A Study Of The Light In English TV Series Solo Starring Felicity Kendal

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RND/ To consider a study of the light in ‘very English’ BBC TV comedy series Solo starring Felicity Kendal and written by Carla Lane:

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Ooh boy, does this series ever feel distinctly of-its-time. Offensive non-offensiveness. Pseudo-feminist claptrap with distinct historical foreshadowing shades of Fleabag. The main character constantly allows herself to be philosophically berated by her batshit mother about the apparently endless benefits of ‘having a man around the house’ to the extent anybody would have tried being gay in order to stay mentally healthy. (I’d have told her mother to go try fucking herself for a change. She spews out the Traditionalist / Reactionary line about The Real Role Of WomenTM – but then the series as a whole actually appears to agree with her.)

‘The man in her life’ is a total dolt and an asshole, and her existence seems to consist of cleaning, biking, having tea with ridiculous friends, light community work and wandering wistfully around public parks accompanied by reflective classical music – all without commitment or real comment. Life as mere time killing filler between commercials – or sex, in this case.

The whole series skirts on the edge of actually committing to a (/political) point of view – let alone taking an actual feminist stand – before retreating back between the sheets for an existentially warming cuddlefuck with one’s middle aged, brain dead hubby. In short, it’s so Seventies it hurts (despite being an 80’s series.)

A study of urban loneliness, perhaps – but one which systematically fails to commit to it’s own premise – that a smart woman existing apart from world of whining, emotionally stunted man-babies constantly crying out for attention (read: sex on demand) would seem perfectly fine, given the enslaving alternative.

Check out those sheepskin collars and those muted, muddy browns. Eeesh. And who the hell were those two young idiots who lived upstairs?