What to Watch, Read (And Skip) Over the Holiday Weekend

A supersized mid-week newsletter

Hello!

To 80% ish of my readers, congrats on the upcoming holiday weekend!

Celebrating American Independence with a President who admires authoritarian leaders and the attacks on the very foundation of our democracy feels strange, to say the least. But at least there’s hot dogs, flag cakes, and 6 weeks of fireworks that my anxiety-ridden dog REALLY enjoys.

To my U.K. readers, sorry to rub salt in old wounds. Look on the bright side, your former colony is cray! At least you have a system of government that (theoretically) separates a King (in our case, a wannabe King) from the levers of power.

If anyone needs some Independence Day distractions or from the general state of the world, here are my recommendations. I’ve watched a ton of TV recently, including 2 documentaries, AND a movie, AND an entire limited series (I heavily disliked one of them).

I’ve also spot cleaned my carpets, bravely entered one child’s closet like Indiana Jones, saved my dehydrated outdoor plants…cue Jean Valjean because WHO AM I.

I am a mother whose children are vacationing with their other parent.

I adore my tiny humans and delight in their developing brains—except when I hear myself echoed back during an argument. Endless hours haven’t magically appeared for me to use as I please. It’s that my brain suddenly has s p a c e for all sorts of things. Like poop cruises.

Let’s get into it.

What to Skip

The Led’s Out

My brain says, “Save the negative review for last to keep people reading!” But my heart says, “I can’t let my people suffer.”

I wrote about the lack of well-rounded profiles on Prince William recently. Any whiff of scandal, prior conflict, tension, or youthful slips has been scrubbed from his narrative. I felt similarly watching Becoming Led Zeppelin on Netflix.

The buzz around this documentary was that, for the first time ever, the three living members were involved in a biographical project. Becoming Led Zeppelin is told through their interviews and never-before-heard interviews with drummer John Bonham, who died in 1980. The band not only signed off on the project; they gave total control to director Bernard MacMahon.

The excitement builds as you watch Jimmy, Robert, John Paul, and John talk about their introduction to music and the series of events—Yardbirds’ break up, Jimmy creating a new band and using the rest of the Yardbirds’ tour dates, etc.—that can only be described as kismet. It’s like watching the Avengers assemble.

Once it moves past “becoming Led Zeppelin” into the band, Led Zeppelin, the narrative unravels, and you’re left with a disorienting hour of content about their first and second records. There are too many live concerts featuring full numbers with no commentary from the band, including the baffling decision to have 2-3 different “Dazed and Confused” performances. Led Zeppelin was known for never playing the same version of a song twice, but there are more effective ways to show that.

The throughline of this documentary is how integral these four individuals were to one another, and the way they worked together, fed off each other on stage, but without any tension. These were 20-year-old guys thrust into stardom in America. How can the viewer understand what it means to become Led Zeppelin without knowing how fame, drugs, personal conflicts between band members, girls, etc., impacted the music? How did the off-stage seep into the on-stage work of these men who, once Bonham died, couldn’t imagine making another record as Led Zeppelin?

The second half desperately needed the “Behind the Music: Making of Rumours” VH1 treatment. Skip the documentary, go buy the vinyl, and enjoy the music.

What to Read

I recently picked up a reissued print of Sex & Rage by Eve Babitz from Petals & Pages in Denver. (I am constitutionally incapable of entering an independent bookshop without purchasing something.)

Published in 1979, Sex & Rage follows Jacaranda, a Californian girl in the throes of bohemianism, alcoholism, and hedonism as she navigates a cast of rotating characters in L.A., while ignoring calls from her literary agent in NYC. Her story unrolls in a dreamlike narrative full of devastating observations and gorgeous descriptions. (For more, check out this 2017 review from The New Yorker.)

Also, a recommendation for recommendations! I recently started following

Picking the best-written books

for book recs, author interviews, etc. If you’re looking for something heftier than Goodreads, check them out.

What to Watch Cont.

Want some Nantucket-adjacent luxury featuring a stone-cold, fabulously wealthy, Julianne Moore and her stone(d) husband, Kevin Bacon, filled with plenty of red herrings? Add Sirens, the deliciously bingeable 5-episode feast from Netflix, to your watch list.

The show follows Devon (Meghann Fahy), a trainwreck who is trying to get her life in order and care for her ailing father, as she attempts to pull her sister Simone (Milly Alcock) from the well-manicured talons of her employer, Michaela Kell, a former attorney turned billionaire’s wife and animal activist.

The show plays with power dynamics and leaves you questioning who the real villain is (Perhaps it’s kind of everyone?)

Trainwreck: Poop Cruise

I was hesitant to subject myself to a documentary about fecal matter, but Poop Cruise is well worth the 55 minute run time. Trainwreck: Poop Cruise revisits the early 2010’s Carnival cruise ship that was stranded at sea because of a preventable electrical fire that led to some devastating lavatory consequences. We recount the cruise through mostly hilarious interviews from former staff and passengers, including three rowdy ladies who are laser-focused on their mission: drinking their faces off. Working toliets be damned!

This Vanity Fair headline and deck sums it up perfectly:

Thankfully, the one place the documentary shows restraint is in showing footage of the mess without the, well, sh*t.

Real Housewives of Miami

Speaking of sh*t…just kidding. Reality TV isn’t “trash” TV; it’s something we’re societally conditioned to believe because it’s primarily enjoyed by women. Real Housewives of Miami is not my guilty pleasure, it is a goddamn marvel.

While several of Bravo’s Real Housewives franchises are attempting reboots with a fresh cast of characters, Miami continues to deliver storylines and conflict week after week that would be series-long plot lines in any other franchise (cough, RHONY reboot, cough).

There’s a different desperation about RHOM. It first premiered in 2011, and after 3 seasons, went on hiatus. Peacock brought it back in 2021, before returning to Bravo. These ladies know what it’s like to lose their show, and they aren’t going to let it happen again. If you think the craziest things happen to the ladies of Salt Lake City, Miami says, hold my mojito.

The ladies just returned for Season 7, and in the first few episodes, Todd has abruptly left Alexia (in front of Fraaannkkieee), who turns every restaurant outing into a performance of her pain for the cast and other paying customers to “enjoy’. Lisa and Larsa are tragically on the same flight to Milan after feuding about Lisa’s boyfriend and his terrifying eyes, continuing a friendship with Larsa’s ex, Marcus Jordan, son of NBA legend Michael Jordan, a good friend and former teammate of Larsa’s ex-husband, Scotty Pippen. You can’t make this up.

Plus, Martina Navratilova is on the show with her wife, RHOM cast member, Julia. Eat your heart out, Chris Evert!

Cheers,

Meredith