When Showtime’s The Affair premieres tonight, much
will rightly be written about its experimental approach to structure, form and
point of view. In its first episode, which is actually already available
online, the show dives into a tale of temptation and (potential) infidelity
that unfolds like a dream or a languid summer day, its serenity punctured every
so often by moments of unsettling tension.
It’s not just the unhurried pacing or the tone, calibrated to a tricky
but riveting balance between meditative and disquieting, that reminded me of The Leftovers, another premium cable
show that debuted this year. It’s the way they both bury deep into their
characters’ psyches, lingering in the most secretive, troubled spaces and
allowing that darkness to seep out and color the world around them. Though the
similarities might not continue beyond The
Affair’s first episode, from what I’ve seen, both shows seem intent on
wrenching their characters out of their sedate, comfortable lives and hurtling
them toward an undefined yet inevitable doom.
The Leftover’s apocalypse is a literal one. Thrown into a
collective existential crisis after the sudden, random disappearance of 2
percent of the world’s population, the residents of a suburban New York town
must grapple with broken families, the rise of strange cults as old belief
systems are shattered and new ones take hold, and the fact that, despite all
common sense and the desires of many, life insists on moving on almost as if
nothing had ever happened. By contrast, the concerns of The Affair are much more down-to-earth and mundane. Noah Solloway
(played by the reliably good Dominic West) lives in a spacious New York City
brownstone courtesy of his snobby but filthy rich father-in-law, is contentedly
married (his wife is played by Maura Tierney, so you know she’s lovely) with
four children, and has recently published his first book while still enjoying
his day job as a public school teacher. As Noah himself admits, it’s an idyllic
existence, one so often promised to everyone by politicians, Hollywood and advertisers
but that few people could ever hope to achieve. Yet, all it takes is one chance
encounter with a pretty waitress named Alison Lockhart (Ruth Wilson, a
revelation) for him to consider throwing it all away. This premise has been
done countless times before, and without a talented and, let’s be honest,
attractive cast and such ambitious writing and direction, the prospect of
spending every week watching privileged people being unhappy with their
privilege would’ve sounded insufferable (counterargument: Mad Men).