From its opening scenes, Michael Schur’s new comedy assures us that we’re in good hands. Deft, poignant and evocative, the introduction to A Man on the Inside (Netflix) is rich in revealing detail and infused with a quiet melancholy as Charles Nieuwendyk (Ted Danson) awakes to his daily routine, noticeably alone in his double bed. The retired engineering professor and widower had been dreaming of his wedding speech, a flashback taking us to a time when, as a young groom, he’d been elated at the prospect of sharing a long life with his bride.
In A Man on the Inside, Charles (Ted Danson) gets a new lease on life by going undercover in an aged-care home.Credit: Netflix
To the lilting strains of Cat Stevens’ The Wind, he begins his morning ritual: shaving; plucking nasal hairs; choosing his clothes from the half-filled wardrobe and neatly dressing; brushing lint off his jacket; weighing out the beans for his coffee, then reducing the amount as he’s reflexively scooped too much. Then, coffee mug beside him on the table, he does the newspaper crossword.
Afterwards, in his tidy, tasteful home, he naps in an armchair by the fire, newspaper on his lap, then clips an article which he sends (snail mail) to his daughter, Emily (Mary Elizabeth Ellis). He wistfully watches people at play in the park, eats takeaway noodles for dinner – from one of the two cartons he’s ordered – and goes to bed reading John le Carre’s Smiley’s People. It’s a day filled with the familiar but aching with loneliness, eloquently speaking, without dialogue, of a man adjusting to life alone.
The co-creator of Brooklyn Nine-Nine (Netflix) and Parks and Recreation (Prime, Stan, Binge) and creator of The Good Place (Netflix), Schur excels at sweet-natured yet incisive comedies enlivened by effervescent ensembles. His warm-hearted and distinctive tales of community offer laugh-out-loud moments while fluidly incorporating insightful observations about idiosyncratic characters.
His new series joins a growing contingent of recent shows focusing on mature-aged citizens. Retirees, widows and widowers, late-stage divorcees, grandparents, residents of aged-care homes. Old folk. Once relegated to the margins, they’re increasingly front and centre, no longer automatically stuck in supporting roles. You could call it the March of the Baby Boomers, historically a vocal generation and now not one content to withdraw into the anonymity of the Third Age. Since the ’60s, Boomers have been demanding attention and agitating for change. A noisy bunch and not one inclined to remain meekly on the sidelines, in society or on screen.
You might also call it the Revenge of the Wrinklies, although, due to the prevalence of cosmetic surgery and the unforgiving pressures on actors, nature’s natural lines have often been erased. But while not too many wrinkles might actually be visible, advancing age is a key factor.
Just think of the number of recent productions focusing on characters who are refusing, in their own sometimes quirky ways, to go quietly into that good night: Only Murders in the Building (Disney+), Grace and Frankie (Netflix), The Kominsky Method (Netflix) and Matlock (Paramount+). What once was an anomaly – like The Golden Girls or New Tricks – has become relatively commonplace. And in these series, the seniors are fully formed characters, not secondary, single-dimension stereotypes: meddling mothers-in-law, grumpy grandpas, doting nannas, nutty aunts, embarrassing uncles, nosy neighbours.
Kathy Bates in Matlock: age is a weapon.Credit: Sonja Flemming/CBS via AP
The Matlock revival, for example, transforms the title character, a lawyer played by Andy Griffith in the ’80s original, into a wily grandmother played by Kathy Bates. She uses her age as a weapon, relying on people’s prejudices to disarm them. If she’s noticed at all – and her early and convincing claim is that age can serve as a cloak of invisibility – she’s underestimated. By the end of the pilot episode, she’s demonstrated that she has the skill, the smarts and the life experience to outfox most of those she encounters.
