Review: Hulu's PEN15
So, in between studying for my art history midterm (seriously, who schedules midterms for AFTER spring break? Wesleyan, you're a bitch) and attempting to go for very slow two-mile runs in the Delaware cornfields, I binged the first season of the Hulu series PEN15, which came out in February and stars Maya Erskine and Anna Konkle in ten episodes. As 31-year-old women, they play versions of their seventh-grade selves alongside actual seventh graders. While this may seem outlandish, it works—Erskine sports an unfortunate bowl cut and a retainer, and Konkle wears braces and hunches her shoulders in the self-conscious way that thirteen-year-olds do when they've had a growth spurt before everyone else. Their dialogue is impeccable, and their words are appropriately drawn out to convey the drama of their existences. This show had me laughing out loud at my computer (which rarely actually happens) and cringing so hard because damn, it is just TOO SOON to be revisiting these middle school memories. Similarly to Bo Burnham's masterpiece Eighth Grade, this show manages to capture the insanity of being 13, while still legitimizing the obstacles these girls go through and making the viewer empathetic, even if your middle school years are far behind you.
Often times, I found myself forgetting that the actors were grown women because the way that they inhabited the universe of seventh-grade was uniquely compelling. Yes, they do laughably stand out amongst a hoard of actual middle schoolers, but that's kind of the point, isn't it? In middle school, most of us felt like we stood out in some unfortunate way, were some kind of other, whether it had to do with our height, our race, our social adeptness, or something else entirely. The height differences between the women and their romantic interests are accentuated even more than they might be if the actresses were thirteen themselves, and every difference between the girls and the other girls is humiliatingly highlighted.
While Erskine's character (also named Maya) was brilliant, compelling, and stunningly recognizable, Konkle's character (Anna) aligned with my own personal past the most. The way Anna gingerly brings two strands of hair to lie on her forehead reminded me of my own constant pushing back and careful adjustment of the side bangs I had at the time. Often the character will cross her arm over her stomach and duck her head, trying to seem smaller, more subtle, more petite. And the music that plays when Anna sees her crush—I swear I heard those same intense, romantic, expectant notes as I wistfully watched my middle school crush from across the room. The embarrassment that the girls feel around their parents and, in Maya's case, sibling, is also well done. I remember all too well sprinting from the dinner table in horror and mortification if my parents brought up some mildly sensitive topic.
Maya and Anna fight the simultaneous and conflicting forces of adulthood and childhood yanking them from different sides. In a moment that demonstrates this juxtaposition perfectly, Maya plays with her My Little Ponys and becomes sexually aroused when she makes them kiss, which leads to the discovery of masturbation and therefore shame. They have intense, real interest in boys at school (and fake ones on AIM, an early 2000s phenomenon that I was born a few years too late to experience), but when it comes to actually kissing them or making their crushes a reality, the girls often panic and bolt. Case in point: at a sleepover, Maya finds herself in a closet with a boy who keeps leaning in to kiss her, and she dodges him repeatedly, yanking her retainer out in what is perhaps the most unsexy move of all time and muttering excuses as to why it shouldn't happen. Anna actually gets a first kiss, but it's the classic failed first kiss story: her "boyfriend" devours her mouth with his tongue and leaves a trail of spit so thick on Anna's face that she uses her whole hand to wipe it off in horror after he leaves. All of these events indicate that the girls are repeatedly flirting with adulthood, maturity, and change, but have no idea how to execute it. This idea is fundamental to this particular stage of development.
The friendship between the girls is also endearing, realistic, and thoughtful. It certainly helps that Erskine and Konkle are real-life best friends, and this chemistry translates remarkably well onscreen. They have the giddiness and the hushed voices of two girls who are deeply connected, something that reminds me a lot of the friendships I had on that age and the value that the real ones had, even if they were sometimes intensely complicated. The love is palpable and at times it seems like the two girls only have each other, which makes the friendship all the sweeter. As the viewer, I was rooting for these girls, even when they were blatantly obnoxious and over-the-top.
This is a demographic that too often gets written off for being bratty, self-centered, annoying, and moody. I'm so glad that they're getting attention and legitimacy, and I love that there is hope in all of this: that things will get better for them, even if they're stuck in the seemingly bottomless rut of seventh grade. Although this show had me cringing like no other, I feel seen, and I'm sure many others do too, even though I am well past this stage in my life (whew!). It seems like middle school may be having a moment, and I am HERE for it.
Often times, I found myself forgetting that the actors were grown women because the way that they inhabited the universe of seventh-grade was uniquely compelling. Yes, they do laughably stand out amongst a hoard of actual middle schoolers, but that's kind of the point, isn't it? In middle school, most of us felt like we stood out in some unfortunate way, were some kind of other, whether it had to do with our height, our race, our social adeptness, or something else entirely. The height differences between the women and their romantic interests are accentuated even more than they might be if the actresses were thirteen themselves, and every difference between the girls and the other girls is humiliatingly highlighted.
While Erskine's character (also named Maya) was brilliant, compelling, and stunningly recognizable, Konkle's character (Anna) aligned with my own personal past the most. The way Anna gingerly brings two strands of hair to lie on her forehead reminded me of my own constant pushing back and careful adjustment of the side bangs I had at the time. Often the character will cross her arm over her stomach and duck her head, trying to seem smaller, more subtle, more petite. And the music that plays when Anna sees her crush—I swear I heard those same intense, romantic, expectant notes as I wistfully watched my middle school crush from across the room. The embarrassment that the girls feel around their parents and, in Maya's case, sibling, is also well done. I remember all too well sprinting from the dinner table in horror and mortification if my parents brought up some mildly sensitive topic.
Maya and Anna fight the simultaneous and conflicting forces of adulthood and childhood yanking them from different sides. In a moment that demonstrates this juxtaposition perfectly, Maya plays with her My Little Ponys and becomes sexually aroused when she makes them kiss, which leads to the discovery of masturbation and therefore shame. They have intense, real interest in boys at school (and fake ones on AIM, an early 2000s phenomenon that I was born a few years too late to experience), but when it comes to actually kissing them or making their crushes a reality, the girls often panic and bolt. Case in point: at a sleepover, Maya finds herself in a closet with a boy who keeps leaning in to kiss her, and she dodges him repeatedly, yanking her retainer out in what is perhaps the most unsexy move of all time and muttering excuses as to why it shouldn't happen. Anna actually gets a first kiss, but it's the classic failed first kiss story: her "boyfriend" devours her mouth with his tongue and leaves a trail of spit so thick on Anna's face that she uses her whole hand to wipe it off in horror after he leaves. All of these events indicate that the girls are repeatedly flirting with adulthood, maturity, and change, but have no idea how to execute it. This idea is fundamental to this particular stage of development.
The friendship between the girls is also endearing, realistic, and thoughtful. It certainly helps that Erskine and Konkle are real-life best friends, and this chemistry translates remarkably well onscreen. They have the giddiness and the hushed voices of two girls who are deeply connected, something that reminds me a lot of the friendships I had on that age and the value that the real ones had, even if they were sometimes intensely complicated. The love is palpable and at times it seems like the two girls only have each other, which makes the friendship all the sweeter. As the viewer, I was rooting for these girls, even when they were blatantly obnoxious and over-the-top.
This is a demographic that too often gets written off for being bratty, self-centered, annoying, and moody. I'm so glad that they're getting attention and legitimacy, and I love that there is hope in all of this: that things will get better for them, even if they're stuck in the seemingly bottomless rut of seventh grade. Although this show had me cringing like no other, I feel seen, and I'm sure many others do too, even though I am well past this stage in my life (whew!). It seems like middle school may be having a moment, and I am HERE for it.
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