Plus: 'Mars and Venus,' the nuances of care, and some Sundance updates

View this email online by Linda Holmes Welcome! It was the week when Ticketmaster prepared for the deluge. It was the week when the Super Bowl ads started to line up. And it was the week when Dr. Phil phinally decided to phloat away. Let's get to it. 'Dear Edward' and the matter of manipulation Here's my impression of any person telling me how much they loved any episode of This Is Us, the NBC family drama from producer and writer Dan Fogelman that enjoyed a very successful six-season run that ended in the spring of 2022: "I cried until my eyes were swollen shut and I was swimming in a pool of my own salty tears, then I watched it again, then I watched it while slowly contemplating a dying plant and it was even better; it is the best thing I have ever seen on television and I am devastated."  Don't get me wrong: This is not a criticism. It is extraordinarily impressive to get people to enjoy their own agony this much, and most people have some kind of art that does something similar for them. Books, music, movies, TV, games -- doesn't matter. This is a weird thing art does that always seems weirder when it’s somebody else’s art than when it’s yours. The Ann Napolitano novel Dear Edward serves as the inspiration for the new Apple TV drama series of the same name, created by Jason Katims, the producer of Friday Night Lights and Parenthood, which were also big successes for people who cry a lot. And while Katims didn't make This Is Us, it's the recent show by which Dear Edward feels the most inspired. In the story, a 12-year-old boy named Edward (Colin O'Brien) is the sole survivor of a plane crash that kills, among many others, his entire family. He goes to live with his Aunt Lacey and Uncle John (Taylor Schilling and Carter Hudson), who have long struggled with infertility and find their lives very much disrupted by the fact that they suddenly have a 12-year-old. And not just any 12-year-old -- Edward is understandably very deeply traumatized, lonely, disoriented and angry, even if it's in a quiet, interior kind of way. The only person he really relates to in his new home is an extroverted neighbor girl his age named Shay (Eva Ariel Binder). She practices roller derby in the street, and having lost his older brother, he fastens on her for company.  Meanwhile, Lacey is attending a support group for people who lost loved ones in the crash, and that's where the rest of the stories in this many-threaded ensemble show come in. Dee Dee (Connie Britton) is a wealthy woman who lost her husband, and she's now forced to both forge some kind of independence and confront some things she learns about him only now that he's gone. Adriana (Anna Uzele) lost her grandmother, who happened to be a beloved New York Congresswoman. She befriends Kojo (Idris Debrand), who lost his sister and has come from Ghana to care for his young niece, who will eventually return there with him. More characters will eventually emerge over the course of 10 episodes, but these are the most important ones in the early going. Connie Britton and Audrey Corsa in Dear Edward/Apple TV+ There are a lot of good actors in this cast -- nobody does this kind of work like Connie Britton -- and to say Katims knows his stuff is an understatement. And his stuff is ... well, at least some of it is basically "you crying a lot." For a producer who loves big feelings, this is not a small move, it is a big move, in terms of sheer audacity -- pick up this terribly sad book where a plane full of people die, leaving only one young boy behind, and then surround him with mourners with terrible, agonizing stories of their own. (The book, based on what I know of it, does not do this in the same way, although it does tell the stories of other people who die on the plane). It's a dark kind of vow from Katims to This Is Us viewers: If you liked that story where one family dealt with a ton of trauma and loss, you're going to love a story about a whole lot of families grieving at the same time, criss-crossing with each other, talking about loss constantly. You liked the kiddie pool of tears? Dive into the Olympic pool of tears! There are interesting themes here that are not exclusively about loss: The title of the series (and book) comes from the fact that Edward, as the sole survivor of this tragedy, becomes a figure of great fascination. People write him letters -- sometimes because they lost someone in the crash and they want to know whether he saw their loved one at any point, sometimes because they want to give him advice or convert him to their faith, sometimes because they just figure he must have some special knowledge from having this experience. Without spoiling too much, it seems clear that the intent is to explore these letter-writers more in a future season; this theme only begins to emerge in this first set of episodes. I sort of found myself wishing they got more into this part of Edward's struggle, that they stayed with a little narrower focus.  But ultimately, this isn't that show. This is a rip-your-guts-out show. It's a show where every moment, even if it's seemingly small, is conceptually big, big with feelings, big with meaning, big with a certain kind of coffee-shop indie music that is precisely calculated and entirely expected. It is a show that is, in a word, manipulative. In two words, perhaps proudly manipulative.  Because all art manipulates, if by that we only mean provoking a response and doing it intentionally. Breaking your heart, making you mad, keeping you on the edge of your seat, cracking you up -- these are all manipulations of the artist, if that term is defined broadly enough. But what we tend to mean in common usage when we refer to sentimentality as manipulative is that it's too direct, a straight line rather than an interesting path we've never walked from provocation to response. We feel shoved along rather than shown the way to where we're meant to end up.  It's awfully hard not to feel shoved along by Dear Edward. It is swimming in death. Everybody is sad all the time. And when they are briefly not sad, even that is sad, or at least bittersweet, because what in the life of a person deep in grief is not, even at its sweetest, only bittersweet? Grief is worth examining, grief is worth recognizing, and yet at some level, I did feel like the labors of everyone involved were so ... well, labored that it was almost like distorted sound when speakers are overwhelmed. I felt driven to all the intended feelings so hard that they couldn't quite thrive. If there were any stories not suffused by grief, as there usually are in ensemble dramas that follow multiple threads at the same time, it might be easier to catch your breath and stay in the story.  This show is just so much.  And yet, even as I watched it and felt a bit put off by it, I never doubted that it will have an audience. Sometimes people need to cry, then cry again. They need to at least cry at something they can put away afterwards because it isn't their reality. Tear-jerkers -- and that has perhaps never been a more apt description -- jerk tears from people who are prepared to have their tears jerked, just like a horror movie is there to startle people who showed up to be startled. I'm not sure Dear Edward is the most nuanced or the most interesting show, but that same directness that can seem like manipulation can also be simple truth in advertising. If you loved crying at This Is Us or Parenthood, you will probably also enjoy crying at Dear Edward. A lot! And that's fine. Nothing wrong with a few tears, as long as you know what you're getting into.  Newsletter continues after sponsor message We Recommend You might know Jen Agg from her restaurants, her commentary on the restaurant business, or her book, I Hear She's a Real Bitch. But she wrote really beautifully this week about her experience as a caregiver and spouse after her husband had a stroke early in the COVID outbreak.  If you're not listening to the If Books Could Kill podcast, which is a take on terrible airport books through the years and hosted by Michael Hobbes (also of Maintenance Phase) and Peter Shamshiri (also of 5-4), I really recommend it. Yes, it's a great, spirited takedown of all kinds of pseudoscience nonsense, but I also laughed and laughed listening to them take on Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus. In particular, they examine the ways in which John Gray was just writing about his own issues with women, and it's really, really funny.  Conversations about op-ed columns are often unproductive, and I was fascinated by this effort to grapple with a recent New York Times op-ed by genuinely writing the note one would write as an editor. It might not be as satisfying as a savage takedown in the typical sense, but at least it's something new.  What We Did This Week Knock at the Cabin/Universal Pictures A note before I forget: For the next couple of weeks, I’m filling in for Andrew Limbong and hosting NPR’s Book of the Day podcast, which highlights some of NPR’s best stories from the world of books. I hope you’ll subscribe if you haven’t, and I hope you enjoy the great stuff that’s coming. In light of a week of Beyoncé news as well as the approaching Grammys, we reshared our conversation about Renaissance.  Aisha talked to Mandalit del Barco about some of the films in this year's Sundance Film Festival.  Aisha, Soraya Nadia McDonald, Cate Young and Kristen Meinzer dove into the Harry and Meghan discourse. Glen was joined by Christina Tucker to talk about Extraordinary.  And Glen also talked to Ayesha Rascoe and Marc Rivers about the horror film Knock at the Cabin. I wrote about Shrinking, a show I really like that shares some, but not all, of its DNA with Ted Lasso. It's got a great performance from a comedy actor I think shows a lot of promise, whose name is something like ... Harrison Ford? What's Making Us Happy Every week on the show, we talk about some other things out in the world that have been giving us joy lately. Here they are: Marc Rivers: The Last Of Us Ayesha Rascoe: Looney Tunes Glen Weldon: Ice Merchants Stream your local NPR station. Visit NPR.org to find your local station stream. Subscribe to Pop Culture Happy Hour+. Your support helps make our show possible and unlocks access to our sponsor-free episodes. What do you think of today's email? We'd love to hear your thoughts, questions and feedback: pchh@npr.org Enjoying this newsletter? Forward to a friend! They can sign up here. Looking for more great content? Check out all of our newsletter offerings — including Music, Books, Daily News and more! 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