WEDNESDAY,NOVEMBER6,2019 | THEGLOBEANDMAILO A
I
t is an inescapable fact that Netflix has
tried to corner the market in content
about teenagers and coming-of-age sto-
ries aimed at a teen and millennial audi-
ence. Whether it was an algorithm or an ex-
ecutive’s decision, the streaming service has
devotedmuchofitsoriginalcontentproduc-
tiontostoriesaboutyouthandindoingso,it
has, as the U.S. edition of TV Guide said last
year, “discovered an untapped storytelling
gold mine.”
From rom-coms to the satiricAmerican
Vandal, to the controversial13 Reasons Why
andtheevenmorecontroversialInsatiable,it
hasmeantafloodofseriesandmoviesabout
the adolescent experience. Many are excel-
lent, prestige-TV entertainment. And while
it might be a gold mine for Netflix in content
creation and grabbing a young audience, the
material is also a gold mine of information
about the themes and motifs that captivate
the intended audience.
Even a brief survey of three notable arriv-
als reveals something solid, if unsurprising.
Much of the material is about the dark vul-
nerabilities of youth. And, usually, it all
starts with parental neglect or the impact of
a parent’s cruel actions. There is a deeply
poignant level of damage and insecurity in
the youths on these shows.
The End of the F***ing World(now stream-
ing on Netflix Canada) is back for a second
season. Made by Channel 4 in Britain, it got
international attention and acclaim through
Netflix, and that attention is what made a
second series possible. Both seasons are
small masterpieces of deadpan dark hu-
mour and, simultaneously, deeply shrewd.
In the first season – you can binge-watch
both seasons of 30-minute episodes and be
dazzled by its strange, unsettling whimsy –
two 17-year-old teenage runaways Alyssa
(Jessica Barden) and James (Alex Lawther)
are on a crime-filled road trip across Britain.
James is convinced he’s a psychopath and
his hobby is killing animals. This part of his
soul emerged after his mother died by sui-
cide right in front of him. His initial impulse
is to kill Alyssa, a young woman who says
she is already “dead inside.” That isn’t true,
but she is very damaged, probably suffering
from post-traumatic stress disorder. In the
secondseasonwemeetanewcharacterBon-
nie (Naomi Ackie), who is definitely capable
of murder. Why? Well, her mother bullied
her into academic excellence rather than
care for her emotionally. Bonnie is mentally
ill and when she realizes that Alyssa might
beresponsibleforkillingthemansheloves–
a monster of a man – she sets out for re-
venge. It’s an as-
tonishingly nihil-
istic series, gor-
geously made,
and for all its ma-
cabre humour,
very moving.
Daybreak(re-
cently arrived on Netflix) is satire, but while
it is loaded with mocking humour, it, too,
has great poignancy. Interestingly, almost
thefirstthingthemaincharacterJosh(Colin
Ford) says, is, “I wanna show you how sweet
the end of the world actually is.” In this case,
most of California has been hit by some
atomic apocalypse. Adults have tuned into
zombies, or “ghoulies,” as the show calls
them. One very funny twist is that the ghou-
lies wander around repeating the last
thought they had when the apocalypse
struck.Thusthere’saflesh-eatingmommut-
tering, over and over, “10 per cent off the
pants at Lululemon.”
Meanwhile, the surviving adolescents
have descended into a tribal world that re-
flects high school. There are the jocks, the
nerds and the followers of the Kardashians.
Joshisaloner.Hejustwantstostayaliveand
find his girlfriend from before the mayhem.
He’s adept and skillful at staying alive. And,
interestingly, he’d just moved to California
from Toronto. When he explains to a gang of
violent jocks what skills he has, one asks,
“Who are you, McGyver?” Josh says, “No, I’m
Canadian.” In flashback scenes to his pre-
mayhem life, we see Josh explain to his girlf-
riendthathismomworkedfrommorningto
night, he rarely saw her and she parented by
leaving him Post-it notes. The upshot of this
scathingly funny satire is that most teenag-
ers are vicious animals, but the adults are
even worse because they are uncaring about
their kids and created the mess that is this
disordered, terrible world.
Atypical(back for a third season on Net-
flix) is the least gloomy and most compas-
sionate of the batch. The central character is
Sam(KeirGilchrist),an18-year-oldwhoison
the autism spectrum. Now he’s just gone
from high school to college and is finding
out how superficial his new friends are,
among other revelations. But the show has
subtly shifted focus to his parents. His mom
(Jennifer Jason Leigh, who is wonderful
here) and dad (Michael Rapaport) are trying
to figure out how to stay married now that
Sam no longer needs their fullest attention.
It’s a very, very delicate balance. While the
drama has compassion for them, it is clear
that it’s the teenagers who have the more
humane and luminous sense of what is right
and what is morally wrong.
As a batch of shows, the three present a
strange, often terrifying and sometimes
touching picture of youth. Such grim vulner-
abilitiesaboundandsuchangeratoldergen-
erations seethes. It’s not so much a gold
mine as it is a glimpse of hellish rage.JOHN
DOYLEOPINIONTELEVISIONTheworldofteens
seetheswithragein
theseNetflixshows
Much of the material
is about the dark
vulnerabilities
of youth.T
he plan was crazy. I would run solo along a
country road from one Saskatchewan rural
locale to another. Call it a bold new chal-
lenge for a 53-year-old lifetime runner. I’d
run everything else, from indoor and outdoor track
to cross country, road races and a marathon. Why
not this? Still, I felt oddly vulnerable at dawn, alone
on a country road outside a settlement named St.
Laurent. Was this starting line unease about the im-
pending physical test? Doubt about the sanity of
my running experiment? The road sign beside me
read, “St. Louis 21K.” That village, a half-marathon
north through farmland and wilderness, was my
finish line. With a final stretch of my legs I was off.
There’s a payoff for running at daybreak: a land-
scape alight in novel colours and tones. To the east
the sun peeped over a high ridge, turning dewy
fields beneath it a shimmering gold. In the west,
level farmland stretched to meet a grey, straggling
fringe of dark spruce. Striding with
ease, I passed bluffs, sloughs and
crumbling granaries. Songbirds twit-
tered their early morning music. I lis-
tened to my own rhythms, the tap,
tap, tap of my footsteps, and the com-
ing and going of my breath. My route
had everything a runner could ask
for: flat stretches, elevations, shaded
forest, dipping coulées.
Country roads boast interesting
natural curves, but tough hills. Nature
isn’t levelled off like in the city and
even subtle inclines, imperceptible
when driving, were noticeable. Sandy
gravel is my favourite running surface, though. The
footing was soft and forgiving. Plunging into a steep
wooded ravine, the South Saskatchewan River
came into view and on it a clutch of pelicans. Next
came arrow-straight stretches of flat plain beneath
an endless sky. In cruise control, I studied towering
cloud castles and distant sun-splashed forested
hills. I can also ponder the fact that movement like
this is possibly the best medicine we can give our-
selves. Steady, daily walking or running is possibly
the greatest elixir.
Grazing cattle stared. Appaloosa ponies, sur-
prised at the sight of another running creature, gal-
loped alongside me. As I passed a farmstead, an
aging golden retriever and a spaniel approached
then retreated, tails between legs, seemingly
ashamed to have barked at me. I’ve run road races
with 50,000 other people. Now it’s just me and the
long winding road ahead. Save for a school bus and
a couple of pickups that morning, I owned the road.
There’s no loneliness for this long-distance run-
ner, though. Ducks exploded into flight from ditch
water. Hawks circled overhead. In a tall spruce I
spotted a nesting family of bald eagles. They
marked my halfway point where I was still fresh,
gobbling up kilometres in a breakout run. Austra-
lian running coach Percy Cerutty believed athletesperformed better when surrounded by natural
beauty. Percy was onto something there.
I made my own running discovery that morning.
It wasn’t cross-country running that was bringing
so much bliss. Nor was it road or trail running. I’d
stumbled upon a sublime new sport and was en-
raptured with the novelty of it. There was some-
thing unerringly pleasant, magical almost, in run-
ning free through a living countryside, past work-
ing farms and peaceful homes. Curiosity kept me
wanting to discover what was over the next hill,
around the next bend. Maybe I was channelling
running’s roots. Steeplechasing originally meant
running from one town’s church steeple to anoth-
er’s.
Arthritis, bad joints and weight issues alone
don’t stop baby boomers from jogging. There is so-
cietal pressure against running in later years. At the
15-kilometre mark, the sun’s rays were intense.
Then came the hill. For half an hour, it
had loomed large in the sun-baked
distance, a high prairie mountain ris-
ing to the sky. Doubt crept in. Climb-
ing its mile-long incline at this stage,
in these steamy conditions, would be
problematic.
I love hills. Dropping my head and
falling into a rhythmic trance, I
climbed to some gorgeous vistas.
Cresting it should have left me
pumped and invincible. Instead, I was
shaking and wobbly. My moisture-
wicking shirt, heavy on my shoulders,
could wick no more moisture. Wheez-
ing and doubled over, I ended my quest. Mission
aborted. The hill finished me. Then I saw it. Below
on the distant plain sat a storybook village, an oasis
of mature green treetops with a church steeple pok-
ing above them. Seeing the finish line always lifts a
runner. Quickly exchanging my saturated shirt for a
dry one, I found my second wind. Gravity carried
me gently down a three-kilometre descent. Now
my run was dreamlike, through a pastoral yeste-
ryear world of old country homes, rustic corrals
and picture postcard red barns. The ditches were
strewn with daisies and scented with wild rose.
Runner’s high kicked in. I was floating.
The last kilometres in 26 C heat left me flushed
and bent, but unbroken. My finish line beside an
old school in St. Louis brought running’s unique
pairing of searing pain and soaring ecstasy. Raising
my arms like a Boston Marathon victor, I celebrated
what was possibly my Best. Run. Ever. I’d come
through a transcendent experience, discovered a
new world of running I didn’t know existed. Lying
in a ditch, chugging water and pressing an ice pack
to the back of my neck, I had my epiphany: A run-
ner’s life really can begin at 50. My plan wasn’t so
crazy after all.Byron Jenkins lives in Saskatoon.WHERETHERUBBER
MEETSTHEROAD
ILLUSTRATION BY ADAM DE SOUZAImadeadiscoveryonemorningonasolitaryjogthroughthePrairies:
Arthritis,badjointsandweightissuesalonedon’tstopbabyboomers,
ByronJenkinswritesFIRSTPERSONAustralian
running coach
Percy Cerutty
believed athletes
performed better
when surrounded
by natural beauty.
Percy was onto
something there.Have a story to tell? Please see the guidelines on our websitetgam.ca/essayguide,
and e-mail it [email protected]First Person is a daily personal piece submitted by readersTODAY’SKENKENSOLUTION TODAY’SSUDOKUSOLUTIONNEWS |