Feud
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The year is 1978, and our story is coming to a close.
Or so it appears.
Like a rowdy drunken guest Truman, say it seemsFeudwants to overstay its welcome.
(Wasnt last weeks episode all about knowing when to bow out?)
And its structured around the death of its two central figures.
First up (and out) is Babe.
For yes, between ordering bites of banana bread (how 2020 of her!)
and her early-morning perusal of theNew YorkPost, Mrs. Paley learns she has only six months to live.
Only this time, shes feeling wistful.
What would we do without it?
Better they move on and plan a party!
Its been ages since theyve had one.
When might this party be?
C.Z., Slim, and Lee ask.
Summer, when I die, Babe says.
Its the kind of line that might feel dreadfully maudlin or tunelessly operatic in another show.
Perfection was for me, she writes, a kind of eternity I thought I could own.
If every detail was in its place, I thought the world might just come to a stop.
But perfection, she notes, can only ever be borrowed with interest.
Its all believable until they go to Babes bathtub and find a swan frolicking about.
And thats when I worriedFeudhad lost its plot.
Didnt we already stage a fantasy of a Babe-Truman reunion a few episodes back?
Babes funeral is, of course, sheer perfection.
From what Lee, Slim, and C.Z.
The one person not at the funeral is Truman.
Bill had forbidden him to come, news that C.Z.
had had to deliver to her old friend, along with the heartbreaking news of Babes death.
And now that shes gone … well, it seems no good parts of him are left.
Indeed, soon, hes hallucinating just as Babe was.
Hes daydreaming about air-con guy Rick by the pool (oh my!)
and imagining hes one page away from finishingAnswered Prayers(as if!
Truman is truly far gone.
that he eventually lets go.
Let us hope its not some kind of after-life party with Babe, Truman, and the like.
Wit vs. Beauty
What a moment to be alive!
Are we throwing a pizza party?
Oh how Ill miss Wattss perfectly calibrated Waspy reads (in this case, thrown at Joanne).
But that does not make Mrs. Paley the mothering kind.
