One of the Beamer things I really did enjoy is every time the narrator's like, "Beamer can't understand why nobody likes these shows anymore, Beamer's completely baffled about how the world has changed." I found that more cutting and funny than the stuff like, "Beamer really needs somebody to step on his balls. He just needs it so bad."
I spent a lot of time wondering about the depiction of Beamer's wife who is clueless and unthinking in her own way and yet every time she calls him to be like "where the fuck are you?" I'm like, "yes, where the fuck are you? Get it together." So I kept ping-ponging between these extremes about how I was supposed to be reacting to this whole conceit.
This was a Fleishman retread. Beamer is the same character, a man exploring early middle-aged sexuality pasted onto Hollywood with a ton of wealth porn on top of it. This time he has a wife though.
How much of what we're watching is supposed to evoke deep pity for this person? Which is so uncomfortable to spend that much time in. How much of that am I supposed to be questioning?
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