QUEUED UP: United States of Tara

If binge-ability is the key to Netflix streaming success, United States of Tara has it down to an art.

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QUEUED UP: United States of Tara

POSTED: Thursday, May 31, 2012, 12:00 PM

Filed Under: Movies

Movie critic (and the guy who compiles our weekly repertory film listings) Michael Gold reviews his favorite Netflix Instant flick of the week.

After pontificating on movies for the last four months, it only seems fair to give some ink to Netflix’s comprehensive television offerings. The truth is, for all the cult classics and prestige pics on my queue, more often than not, the night finds me watching a small-screen favorite.

The role Netflix and like-minded streaming services have played in dismantling traditional television viewing is a well-worn topic by now, but little of the writing seems concerned with how that affects audiences. The sudden availability of entire seasons or series for binge-like marathons has changed viewer expectations, arguably for the better. Suddenly, gimmicky TV isn’t enough; cliffhangers aren’t as potent, once-topical humor loses its freshness and the buzz around sparse celebrity guest spots all but vanishes. Instead, continuity and captivating storylines take precedence. Look no further than Arrested Development for proof that new viewing regimens can change a show’s reception (though to be fair, Arrested Development’s success also comes from being so damn clever).

Perhaps screenwriter Diablo Cody knew binge-ability would be the key to streaming success, since her United States of Tara has it down to an art. The tale of a suburban housewife with multiple personalities is captivating enough on its own, especially with Toni Collette adopting the title role and its alternate identities. But what makes the show Netflix gold is the vastly different trajectories of its three seasons. As the first season introduces us to Tara, her alter-egos (redneck Buck, slutty teen T and the June Cleaver-esque Alice) and her family, it’s an off-beat comedy exploring the lighter side of a captivating disability. The humor starts to wear thin by Season 2, so Cody switches gears to a Sirk-like family drama. The characters are the same and the narrative arc carries, but the sudden shift in tone injects unanticipated freshness into the proceedings (fittingly so given the title character’s seismic personality changes). Eventually, in the third and final season, that spins into something unexpectedly darker — but to say anymore would be spoiling thirty-six episodes that are hard to cease watching.

(michael.gold@citypaper.net) (@migold)

The role Netflix and like-minded streaming services have played in dismantling traditional television viewing is a well-worn topic by now, but little of the writing seems concerned with how that affects audiences. The sudden availability of entire seasons or series for binge-like marathons has changed viewer expectations, arguably for the better. Suddenly, gimmicky TV isn’t enough; cliffhangers aren’t as potent, once-topical humor loses its freshness, and the buzz around sparse celebrity guest spots all but vanishes. Instead, continuity and captivating storylines take precedence. Look no further than Arrested Development for proof that new viewing regimens can change a show’s reception (though to be fair, Arrested Development’s success also comes from being so damn clever).

Perhaps screenwriter Diablo Cody knew binge-ability would be the key to streaming success, since her United States of Tara has it down to an art. The tale of a suburban housewife with multiple personalities is captivating enough on its own, especially with Toni Collette adopting the title role and its alternate identities. But what makes the show Netflix gold is the vastly different trajectories of its three seasons. As the first season introduces us to Tara, her alter-egos (redneck Buck, slutty teen T and the June Cleaver-esque Alice) and her family, it’s an off-beat comedy exploring the lighter side of a captivating disability. The humor starts to wear thin by Season 2, so Cody switches gears to a Sirk-like family drama. The characters are the same and the narrative arc carries, but the sudden shift in tone injects unanticipated freshness into the proceedings (fittingly so given the title character’s seismic personality changes). Eventually, in the third and final season, that spins into something unexpectedly darker—but to say anymore would be spoiling thirty-six episodes that are hard to cease watching.

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