listening to her deep-seeded concerns about herself with a sensitivity and sincerity that never felt cloying (shouts to Mescal)) when she feels that she is too damaged to be loved. Connell, however, is uninterested in unpacking her supposed “damage” and thinks she’s deserving of love more than she is of being relitigated or evaluated for worth.
One of Marianne’s friends she stays with in Italy, Jamie (Fionn O’Shea), is part of the chemical formula that drives her to the interior conclusion that she is “damaged.” He perpetuates the abusive home life Marianne is exposed to her with her family and becomes an aggressive manipulator (“You are fucking mental!” he shouts, even when she said nothing to instigate such a response (and even if she did provoke him, it would still be an unwarranted reaction)) and asshole who Marianne feels she “should” accept, simply because he allegedly adores her.
The illusion that the treatment she receives throughout the series is somehow her fault carries over into Marianne’s relationship with the people in her life she treasures most, like Connell. When they watch soccer together in “Episode 11,” before he runs out for rocket pops, Connell asks her if she’d like to be taken home when the game reaches halftime. In the moment, he’s looking after her and attempting to ensure that she doesn’t feel obligated to watch sports with him. Instead, she interprets the question as a dismissal and asks questions like, “Am I in your way?” or “Did I annoy you?” It’s a self-loathing she internalizes and, even when Connell attempts to assuage her worries, she’s not fully convinced she’s wanted anywhere.
That’s part of what makes the concluding moments of “Episode 11” so impactful when Connell promises that he will never let anyone hurt her again, as her brother, Alan (Frank Blake), did when he broke her nose that night after the soccer game. He applies the opposite threat to Alan, directly stating that if he ever abuses Marianne again, he’s dead man. It’s a chilling depiction of abuse that is treated like a commonplace activity in the Sheridan household, but I couldn’t help but feel similarly comforted by Connell’s assurance that this was the worst it would get, even if the worst was still despicable.
While Marianne is tormented by her brother, though, her mother (Aislín McGuckin) simply listens in from a different room, having endured the same cycle from Marianne’s father in years past. (The role of active influence that parents take in Normal People is a key motif, as Marianne has virtually no relationship with her parents, whereas Connell’s mother (Sarah Greene) directly chastises him for treating Marianne with any level of disrespect because that’s not what she deserves.) Maybe Connell’s actions won’t be enough to break the cycle of a demented familial relationship among the Sheridans, but at the very least, Marianne’s recognition that there are paths to safety, security, and betterment is a crucial step in her own journey of self-worth.
“Episode 11” is largely a harrowing, frightening one with no room for laughter or levity. It’s painfully real, but it also contains a reminder of why we love Connell and Marianne. When she genuinely fears that Alan is still prone to the worst when engaging with her, Connell is the one she falls back on. She calls him, admits she needs his help, and he doesn’t hesitate. Instead, Connell leaves his apartment door swinging open and slides into his car in a matter of seconds, smashing the radio off and focusing solely on Marianne.
Similarly, though, when Connell endures a bout of depression spurred by the suicide of one of his friends, Rob (Eanna Hardwicke), it’s Marianne on whom he relies. They confide in each other, they grow closer to becoming the people they’re meant to be with each other, and they protect and support one another. They’re best friends in the truest sense of the term. That is, they’re not just people who hang out a lot and watch the same movies; they’re people who have stretched their souls to one another and who have latched onto the humanity within each other to forge a genuinely special relationship and bond. It’s the kind of relationship that reminds one of all the good that life has to offer.
If Normal People sounds like a tough hang, don’t be dismayed. There is so much that is rewarding throughout the series, even as it handles hard-to-watch topics and a classic Irish tragi-romance. Even if just to bear witness to two imperfect, but striving souls connecting with one another against an unforgiving landscape, Normal People is worth it. When the two stand on the beach with one another, it’s hardly a tropical, relaxing getaway. The wind is harsh, the clouds are dark gray and foreboding, and the pair are clad in jumpers, rather than swimsuits. Yet, there’s still a moment for them to play while they chase each through the waves and laugh together. Connell and Marianne’s transcends the chilling beaches of Ireland because they’re special and they’re more special together. Their relationship on Normal People was never monumental and it would never elicit a continental shift. High tide was enough for both of them.
