Since its debut in 2017, HBO's "Big Little Lies" has come to be known as one of Sunday night TV’s guiltiest, trashiest little pleasures. Originally billed as a self-contained miniseries adapted from Liane Moriarty's book of the same name, this post-mortem soap opera set in the Waspy exurbs of Monterrey, California’s seaside cliffs brought a whole new meaning to the expression "first world mires" — never once bothering to eke out even a sliver of social commentary surrounding the class-subdivisions of these woke, left-leaning nouveau-riche country club millionaires. It's also never made certain as to whom amongst the “Monterrey Five” are the wealthiest of the bunch, all we can glean is that Shailene Woodley's character, Jane, has been tossed into the mix to upset the carefully gauged ecosystems around these upper-crust moms, as her son, Ziggy, is later revealed to be the product of a brutal rape perpetrated by one of their insane husbands. The chaos that ensues eventually sends the sleepy, drizzly beach town into a tizzy— resulting in a flurry of car crashes, infidelities, foreclosures, and oh yes, even a good old-fashioned murder cover-up. The first season in fact garnered so much acclaim, both commercially and critically, that a novella was written to help map out S2, though it will sadly never be published… Aside from Meryl Streep's career-best performance as mother-in-law from hell, Mary Louise, the most interesting aspect of BLL's sophomore season took place behind the cameras, with reports that Andrea Arnold (“American Honey” & “Fish Tank") had had her creative control wrestled away from her by producer/ director Jean-Marc Vallée ("Dallas Buyers Club" & "Wild"), with some outlets going so far as to say she was locked out of the editing process entirely. Now, if that's not some real housewives (or courtroom) drama that would give “Big Little Lies” a run for its money, I'm not sure what is.
Which is a real shame, because if one were to go back and re-examine the merits of Season Two, the overarching theme would be that obfuscating the truth, no matter how big or small, is no way to live. Before Perry's accidental-on-purpose death brought these five women together, their most glaring vulnerabilities lied in their needs to keep up with external appearance, whether at school or in their marriage — but the lie they shared also reached across racial and socio-economic lines, allowing characters like Jane and Bonnie (though she’s written in the novel as white) to forge healthy, maternal bonds in spite of Celeste's husband's toxic and abusive improprieties. That “BLL” felt it necessary to undermine the ending of Season 1 by cross-examining their mental unfitness in the aftermath of Perry's death proved rather anti-feministic, as David E. Kelley, known for his work on popular procedural courtroom dramas like "The Practice" and "Ally McBeal" wrote each and every character into a perpetual delirium — where they weren't allowed to flourish or even exist outside of the framework of Perry himself. These impingements were on the other hand, extrapolated quite well in the form of a worthy nemesis; Meryl Streep's chimerical Mary Louise. Her volatile, oftentimes hysterical worship of Perry may have been the undisclosed force that brought these women together, but when all is said and done she gets the last laugh as her custody battle for Celeste’s twin boys forces each of them to unravel, one after the next — wrought by interminable flashbacks and cutaways to the sea. Like a heavyweight ringer thrust into the gauntlet amongst a group of welterweights (the show won them all an Emmy last year), Streep's addition was the real raison d’etre of Season Two — ever so delighted to tar and feather her femme fatale cohorts with whip-smart barrages and invective taunts. No fire, no ice, just par for the coarse words and slew of limitless, back-handed flattery. Her own brand of domestic, “vigilante” justice.
Big Little Lies S2 may have begun innocently enough by focusing on motherhood rather than the follies of committing one's self to a worthless, if not homicidal husband — but by doing away with Arnold's vision, the creative forces behind the series betrayed their own moral arguments, themes and beliefs — damaging any chances for a truly mouthwatering third season should we ever receive one. We’re also never going to be privy to the reasons surrounding why Vallée cut the anticipated ice cream throwing scene, but it’s safe to assume had Arnold retained full creative reign the show would've infused more sensitivity to the internal traumas of these women, rather than highlighting the cat fights it so happily employed for comedic effect. There’s no telling whether critics would've been more forgiving about the series’ finale had her behind-the-scenes turmoil not been publicized in the trades, but I'm sure there'll be droves of “American Honey” fans out there asking for the Andrea Arnold "Big Little Lies" extended cut. Much like the "Batman V. Superman" nerds demanding the Zack Snyder Director's Cut Edition, there's no shortage of rabid stans who will surely be left wondering whether Meryl's scream was more Arnold, Vallée or Kelley, but with more and more A-list celebs moving away from big budget Hollywood Studio fare now consumed by Disney, it’s imperative that these smaller troupes — HBO, Showtime, Hulu, Netflix and others, not act like the executives they claim to despise, and give their directors (especially a female director on an all female project) the necessary means and space to achieve their vision. With more directors moving back to TV alongside their favorite stars, this new eco-system will too need to change and adapt, and the whole notion of keeping up with appearances, when no one’s following their own tenets, will be the proverbial death knell of this modern cottage industry.
"BIG LITTLE LIES" a.k.a. “Mama Drama” on HBO. Rated TV-MA
