Allyson Riggs Allyson Riggs / Hulu
Aidy Bryant, right, plays Annie, an assistant calendar editor at an alternative weekly newspaper.
I’ve had my eye on Lindy West — whose book Shrill: Notes from a Loud Woman inspired the concept for the new Hulu comedy that premiered March 15 — since I first heard some jaw-dropping pieces on This American Life a few years ago. I got goosebumps during two segments: one where West confronts an online troll, and another where she talks back to a fat-shaming advice columnist (Dan Savage, who West worked with at The Stranger in Seattle).
I haven’t read West’s book yet (I will!), so I don’t know how closely the comedy adheres to the book. But West began her career at an alternative weekly (not unlike Isthmus), became a columnist for The Guardian, and has written powerful opinion pieces for The New York Times. She is an outspoken feminist who tackles sexism, homophobia, sexual harassment, reproductive rights and other key issues. And in case this isn’t clear by this point, she’s unapologetically fat. West isn’t the first feminist to embrace the word “fat,” (as opposed to many other less-direct terms), but there’s something about the way that she does it that makes my heart swell. She manages to convey how difficult it is to learn to love a big body in a world that seems to only value thin ones. She understands the importance of accepting ourselves, but that it doesn’t stop there. She calls out well-meaning friends, family members and colleagues for expressing concern about the “obesity epidemic” as an abstract concept. “You are talking about me,” she reportedly told Savage.
Unlike Shrill the book, Shrill the TV show is not strictly autobiographical. But it is inspired by West’s writing (and she’s an executive producer, along with Saturday Night Live’s Lorne Michaels). And importantly, it reflects her worldview, in which everyone — no matter what their gender, size or color — deserves love and respect.
The comedy introduces us to Annie, who is played with humor and vulnerability by Aidy Bryant (SNL). Annie works as an assistant calendar editor at The Weekly Thorn, in Portland, Oregon. Her presence barely registers with her editor (John Cameron Mitchell), a pompous and often-ridiculous gay man with an artist husband and an obsession with fitness. She lives in an apartment that seems too nice for someone in that income bracket with Fran (Lolly Adefope), who is black, lesbian and unapologetic about her size. Annie, however, is self-conscious about her weight, eating shitty diet foods and slinking out of the back door of the apartment of Ryan (Luka Jones), the man she’s been having sex with for six months.
The show’s first episodes show Annie learning to assert herself at work and in her relationship. She tries to pitch stories to her obtuse editor, and we see her get a break when she is assigned to write a food review. It turns out to be a buffet at a strip club, and she writes a great essay based on conversations with the strippers. Improbably, the lengthy piece is published to great acclaim, and Annie’s on her way to becoming a real journalist.
As a journalist at an alt-weekly, I’d caution viewers against taking too seriously the portrayal of the newsroom at The Thorn. Everything is heightened and pumped up for maximum effect. It’s TV! Everyone’s a character! It’s a bit much. But that’s a quibble. We are meant to root for Annie in her journey from doormat (or “millennial dumpling” as her editor puts it) to a powerful, outspoken woman.
I just finished screening episode four, titled “Pool,” and it is one of the best things I have seen on TV — ever. It forms a perfect arc, beginning with a flashback where we see Annie’s mom (actually we only see her body, get it?) in a swimsuit on a family vacation. Annie is reading, fully clothed, and doesn’t feel like swimming like everyone else. So much is left unsaid. We don’t see her mom suggesting diets or offering to take her to Weight Watchers. We don’t see the cruel taunts at school. But if you are a human being alive today, none of that needs to be shown. Young Annie feels like she is already a failure because she is fat. And the last thing she wants to do is expose herself to more humiliation.
The episode fast forwards to grownup Annie pitching a story to her editor about a pool party for fat women. He doesn’t get it; he’s busy organizing mandatory fitness activities for staff, which Annie names “forced fun.” Annie skips the staff bike ride to attend the pool party anyway, and the scene brought tears to my eyes. The camera ranges around, resting on beautiful women of every color and size — lounging, swimming and dancing, letting it all hang out. Annie arrives fully clothed, and soaks it all in. A beautiful closeup shot shows sunlight beaming onto her face. The simple realization comes to us as it does to her. Here, these women — many of whom have spent a lifetime trying to change themselves — are accepted. By the end, Annie is dancing ecstatically, before she strips off layers and dives into the pool. She is smiling, fat rippling smoothly underwater.
Shrill was the show I needed to see right now. It’s time to hop into the pool.
