Dear Gossips,
I was screaming at the TV in rage last night, so mad at myself. The reason: The Diplomat. Finished the last episode of season one (Netflix announced last week, not surprisingly given the ratings that it was renewed for season two) and it’s a cliffhanger and all my neighbours could probably hear coming from my basement was a primal NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!
By my standards, since I was watching with my husband who is one of those people who can resist burning through an addictive series, this was a binge. We started last week and we’re done already because it’s so funny, I love the tone, and I am obsessed with Keri Russell.
But The Diplomat does have its critics. Roxana Hadadi’s piece in Vulture calls out the stereotypes and tropes that the show lazily leans into. And yet… I couldn’t stop. I was entertained. Because this series checks a lot of my boxes. The Diplomat is like if only the best parts of The West Wing and House of Cards had a baby and its godmother was Shonda Rhimes and I am powerless to that combination. I am also powerless to Keri Russell in a meditation on marriage because, for me at least, this is what The Diplomat is about. This is a messy show about a messy woman in a messy marriage to an infuriating man played by Rufus Sewell who is just as skeezy and slippery as you would expect from him – and he’s perfectly irresistible in this role. I can’t stand him but I don’t want to stop watching him. And I definitely don’t want to stop watching David Gyasi as the British Foreign Secretary who gets mixed up in the political, professional, and personal dysfunction of this bonkers couple.
So what now?
Well we have to wait. We would have always had to wait but since these f-cker corporations won’t pay writers the wait will be even longer. Which is why I wish I’d never hit play on the series to begin with. But I guess that’s the warning that comes with every show right now. XO Kitty, for example, will be my next dilemma.
Yours in gossip,
Lainey
