A Little Dose of Mcbealism

It was the end of 1990s.

In those times, still a few years shy of tertiary education and working life: part of me wanted to enjoy adolescence; while part of me wanted to be a grown-up already. Life-planning woes; career angst; mortgage headache; procreation anxiety: all these rites of passage seemed so far away; yet I frantically scanned for adults, in flesh or fictional, for a preludial peek into adulthood.

Then along came David E. Kelley’s hour-long comedy “Ally Mcbeal”. It was about a group of lawyers: all attractive and fearless, all embodiying the essence of adulthood. For me, pretty much everything about the show — the notorious short skirt; the setting in gritty Boston cityscape; the steaming cups of coffees on their hands; the hilarious unisex restroom scenes — did not compute for me; still, I was hooked on the comedic antics and Mcbealism quotes.

So it was not really a show I watched, but one I tried to study curiously, the way a boy peers into his dad’s shaving implements or the giggle the girl gives out while putting on her mom's makeup. I saw old people fighting, crying, hugging, kissing, but mostly just talking. All the adult talk started to take on instructional-video magnitude for me. Like school, “Ally Mcbeal” felt urgently essential and yet confusing, and every week I tuned in hoping to learn how to talk the adult talk and maybe soon walk the adult walk.

The first season, which I watched again recently, was about what I expected: relationship problems, friendship crises, endless breakups, rekindled affairs, co-worker crushes — all the dreams/nightmares punctuated by adulthood. During the second viewing, this show that once got its target demography hooked left me in a stew of mixed emotions: it is true, it is real, it is me, it is not me, it is horrible, and I love it.

In this second-chance viewing inching closer to the same age as the characters, I am amazed and inspired by all the everything-in-between, all the ambivalence and the stagnation. At times, the camera lingers too long on the expressions of a frustrated Ally or an enthusiastic Richard or a dejected Elaine, and those are the looks no one shows you in real life much anymore, much less on television. Its devotion to everyday details and all the microcosms of triumph and frustration turns itself into the real reality TV, every bit as boring and dazzling as the real “real life.”

Ultimately what “Ally Mcbeal” was obssessed with is that bittersweet moment when youthful rebellion runs headlong into the responsibilities, pains and joys of adulthood. Whether the quirky comedy manage to send the correct moral story, that predicament properly explored never quite gets old.