Steve has been watching The Big C and telling me I’d probably like it. “No I won’t,” I reply. “I won’t like a show about Cancer.” I can think of a few other words (some expletives) that start with “C” that I would watch a show about, but Cancer is definitely not one of them. Too depressing. If I want to be depressed, I’ll just log into my online banking, thank you very much.
But once I sink into that recliner, there’s no getting up. So if Steve just happens to turn on The Big C, I guess I’m watching it. What the hell, we’re already paying for these premium channels that only serious TV watchers would be stupid enough to pay for anyway, might as well get my money’s worth.
Contrary to my premature judgments, Laura Linney is not depressed about cancer. Rather, she decides she’s not going to be dull and boring anymore, but do and say what she wants. She doesn’t give a shit about social niceties anymore. She starts to do things for herself. Like wake up one morning and put a pool in her backyard.
Of course, I liked it. I am a sucker for shows on premium channels. They aren’t filled with commercials and they have actual story lines, not just laugh tracks. The characters are usually complex and both the dialogue and narrative is realistic yet thought-provoking. And Laura Linney? She is the perfect blend of bitchy and nonchalant. I think I am her, yet without Cancer as an excuse for my actions. Damn it, what can my excuse be?
Oh well, who needs an excuse? The Big C can mean many different things. So what if the one that relates to me is an expletive?