WOLDUM TV
RACHEL WOLDUM Rachel Woldum is a former television snob who has embraced the medium as it entered its Golden Age. Contact her at woldumr@gmail.com.
The agony and ecstasy of and the responsibility of art
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f you read about TV, you’ve probably read about Euphoria on HBO Max. Featuring a young, largely unknown cast led by the well known Zendaya, Euphoria follows a group of high schoolers as they navigate an intense world of drugs, addiction, sex, love, friendship, and family trauma. The show has garnered a lot of attention, both for its unflinching, usually graphic depiction of these subjects, and for its stellar performances and artistic production. Before I watched Season 1, I assumed it was going to be like a teen CW show — hot teens, hot parents, and lots of drama — but sexed way up for HBO. So, I was pleasantly surprised (though nothing about watching Euphoria is “pleasant”) by how good it was. It’s not just that it’s well-acted and wellwritten, but that each episode is a dazzling feat of creative storytelling. The often-frenetic pace and dreamy, surrealist montages capture what it feels like to be a teenager – impulsive, invincible, and like everything that happens is of infinite importance. I ended up binging the entire season and took the opportunity to mention to anyone who would listen that it was worth watching.
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Now, over two years have passed, and I’ve since become a wife and a mother. Currently, Season 2 is still airing, but this time around I’ve been watching reluctantly. I’ve found I can no longer watch intense TV with the ease I once did. My heart is more vulnerable — it’s harder for me to
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watch people in pain, be it physical or emotional. I worry ten times as much and project the woes of every character onto my own child and family. Parenthood has also forced me to think more seriously about entertainment and what I will and will not let my kids be exposed to someday. I always imagined I would let quality reign over content — if the show (or movie/album/novel/ etc.) was well-made and artful, I would let them watch it, even if the content was intense or dark. In short, I would’ve let my hypothetical future high schooler watch Euphoria, a show about high schoolers. But now, each new episode has me thinking about all the teenagers watching and wondering if they’re being negatively affected. To the show’s credit, none of the problems depicted in Euphoria are sugarcoated. Ugly things appear ugly, and the repercussions of poor decisions are bleak. Creator Sam Levinson does a fantastic job of depicting the brutality of addiction and the impact it has on friends and family members. What’s more (and what is most powerful about the show) is that it’s overall thematic aim is to foster empathy among its viewers. Levinson himself said his goal was to “provide more context about why someone is the way they are.” Characters are introduced, we see their behavior and witness their actions and judge them accordingly. But before our opinions can set, the show dives, one episode at a time, into their pasts. We see the wounds created by their parents. We observe the little moments of hurt that still influence their actions a decade later. We watch them navigate their environments and build their defenses against them. And as a result, we start to empathize, even with the most deplorable characters. One such character, Nate Jacobs, is the epitome of white male privilege — tall, rich, attractive, popular — and one of the most terrifying fictitious villains I’ve ever witnessed. I couldn’t imagine any backstory that would render him sympathetic. But after getting an inside look at the family disfunction created by his father, I felt
sad for him, which is a true testament to the show’s writing. So what, then, are my qualms about the youth of today watching Euphoria? I’m not so naïve as to believe that there aren’t kids out there who must deal with this stuff. And for those who are going through it — addiction, questions around gender and sexuality, generational trauma — the show is probably comforting. My worry is that Euphoria is so good that it will actually cause teens to idealize the very problems it means to critique. Each episode is so beautifully shot, the music so evocative, the cast so attractive and Gen Z and of-the-now, that it’s impossible not to be swept up in this world. I’m thirty-four, pregnant, and haven’t indulged in more than a White Claw in almost two years, and even I found myself watching one of Zendaya’s euphoric drug trips a little wistfully. And so my newfound motherly worry has me fearing that teenage viewers will romanticize the behaviors shown, and what’s worse, be tempted to try them. Is it Euphoria’s job to make sure kids stay clean and sober, or it’s fault if they don’t? No. But the thought that it could cause even one kid the same kind of pain depicted on the show is enough to make me hope teens aren’t watching. If you’d asked me two years ago if art bore any moral responsibility, I would’ve said that its only responsibility is to tell the truth. It is not the duty of art to teach us how to be or to show us what to do and not do. However, I’m starting to realize that I’m more careful about what I consume. My mom used to say, “Protect your heart” and I would roll my eyes at her dismissively. Now I get it. We need to protect our hearts, and our kids’ hearts, from the irresponsible consumption of art — like seeing too much, too soon— not because art is dangerous, but precisely because it is so powerful.
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