Better Things Fights All The Good Fights In Its First Season

In a year that has assaulted us with so many terrible surprises, it's important to acknowledge and celebrate the surprises that are wonderful, which is why I'm so privileged to celebrate this first season of Better Things. That's not to say I'm surprised that it's good; I'm surprised at how good it is. It's been such a pleasure to spend a little time each of the past ten weeks with the Fox family, and while I'm sorry to have to say goodbye to them for now, at least I have the comfort of knowing we will be reunited for a second season. (Prediction: I watch the season from start to finish at least three more times before it returns.)

Like Atlanta -- its fellow freshman sitcom, on FX, starring its creator (also like Insecure, other than the FX part) -- Better Things shines because the story it tells is so specific to its teller. For the viewer, the experience is less like merely watching it than entering its world. Though the show is technically a sitcom (and a funny one), creator/star Pamela Adlon has joined her collaborator Louis C.K. in ignoring the rules of the genre. Sometimes there's a story that runs through a whole episode; sometimes an episode is a couple of barely related vignettes. The kids are adorable, except when they're shits. Exposition is almost non-existent; emotional truthfulness is paramount.

The finale -- three distinct segments, each doing something different from the others, each perfectly executed -- is an excellent example of the show's poise and assurance. (In fact, it's a testament to how well constructed the show has been all the way through the season that it could have worked just as well as a series premiere.) In the cold open, Sam goes through all the irritating steps of arranging a weekend away with her mother, Phyllis -- buying her a swimsuit; breaking the news to her youngest that the two of them won't have special time together; even loading up the car and getting in with Phyllis -- before announcing that she's just not up for it after all. It tells us so much about her character: she has the laudable desire to spend time with Phyllis (who, as we've seen, can be a lot), but she also has the self-awareness to recognize that she's tapped out on tolerance for her at this moment, and trusts their relationship enough to say so. Sam does experience mom-guilt (and woman-guilt), but she's apparently also mentally weighed the guff she's going to get about cancelling the trip she doesn't want to take against the resentment she'd suffer if she went through with it. SHE HAS MUCH TO TEACH US.

The second segment is just the morning of an unremarkably chaotic school day. Duke's sick. Frankie's whining about jeans. The housekeeper arrives, but she's sick, and Sam sends her home. When Rey comes by with cheques for Sam to sign to pay her spousal support to her ex-husband and asks him to hold up while she makes the kids' lunches, he cheerfully offers to help, and she takes him up on it. When one of Duke's school friends comes by to give her a ride, Duke evinces a miraculous recovery and takes off with her. There's not really a "story" here, in the sense of a specific incident she'd ever bother to tell someone about later; we're just seeing what a normal day looks like in this family: annoying tasks, unhelpful kids, a ticking clock. We're just spending time in Sam's world, learning more about what makes her who she is.

In the third segment, Sam is called to Frankie's school to take her home over a discipline issue: Frankie used the boys' restroom instead of the girls', which isn't permitted. She later tells Sam that it's not what she thinks: Frankie's not experiencing any issues with her gender identification, she just thinks the girls in her class are disgusting, and tells a pretty convincing story to prove it: "So Hadley was lying on the bench in the bathroom, and Tamsin and Missy are wearing these, like, one-piece, like, spacesuits, the onesies that have a zipper going all the way down their crotch, and they kept unzipping them and showing their boobs to each other." Sam says that's normal, but there's more: "And so Missy stuck her finger in her-- She stuck her finger in her pussy and wiped it on Hadley's face." Sam:

Sam is convinced, and the day goes on, until Max finds Sam in a quiet moment in the kitchen before bedtime. She's heard what happened, and gently tells her what it actually means: "Mom, Frankie is a boy." Sam laughs her off, saying Frankie had told her she knew that's what people would say but that it isn't true. Max gives her a silent but pitying stare and departs, leaving Sam alone.

This part wouldn't be so powerful if we hadn't spent the twenty-two minutes leading up to it with Sam. She's in every scene of this episode, so we've been even closer than usual to her wit, her exhaustion, and her humanity. We know this is Sam wondering what this could mean, but probably not worrying. The episode doesn't even confirm whether Max is right, which gives the closing family sing-along in the car to "Only Women Bleed" some mystery -- does Frankie count herself a member this club or not? Whatever happens, this isn't a crisis; it may be another addition to Sam's brief as a mother, and one we know she'll take on with her specific prickly grace.

Given that I'm praising this show, it may not seem like a compliment for me to say I appreciate its uneventfulness. But in fact, the highest compliment I can pay Better Things is to put it in the same category of Rectify and High Maintenance and Friday Night Lights apart from the scene where people were...you know, loudly playing football: quiet, meditative series about decent people doing their best to live good lives and love each other. I also appreciate how hilarious Better Things is -- the cold open a couple of weeks back that was just Sam wandering in on Phyllis gardening topless and then running away snickering was a comically economical delight -- but this week, I appreciate its heart even more.