I was in a lonely place when I stumbled upon a short and not very sweet TV series called Olive Kitteridge earlier this year.
It was shortly after we’d set Foxtel up on our computer, as we patiently waited for Netflix to be launched in Australia. The show popped up on the home screen and as soon as I spotted Frances McDormand, I was sold. There were only four episodes and I was reluctant to get into a show that couldn’t offer me a complete series (I didn’t realise it was an extended mini-series and four one-hour-episodes was all I was gonna get!).
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This week Olive Kitteridge won eight awards at the 67th Emmy Awards, including Outstanding Limited Series, Outstanding Lead Actor, Outstanding Lead Actress, Outstanding Supporting Actor and Outstanding Writing.
It deserved every single one of them.
The best way I can describe the headspace required to enjoy a show like Olive Kitteridge is that it holds appeal for those who are aching a little inside, or people who are happy, but don’t always expect that happiness to last.
Olive Kitteridge is a harsh, abrasive, no-nonsense teacher who doesn’t enjoy an ideal life and doesn’t seem surprised by that. Nor does she seem all that disturbed by it. It just is. She accepts it.
Her life sucks. Now, what’s for dinner?
In her little life, in her little Maine town, she knows everyone, calls them on their shit, makes sure the local mentally disturbed mum of one of her students has a vegetable to include with their dinner and then she heads home to feed her sad husband and repressed son a healthy meal, over which she directs some sting to them. The kind that makes your eyes water.
Based on the 2008 Pulitzer Prize winning book of the same name written by Elizabeth Strout, the mini-series covers about 25 years of Olive’s life.