TV is escapism. When the world is normal, you wanna jazz it up with a little vicariously-acquired hardship. See: Game of Thrones, Breaking Bad, etc. But when the world resembles a Hitchcock flick, like it does in 2021, I’m prioritising normalcy. And The Secret Life of Us, the iconic Aussie series that premiered in 2001, is the most normal show I’ve ever seen.
That’s not an insult — it’s a talent to be able to write something that so accurately depicts a group of people figuring shit out in their 20s so that, 20 years in the future, it still strikes such a resounding chord.
I’m 23, meaning I was a wee three-year-old when this show premiered. Yet here I am, 20 years later, bingeing it obsessively on Netflix with my fellow twenty-something housemates. Because it’s stood the test of time, and here’s why.
Aussie nostalgia
Growing up on a healthy diet of Offspring and Blue Water High, it feels so nostalgic having Australian accents blaring out of the TV again. Seeing Deborah Mailman, Claudia Karvan and Joel Edgerton in their younger years is a joy. The episode in which Claudia and Susie Porter smooch feels like an insane Puberty Blues fanfic.
I get a real kick out of watching characters gulp down a Carlton Draught and seeing Evan (Samuel Johnson) pull a crumpled blue bill from his jeans. Yes, he pays for stuff with cash — there’s no phone tapping here.
The easy mateship, the lazy vernacular. In an age of crime dramas and shows about the ultra-rich, seeing something so normal is comforting. It’s so Australian in the way the writers make the mundane absurdities of everyday life so amusing. There’s no canned laughter telling you where to laugh. You’re smart enough, you’ll work it out yourself.
The characters
The Secret Life of Us is full of characters that are created with such nuance and depth. Evan is so gorgeous and goofy, the prototype for the Inner West man. I can picture him so clearly lumbering down Sydney’s King St, flicking through a dog-eared Penguin classic in a warehouse cafe in Marrickville. I love Alex (Karvan), her practicality, her cheek, her wit. My housemates and I all sit on the couch, clutching at each other’s knees, groaning and squealing at the agony of their relationship.
My friend described Kelly (Mailman) as being constructed so compassionately and cleverly, so whenever she lands herself in a spot of bother you can understand her intentions so clearly. It’s true — she’s so painfully pure of heart that you can’t help but hurt for her when she dates a deadshit, or for example, lands herself in the middle of a MLM scheme. Classic Kelly!
I don’t love watching Miranda (Abi Tucker) warble across a bar — her performances so consistently uninspiring and uncomfortable, but hey we take the bad with the overwhelming good.
The friendships
All my fellow Gen Z mates that have watched the show call out the realistic portrayal of friendship as their favourite part of The Secret Life of Us. It’s so special how the show values friendship above all. Whilst there’s drama, they don’t jump the shark. People get angry at each other for the most everyday things. They snap, apologise and laugh about it. There’s no mean girls, there’s no revenge plot, because they’re just spectacularly normal friends.
The politics
When watching older shows, I find myself bracing for the politically incorrect comment — the rogue one-liner that makes me go ‘eeek’. And whilst, don’t get me wrong, there are some very cringey comments (particularly in regards to sexuality and queerness), for the most part, I am impressed. The Secret Life of Us, unlike other shows from decades past, has aged well.
The politics in this show are so ahead of its time. They have discussions of the refugee crisis over dinner, and in one ep Alex implores the father of an intersex baby to let them decide their gender. An episode centred around abortion is so full of real information, and handled with such care and grace.
As a young adult dragging myself through life in 2021, The Secret Life of Us feels so real — the intimate domesticities, their lives so interwound with one another. Perhaps it’s narcissistic, but I think me and my housemates adore the show so much because we can see our lives reflected back at us so starkly.
A joint passed with a lazy hand (a la The Creation of David). Navigating each other’s houses and spaces with the ease of our own. Picking over each other’s love lives with microscopic detail. Everyone lives their life on a reasonable budget. Their wardrobes are op shop chic, the bedsheets are grim (pre the reign of Bed Threads) and the meals look like something I could cook. This show looks like my life from P.L.D. (Pre Lockdown). It’s so normal. And I need that right now.
