She’s got to be a dream to dress -- with a neck like a swan and squared shoulders -- and they say she takes her wardrobe home when the show is over. I would, too, though in this show she dresses rather differently than any others I’ve seen. Not that it’s glamorous, but that it’s tailored, very. Stripes (chalk and pin), pastel plaids, tattersalls -- ringing changes on men’s bespoke suits. No tie. Mixing patterns. Her foil, Rose Byrne, is young, maybe thinner with longer legs, and wears tight skirts with ingenious little designer blouses that leave her arms exposed. She’s very “Barbie” and more petulant than strong. In fact, I began to prefer her blonde and scatty sister-in-law in her creative off-the-rack look.
In the second season it was Marcia Gay Harden who played the villain lawyer. Born in 1959 to Glenn Close’s 1947, she doesn’t have the neck for Close’s high collars but has the right equipment for a neckline plunging to her belt buckle. It’s my guess that both actors have had face lifts, but Harden’s left her looking a bit slant-eyed. Close’s Dorothy Hamill/Hilary Clinton wedge cut is also a little more successful than Harden’s curly mop. But that’s the whole idea -- to let the Harden character never quite come up to the Close character. I haven’t seen the third season but the opposite lawyer will be Lily Tomlin (b. 1939, a month older than me, playing a widow based on Ruth Madoff). Being a crackerjack actor is like being a rodeo rider: your score is higher if you draw a really difficult bull to ride -- Marcia Gay and Lily are players equivalent to Close’s chops. Also, I suspect Lily can bring out a little more of the “campy” Dallas quality of the show. I’ll be curious to see what she wears. (Looks like black with major jewelry.)
When it was time for me to go before the ministerial fellowship committee, the thumbs-up/thumbs-down final call before starting one’s career, the M/L faculty was worried that I would show up in jeans and flannel shirt. (Those Pacific Northwest people -- grunge bands, you know.) A proportion of UU’s are elitist. But I had bought a tweed suit (skirt) and high-heeled boots. I don’t think I’ve ever worn them again. Clothes DO matter if you’re being judged. Now, of course, it’s happily back to jeans and flannel shirts -- with fleece over the top. I think it’s the fabric and workmanship, which are certainly the key to Patty Hughes and one of the fascinations of this series.
I’ve always had an attraction to top-of-the-line men’s clothes, though I don’t know any men who dress in them. (Canvas Carharts are big around here.) I used to linger in front of the windows at Mario’s in Portland (young men’s clothes in cashmere with clever suede embellishments in soft colors) and in Chicago often stopped by the much smaller window of a custom shirtmaker. I think it’s the fabric and workmanship, which are certainly the key to Patty Hughes and one of the fascinations of this series. My cousins are excellent seamstresses and interested in couture. I bought the book above and have a stash of fine fabrics. Maybe the best impact of this series on me will be the impetus to sew. From "Damages" to selvages, so to speak.
I’ve had only glancing contact with the people in this presumed world of the rich. What struck me was the battalions of helpers who did the maintenance, almost as though the environments were stage sets, which in the case of the series they are. Those shining hardwood floors are camera-dolly friendly. The script does include the constant schlepping of clothes one way or another: hanging in plastic cleaners' bags, or stuffed into duffel bags for a getaway. There are doormen, but none of the ethnic women who do actual housework. The only one who seems to cook is the delinquent son. Otherwise, take-out prevails -- very Manhattan. There is a constant stream of crystal barware and various coffee mugs (rarely paper but not as nice as BBC teacups) but no one seems to put them into the dish washer. As a guest in high-end houses I saw an endless to-do list: call this repairman, make sure someone accepts that delivery, go by to pick up flowers, call the caterer. The dogs in this show DO get walked, which sometimes works into a plot point. It was nice that there were so many dogs and I’m sure that Close’s character’s dog was really her own Australian heeler.
Todd A. Kessler, Glenn Kessler and Daniel Zelman are the devisers of this series and they are frank about their strategy, though they never talk about clothes. They say they wanted the context to be law, but not in the courtroom. They had “tent pole scenes” in mind -- confrontations between specific characters that they thought would be interesting-- but no actual narrative trajectory with a traditional conclusion. Like writers on a soap opera, they were willing to push the actual incidents around, even accepting advice from viewers by researching what was turning viewer interest and sympathy this way and that. If the viewers began to feel sorry for a character, something compromising was immediately revealed, but if one began to be too evil, the situation exonerated them after all. Ted Danson, with a lot of exuberance, was the best at this. Everyone was so emotionally mobile that the effect for me was to greatly increase the density/intensity/danger of the one character who never changed: the main “stone” killer. He was like the actor on a stage who does not move, even when the others cross in front of him. Your eyes are pulled to that person.
The marketing of this series is just what the experts recommend for a book: a platform website with plenty of ways for watchers to participate so it becomes “their” show. By the end of the second year, the game of “five months ago,” “three weeks later,” the flashbacks, the visions of the future, the dreams and fantasies, the character reversals (even a sweet old lady homebound on oxygen turns out to have surprises), all begin to be a little too much. Very soap opera. Everyone is swilling down the whiskey, everyone’s cell phone is ringing, the elevator doors are always closing, and everyone says, “Excuse me?” or “What do you mean?” or “All I want is the truth” or “Trust me!” or “I want to apologize.” For every fish there’s a bigger fish with its mouth gaping. It’s certainly one way to understand modern society in high-end Manhattan but it’s not particularly insightful. As passive escapism, it’s fun. But probably the impulse to sew is the most positive outcome.
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