MRS. FLETCHER: Sex, Lies, and Life After Forty

Currently produced series create an incredible opportunity for members of social groups whose voices until now have been barely audible. Contemporary television and streaming productions are a Hyde Park for many narratives. One such narrative viewers encounter during the screenings of Mrs. Fletcher, where at last a middle-aged woman (figure notoriously overlooked by cinema) can present all of her troubles that she must face in daily life.

The HBO production is a seven-episode story about Eve Fletcher (Kathryn Hahn), a single mother raising her adolescent son Brendan (Jackson White).

The woman devotes herself entirely to her fractured family and to her work at a senior-care facility, thereby losing sight of her own needs, dreams, and fantasies. A turning point comes when her son is accepted to a college many miles from home. Of course, he does not want to live with his mother any longer, so—albeit with some trepidation—he departs into the unknown, leaving the protagonist alone and completely unsure of what to do next.

Adapted from the novel by Tom Perrotta, the screenplay records the struggles of a mature woman fighting to return to normal functioning. At last she can sign up for the writing course she has always dreamed of and has the chance to relax instead of constantly looking after her cherished son. Moreover, long-suppressed sexual needs emerge—initially shyly, like the first spring flowers breaking through the snow, but over time demanding more attention and fulfillment. The writers speak of the heroine’s fantasies without any sense of taboo. This is a display of courage, since contemporary media glorify only youth and firmness, whereas in Mrs. Fletcher middle-aged bodies are presented with pride.

While the mother begins to experiment—such as by watching pornographic films—her son must learn a new life in a completely foreign environment. Until now he was one of the school’s stars, a bad boy desired by the girls. Meanwhile, the college setting is far more progressive. The slogans voiced by young people—about equality, feminism, and climate issues—are utterly foreign to Brendan, an ordinary suburban boy. Having escaped his mother’s skirt, he too must undergo an accelerated course of maturation, learning above all to treat women as equals.

The structure of Mrs. Fletcher is well known, nearly identical to many comedy-dramas such as Better Things. The narrative freely balances between light, unassuming storytelling and a more serious examination of the protagonists’ states of mind. Difficult topics are presented accessibly, so that issues like divorce, death, or sexual awakening do not overwhelm viewers with their weight.

Interestingly, the HBO production almost ostentatiously turns away from earlier stories about middle-aged women for whom sex was a form of emancipation. These are not the days when the heroines of Sex and the City or Desperate Housewives reigned supreme. The protagonist’s return to the “love market” undergoes multifaceted analysis, acknowledging both its advantages and drawbacks. The writers astutely note that one can sometimes become deafened by trying to drown out loneliness.

Most memorable are the scenes in which the series probes how far previously established social rules still reflect reality. For this reason the creators regularly test how much youth can allow itself in its relations with age, whether heteronormativity is the only cultural form worth preserving, and quite bluntly explore the boundary between encouragement of intimacy and exploitation.

They navigate these hard-to-resolve issues fluidly, ultimately drawing one conclusion: every type of relationship should be assessed using criteria that depend on that relationship’s unique dynamics. This emerges from Eve’s erotic explorations as well as her son’s attempts to find a partner. Mrs. Fletcher can at times feel a bit monotonous, repeating the same conclusions, yet it is a very mature and balanced offering from HBO. It is worth watching this production so that, alongside the characters, one can traverse the meanders of human relationships and perceive the ambiguities from which only a step remains to complete disorientation.

And once that state is reached, it becomes much easier to understand the decisions made by the series’ characters. After all, is that not the point of this medium—to draw us closer to the characters and bond with them?