“Fame is a bee.” When Emily Dickinson wrote it, she could not imagine Instagram and Tik Tok, let alone television. All these mediums broke down the gates that had previously excluded ordinary struggles from the realm of celebrities. Some would say that it makes the idea of star time less special. But each of these social media platforms is defined by the temporary appeal of a performance. Works that flee are short, viral hits that a buzz disappears into darkness shortly thereafter.
As early as the 19th century, when newspapers were the main arbitrators of who or what was worth knowing, Dickinson understood the infamy of fame and the risks and rewards associated with it.
Fame is a bee.
It has a song –
It has a sting –
Oh, it also has a wing.
‘Dickinson’ rises in a confident second season to his own song’s crescendo, continuing the anachronistic charm continued in his first song, screaming even more vividly with clear mind. The poet of Hailee Steinfeld may have emerged from a love that should not have been, but is still obsessed with death as always; she thinks of the end as friend and counsel.
Series creator Alena Smith explores the aspect of Dickinson’s reputation by making Death a recurring character (played by an elegantly dressed Wiz Khalifa), and now that they know each other well, he mysteriously encourages her to determine the difference between fame and immortality, and decide what she really wants.
Aside from her poetry, the real Emily Dickinson’s distinctive peculiarity was her introversion; she rarely left her room in the last years of her life and preferred to evaluate the human condition through verse. She would be a role model for self-imposed isolation and a handy figure for these times if anyone had never experienced the Emily of Steinfeld, a lively, as aggressive, private woman with an ambition against the oppressive patriarchal norms of her era.
This Emily’s first brush with fame does not happen through the publication of a poem, but through a cake baking contest at the annual cattle show. And her approach to the challenge is devoid of the gentle ethereality of her writing.
“I’m going to give this city a damp, sticky, generously spiced asshole!” she shouted after her black cake passed a taste test of her family. . . and true to her word, she does. This victory is part of Dickinson’s history; otherwise it does not make sense to include it in the plot. Either way, author Rachel Axler bakes her own generously spiced version of the circumstances surrounding her victory in the episode ‘Fame Is a Fickle Food’ by showing how Emily handles overnight on a limited level.
Suddenly, the city’s catty gossip wants to claim her, all because her recipe is going to be published in the local newspaper. Last year’s winner is trash! Best cake ever! But none of this is important to Emily, because cakes, like fame, are temporary delicacies that are quickly digested, digested and forgotten. Good ideas can live in the world forever. . . but is she willing to give up the paper they contain?
Much of this new season of “Dickinson” feels more lively and humorous than the excellent first, while retaining the tension that the heroine really makes for us. With Emily and her father, Edward (Toby Huss) reaching a version of detente regarding her call, Huss seems more relaxed in his role, emphasizing the love that father and daughter famously share instead of the ways they clash.
Along with Jane Krakowski’s comically-ornate performance as the poet’s mother Emily Norcross Dickinson, the pair add a wonderful layer of earthy realism to the fantasy of a 19th-century America captivated by slang and an abundance of needle drops. (LunchMoney Lewis’s ‘Make that Cake’ is an unforgettable choice to highlight, for example, Emily’s best triumph.)
‘Dickinson’ modern stitching throughout his text is one of his great strengths, and as the poet praises herself through the minefield and finds out what it means to be famous, the show nods to the frivolous debates fluttering through our day to illustrate her conflict. If someone in her social career suggests that they start a book club and drive Ralph Waldo Emerson as a possibility, another mocks: “Emerson is canceled.” It’s fun to laugh at, and it also warns Emily about how quickly fans turn to haters.
Prolonged romantic feelings for her best friend Sue (Ella Hunt) deepen this season despite Sue’s marriage to Emily’s brother Austin (Adrian Enscoe), and their exorbitant spending to show off their beloved happiness takes their sub-plot and Emily’s career into a new direction: the newlyweds transform their home into a social hub with salons and performances.
One of these is the entry point for taste publisher Sam Bowles, who realizes Finn Jones (‘Game of Thrones’) with an appropriate blend of allure and smarm. Mr. Bowles finds the poetry of Emily fascinating, and Emily himself even more so, and it goes without saying that he is probably a bad idea to fall for. But then sadness is the best poetry. (On the note is one of the literary figures appearing this season, Edgar Allen Poe, played by Nick Kroll, who should follow quite a lot after John Mulaney’s portrayal of Henry David Thoreau as a spoiled man-child.)
Where the real Emily reached Dickinson’s literary eternity by arousing great and powerful imagery through an economy of words, “Dickinson” flourishes with its lush scenery, costumes and décor pieces. There are aspects of this new arc that probably only work because Steinfeld is skilled enough to sell it, such as a recurring manifestation of a ghostly figure that only she can see (Will Pullen), a ghostly representation of her poem “I “Nobody! Who are you?”
It is a visual representation of the choice she faces to come out of her shelter and present her word to the world and subject it to consumption, praise and judgment, but there are times when the appearance of this spirit borders on overuse.
“Dickinson” also tries to acknowledge the emerging abolitionist movement taking place in the family, in part because the series has blurred racial boundaries among the elite. If comedian Ayo Edebiri gives enough screen time, it helps alleviate the situation of the subplot; On top of that, this sub-plot adds a bit of perspective to Emily’s personal mystery. Fame is a privilege that black writers who have to work anonymously would like to enjoy, but are denied in the era, otherwise their lives are in danger.
That’s the sting of it, and “Dickinson” does not pretend to be part of the story. But the rest is a sweet wonder that emphasizes sincerity along with the crap, and invites us to bind ourselves delicately and respectfully to a self-described Nobody, and love the way this elevated version of her story makes loneliness and anonymity look fantastic .
The first three episodes of ‘Dickinson’ Season 2 are currently streaming on Apple TV +, with new episodes starting Friday.