Don’t we know enough by now to know that the actions of our past have no bearing on what we truly are in the present? Regret is the kindest of emotions, and where regret cannot be cataloged or prioritized, reason fills that gap. Aristotle spoke of “reason.” That the concept of Reason is what makes man good. The group-think mob control philosophy of 2018 removes the concept of Reason from Man, therefore all men are unreasonable, therefore all men are “evil.” Of course, the concept of Reason still exists, we know this. Law is put into place to create guidelines for Reason. You remove the law, there is no reason. You search for short-cuts in the Law, you are bending Reason. What occurs in The Handmaid’s Tale is the absence of reason vis-à-vis rewriting the laws, and it proves (with logic) such a scenario could never exist in the United States nor the “Republic of Gilead.” After a particularly stimulating game of Scrabble, the Commander (obviously charmed by a flirtatious June) gives her a gift: an old fashion magazine. Is the Commander violating the decree of Gilead by acknowledging June’s ability to read? We flash back to the day June met Luke. It’s almost a meet-cute from a romantic comedy. It turns out Luke is married. This is where we get the “adulterer” moniker from Aunt Lydia. Gilead’s record-keepers must be former Scientologists! While June eats her breakfast cereal, Nick walks in and they make eyes.
Serena infers to June that if she won’t get pregnant soon, she’ll be sent off to the dreaded Colonies. Serena has an idea (straight out of the book) to put her together with a stud who will knock her up but good, while still going through the motions during the rape. She chooses Nick because we have to get these two together, right? So now we have a complete and total lie, with no element of this family (Fred and Serena) contributing in any way to the creation of a child. In the Loaves & Fishes supermarket scene, I begin to understand the purpose of the over-sized hoods the handmaids wear. They allow for no peripheral vision so that a handmaid must turn to face you in order to see you, like the blinders on horses. After having her clitoris removed, Emily is put back into the general population, given the new designation “Ofsteven.” She tells June of “Mayday,” perhaps a resistance group, which gets my blood a-pumpin’. June’s new traveling companion is a bitchy little thing who doesn’t want to get into trouble. Later, Serena plays Juliet’s Nurse to June and Nick, arranging for their quiet time in his Fonzie-style above-the-garage-apartment. June thinks about her courtship with Luke. Luke is light-skinned, bearded with glasses. He looks like a Liberal Arts professor. Moss appears much more genuine as a real person in these flashback scenes than she does as the withered wall-flower of a handmaid getting into Nick’s pants. Nick, the well-meaning slug, has no problem with the arrangement, nor should he.
Frankly, I have no problem with June’s “scarlet letter” status, and as June sees no problem with it (even to the destruction of Luke’s marriage), why is her past used as ammunition by the elite of Gilead? In the present, Serena observes (or stands watch) as June and Nick make it. The interaction is mechanical, bereft of passion, and when it is over Serena asks her how she feels. June, in a rare outburst, says, “You don’t just feel pregnant thirty seconds after a man comes.” Serena tells her to lie down. We’re back to Reason, or the bending of reason in search of short-cuts. Serena really wants to have a baby, and she’s willing to bend the rules, even if it is not her baby. Somebody else bends the rules; the wife of Emily’s new Commander. She’s well aware of what Emily has gone through, and she postpones the Ceremony. Kindness is at such a premium on this show it shocks me when I see it. Since sex is strictly for procreation (and never to be enjoyed), Commander Fred commits a major boo-boo when he touches June’s thigh during the Ceremony. Oops! Later, she and Fred debate the finer points of choice and love. Fred doesn’t believe in love – he sees it as a mask for lust. Perhaps because he’s never truly known love. “I only wanted to make the world better,” he almost pleads to June. He’s a wicked little thing. “Better never means better for everyone.” June vomits after hearing this. Why is Gilead’s water pressure better than my old house upstate?
In a flashback, June tells Luke she wants him to leave his wife, to which Luke quickly agrees. I realize the responsibility of the infidelity rests firmly on the both of their shoulders, but married Luke stands to lose more in this coupling than single June. She might be the seductress, the succubus of this lust story, but it was Luke’s choice to remove his pants. When the Sons of Jacob seize the power, they become the father-image and treat the citizens like children, but making them responsible for their actions, and then controlling them through those actions. In town, Emily (Ofsteven) gets into a car and starts driving. You see, women aren’t allowed to drive cars. She runs over a Guardian, probably kills him right there, but the actress Bledel has a look of bewilderment on her face, as if she doesn’t know what she is doing, but as Aunt Lydia likes to say, “Actions have consequences.” I really don’t care about the soap opera aspects of The Handmaid’s Tale. These characters haven’t been around long enough for me to care. When June later sees Nick in his Fonzie-style apartment and they make love like actual human beings, I really don’t care. I can’t, for the life of me, figure out how people can be turned on enough in this grotesque imitation of life to have hot, sweaty passionate sex. Maybe it goes back to June’s status as an “adulterer.” If that’s the case, The Handmaid’s Tale is a prudish, judgmental piece of tripe.
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