Comedy
Dead Boy Detectives
Dead Boy Detectives targets teens in style and story. But it comes with very adult, problematic content.
So tell me again: Why did we ever leave the 1960s? I don’t have a lot of first-hand experience with the decade outside of diapers and baby formula. But from what I gather watching television these days, everything then was pretty awesome. Well, everything except the racism and sexism and LSD, of course. The men wore crisp suits and the women were all seriously gorgeous and everything was fresh and new and plastic. No one was worried about global warming or militant Islam. Even the threat of nuclear war was easily thwarted by telling kids to hide under their desks at school. Happy carefree days, those must’ve been.
The newest old show designed to teach us all about that grand decade of yore is ABC’s Pan Am, a stylish look at the legendary—and now defunct—airline and its coiffed-to-the-nines stewardesses. “You think you’re about the jet set, Mad Men?” ABC seems to be saying. “We’ve got your jet set right here! And it’s set on jets!”
The series focuses on four adventurous women experiencing the paradox of unfettered freedom (in the form of worldwide travel) in an age of societal rigor (in which proper women were expected to stay home and cook casseroles). We meet Maggie, the head stewardess who has just shed her suspension for failing to wear a girdle; Laura, a LIFE magazine cover girl who left her hubby at the altar to see the world; Kate, who is also a secret government agent; and Colette, a Frenchwoman who likes to drive as fast as she flies.
These ladies, the program insinuates, are the liberated women of the day—permitted to go where they want, sleep with whom they wish and pull down a steady paycheck all the while. But they are also not allowed to get married, and they get their weight checked before every flight to make sure they’re sufficiently comely for the wandering eyes of traveling menfolk.
Pan Am doesn’t have the dramatic heft of Mad Men—but it doesn’t have the content either. Early on, its characters don’t appear to be nearly as promiscuous as the AMC show’s Don Draper, and while sexual themes are explored (and we do occasionally see women make out with various international men), they’re not as provocatively plumbed as they are on cable. Bad language—at least by contemporary network standards—is sparse, in keeping with the period of the show.
In short, Pan Am feels about as deceptively “innocent” as the age in which it’s set. This is not a tawdry show, but it can be seductive. It’s not often crude—but when it is, the impact is greater because of the context. These aren’t friendly skies—not precisely. But, again, compared with much of what’s on television now, they are at least semi-cordial.
They’re also only semi-interesting. Pan Am, with its nostalgic sheen and competent writing offers you the television equivalent of a small package of peanuts and a complimentary soda: just enough to make you feel like you got a little something for your trouble … but not enough to satisfy.
“We’ll Always Have Paris”
A passenger gets drunk and leers at Maggie, making several passes at her and complimenting her on a uniform that leaves “just enough for the imagination.” He later grabs her and tries to kiss her; she has to fend him off with a serving fork. The man then wants to file a complaint, but pilot Ted talks him out of it for the cost of another mixed drink. Ted thinks he did the right thing, but Maggie’s furious with him: Amorous passengers she can handle, she says, but “you made it OK for him to try that again with another girl.”
Laura and Kate’s mom takes a flight to Paris to try to reconcile with her daughters. Laura wants to—until she notices that her mother brought her jilted fiancé along hoping the two will reconcile. Kate’s hostile from the start: “She should’ve saved her airfare and flown her broomstick,” she says. Kate later confesses to her mother that she did need her … when she was younger.
Colette says she once posed (nude?) for a French artist after he got her drunk. People smooch, smoke and drink. They also say things like “d‑‑n” and “h‑‑‑.” They occasionally misuse God’s name. Two women, meeting in a church to exchange a covert package, cross themselves.
Paul Asay has been part of the Plugged In staff since 2007, watching and reviewing roughly 15 quintillion movies and television shows. He’s written for a number of other publications, too, including Time, The Washington Post and Christianity Today. The author of several books, Paul loves to find spirituality in unexpected places, including popular entertainment, and he loves all things superhero. His vices include James Bond films, Mountain Dew and terrible B-grade movies. He’s married, has two children and a neurotic dog, runs marathons on occasion and hopes to someday own his own tuxedo. Feel free to follow him on Twitter @AsayPaul.
Dead Boy Detectives targets teens in style and story. But it comes with very adult, problematic content.
An elf mage contemplates on connection and regret as she watches her human friends grow old and pass away.
