Curb Your Enthusiasm, Season 2: A+
BY NEIL FAUERSO
IT’S STRANGE THAT LARRY DAVID, such a nerdy, prickly
middle-aged nebbish, is reviled so heartily by most in his generation and loved
by most in mine.
Several middle-aged people I’ve recommended the show to dislike it because
they can’t stand Larry David (or at least his alternate self on the show),
while my friends and I have nearly knighted him for his prickly foray into
the world of banality and manners. This is because David refuses to settle
into the cast of middle age. He rejects the 10 p.m. cut-off time for calling,
questions dinner parties, calls people out when they steal the shrimp from
his take-out—everything that niggles at us and we swallow, David spews
out in a vivid hilarious bile.
Essentially, this is what Seinfeld was about. But it was zanier,
more surreal, and for that, more comforting. Sure, David gets entangled
into some ridiculous and horrible mishap each episode, but the show’s
potent use of digital video, cursing, and an eerily real evocation of
the absurd culture of L.A. living make Curb Your
Enthusiasm ultimately
superior to Seinfeld. It’s simultaneously uncomfortable and addictive,
painful and hilarious.
The format of the show is extremely simple. Each episode, David needs
to get something done or has something fun to look forward to, which is
inevitability ruined by David’s own ineptness and poor luck and
a slew of crazy women and aloof jerks. It’s simple and repetitive,
but never tiresome, as the writers, actors, and directors of Curb continue
to create some of the funniest and most resonant moments in recent TV
memory.
Witness the episode in which Larry genially cuts off the hair of a little
girl’s doll with disastrous results, or where he trips Shaq while
sitting courtside at a Lakers game. Every episode of season two is its
own tiny “Chekov meets Woody Allen” gem. And the supporting
cast—Larry’s patient and resilient wife Cheryl, his shambling
and froggy manager Jeff, his friend Richard Lewis, and his endless remarkable
enemies—give the show a palpable texture I don’t glean from
even The Sopranos or Six Feet Under.
What to see this weekend: I, Robot or Catwoman? Neither! Rent this show
to remind yourself that TV is not owned by stale sitcoms or people eating
bugs. Curb Your Enthusiasm—it’s right around the corner.
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