Angst-ridden teenagers rebelling against their parents and the subsequent establishment? Sounds like the 2004-2006 to me. But during (what I call) the Dark Ages, there was this thread that kept my family together: Desperate Housewives. No, not the Real Housewives of Orange County, which I find to be repulsive, but those mean-spirited stepford wives from Wisteria Lane, always plottin' and always schemin' their way around men, murder, etc.
It was during the second season where my dear mother incessantly spoke about this show, as if it was the holy-grail of suburban life: a life my mother really never had. Living in a city all of our natural lives, my family has no idea what the suburbs are. In fact, the very idea of manicured lawns and casseroles stewing on the windowsill scares the living crap out of me.
Anyways, back to story time. Mom enslaved us with dinner, got my dad watching the show after a few well-placed meals on Sunday night, and soon my brother and I were trapped in Desperate Housewives-land with my merry parents, who could not get enough of the scandal and drama Desperate Housewives has to offer. After the second season was over, my brother and I caved in and we became that one urban family with a fixation for suburban sensationalism.
Desperate Housewives is a surprisingly good show. Each of the main housewives are played wonderfully by actresses who, not only look the part, but also give the show a comedic edge with their different, yet over-the-top characters. But who can blame these juicy roles when these women are faced with husbands who love sadomasochism, illegal Asian maids and illegitimate children.
These desperate housewives are usually no better. They are alcoholics and murderers at moments in their life, they sleep with their gardeners and make their husbands go to prison as a way of repentance.
I must've mentioned at least six different plot lines, and believe me, that is only the tip of the iceberg. There are numerous twists and turns at every corner of Wisteria Lane, eventually culminating into a season-long investigation into a murderer or sociopath's quest for revenge.
What I found truly amazing about this show is its' cultural significance. Desperate Housewives is culturally significant in the sole fact that it exposes a seemingly-perfect world (suburbia) and flips it upside-down to reveal an ugly underbelly of secrets and lies, perpetuated by violence, greed and tough love.
Take the show's narrator Mary Alice Young for example. She killed a drug-abusing mother because she was afraid to lose her foster child to the real mother, a heroin user. The overwhelming grief of murdering someone made Mary Alice commit suicide in the pilot episode, thus becoming the omni-present housewife who watches her friends from heaven as she relays inspirational messages of wisdom at the start and end of each episode.
I have never experienced suburban life, nor do I think I will ever succumb to being a stepford husband. But it's fun to watch housewives' lives like these implode from afar. I'll stick to inner-city violence and mounting financial debt from college, thank you very much.
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