Read an Excerpt
In My Humble Opinion: My So-Called Life by Soraya Roberts
Chapter 1: A Toaster or Something
Angela Chase was supposed to have a white lob — that’s what My So-Called Life writer Winnie Holzman wanted: “albino white.” “I may have seen a girl on the street, I really don’t know,” she says. “I guess it just occurred to me that ‘Wow, that’s out there.’” But the set hairdresser convinced her not to do it. She said it would ruin Claire Danes’s hair, a natural dirty blond, and suggested arterial red instead. That meant every time Danes showered, she looked like “a murderess.” And in a sense she was. Angela’s red dye killed her past. A milk-colored mop might have been ideal as a symbol of her innocence — and, as a blank slate, a perfect metaphor for a girl searching for her identity — but it would have turned her into a specter floating seamlessly through her so-called life, the same way she always had. But red? Red is the color of revolution.
In her very first voice-over, Angela explains that, at 15, she is done with her old life. “Things were getting to me,” she says, peering out from two peanut-colored curtains of hair. “Just how people are, how they always expect you to be a certain way.” A subsequent scene in the pilot has her staring wide-eyed at her own reflection as a newly dyed blood-colored hank drips over her shoulder. “School is a battlefield, for your heart,” she says. “So when Rayanne Graff told me my hair was holding me back, I had to listen. ’Cause she wasn’t just talking about my hair. She was talking about my life.” By changing her hair, by taking control of it, she is taking control of that life, the life her parents and her teachers and the world have been dictating for her. The red signals her search for her own persona — a bright new one beyond her inheritance — even though she’s not entirely sure what it is yet. As she tries to find out, Crimson Glow illuminates her way.
Angela Chase appeared on ABC for the first time on August 25, 1994. She was nothing like her contemporaries, most notably hair-flipping cheerleader Kelly Kapowski and designer uber-bitch Brenda Walsh. Both Saved by the Bell (1989–1993) and Beverly Hills, 90210 (1990–2000) were glossy, brightly colored celebrations of Hollywoodized teen life. These “adolescents” always looked amazing and were amazingly popular and lived in amazing houses with amazing parents and went to amazing parties and dated amazing guys and it was all so exciting! And when the music turned sober, these beautiful young things preached from their gilded screens about safe sex and just saying no. Even the ostensibly real teens in Canada’s Degrassi franchise were contrived. With no sheen whatsoever (the show even excluded contemporary cultural references in an attempt to avoid becoming dated — ;it didn’t work), the original CBC trilogy used a documentary-like aesthetic to shoot a Toronto school’s frayed halls, filled with average-looking kids with average homes. But the show’s unwavering devotion to social issues, ranging from alcoholism to suicide to homophobia to anorexia, made it seem more like a series of thinly disguised public service announcements than entertainment.
If anything, Angela is the double-x answer to The Wonder Years’ Kevin Arnold, narrating her own search for personhood. The idea for MSCL actually predated the Fred Savage nostal-giungsroman. Marshall Herskovitz and Ed Zwick conceived MSCL back in the ’70s while they were working on ABC’s Family, a drama co-starring Kristy McNichol as a girl named Buddy. “Marshall and Ed would think of ideas for this teenage girl character,” Holzman says, “like she lied to her parents or she experiments with cigarette smoking, or whatever it was — and the showrunner would come back to them and say, ‘That’s not our Buddy.’” So they decided, “Let’s do a teenage girl but make her super authentic like everything we couldn’t do on Family.” Though they were sidelined by their next show, thirty-something, once it ended in 1991, they brought the idea to Holzman, one of its writers. She’s the one who conjured Angela Chase, the Pittsburgh adolescent with the very un-amazing life, and surrounded her with an equally relatable entourage — best friends Rayanne Graff and Rickie Vasquez, crush Jordan Catalano, ex-BFF Sharon Cherski, neighbor Brian Krakow. Sure, social issues came up, but, as in real life, they weaved through the narrative, never didactically, but as mere fragments of a multi-faceted existence that often went unresolved. “I wanted [Angela] to be given her due as a human being and as someone to be respected and allowed her own complexities,” Holzman says. “I felt that way about every character.”
Human beings are hard to find on TV — ambiguity was rare on primetime in the ’90s and continues to be even now. But on MSCL, not having the answer was allowed, nay encouraged. In the pilot, Angela is asked why she is quitting yearbook and she says, with irritation, “I don’t know why.” To allow for uncertainty is a hallmark of maturity. The inability to easily categorize ourselves is what makes us human, and, according to Holzman, it is one of the main components of MSCL. (“Why’re you like this?” Jordan asks Angela in “Life of Brian.” “Like what?” she responds. “Like how you are?”) It is also a main component of feminism, which, in Tavi Gevinson’s words, “is not a rulebook but a discussion, a conversation, a process.” In fact, the founder of the teen feminist mag Rookie delivered a TEDx Talk in 2012 called “Still Figuring It Out,” in which she discussed Rookie’s encouragement of equivocation. “The point is not to give girls the answers and not even give them permission to find the answers themselves,” she said, “but hopefully inspire them to understand that they can give themselves that permission, they can ask their own questions, find their own answer.” Because one answer does not exist. “Women are complicated, women are multi-faceted,” Gevinson said. “Not because women are crazy but because people are crazy and women happen to be people.” She noted that “teenagers are especially contradictory” but she only really saw that reflected on television in Freaks and Geeks’ Lindsay Weir and MSCL’s Angela Chase. The latter is particularly ambivalent, often contemplating one thing and doing another. “What I was thinking, as, like, a New Year’s resolution, is to stop getting so caught up in my own thoughts, ’cause I’m, like, way too introspective, I think,” she says in “Resolutions.” “But what if not thinking turns me into this really shallow person? I better rethink this becoming less introspective thing.”
Angela’s thoughts, her life, filled a hole in the market. Holzman knew the Hollywood stereotypes around her and created a show within them. “I would try to almost have them and then bust people out of them,” she says. She took the one-dimensional, gave it complexity, and in so doing produced one of the first feminist teen series. MSCL never once uses the F-word, but at the moment third-wave feminists in the real world were questioning the traditions surrounding gender, sexuality, class, and race, MSCL was doing the same thing on TV. In a neat parallel with the movement, the show’s teen protagonists personify powerlessness in the face of authority. While Angela and her friends attempt to establish independence, they constantly knock against the rules established generations before them.
There is, however, one historical figure Angela’s creators pledged whole-hearted allegiance to: Holden Caulfield. Describing the show’s title as “Salingeresque,” Matt Zoller Seitz wrote in an oft-quoted review in the New York Times that My So-Called Life “showcases the most sophisticated use of the unreliable narrator ever seen in network drama.” Like Holden’s narration in Catcher in the Rye, Angela’s, he wrote, “shows how teenagers try to control their chaotic inner lives by naming things, defining them, generalizing about them, even when they don’t really understand what they’re going through.” The results tend to be unintentionally funny. “We barely talked, so when we did, it came out sounding really meaningful,” Angela narrates in “Self-Esteem” before announcing out loud: “There’s a tiny leaf in your hair.” In “Life of Brian,” she claims to respect Jordan Catalano for operating under the mantra of “whatever happens, happens,” but when Brian Krakow uses the same expression, she claims it’s “the stupidest thing” she’s ever heard. These are the sorts of inconsistencies that are not uncommon in everyday life, but their complexity often inspires Hollywood neglect. The narrator is traditionally considered the authority, the one with objectivity — their word is the last word, and it’s never wrong. MSCL operates under no such pretenses. Its creators force us to live through Angela’s contradictions with her — when she is wrong, when she is right, when she is both and neither — because it is through her voice-over, through her particular perspective, that we experience everything on-screen. “Diaries are records of emotional rather than factual memory, and Angela’s narration is unreliable because she’s recording subjective experiences rather than objective truths,” writes Caryn Murphy in “It Only Got Teenage Girls” in the critical essay collection Dear Angela: Remembering My So-Called Life. “The viewer is often privy to information that Angela either doesn’t know or doesn’t want to see, which helps to establish her as a ‘realistic’ adolescent.”
The real Claire Danes was all of 13 years old when she auditioned for MSCL. Winnie Holzman had written a pilot that was meant to capture “a naked quality, not a person but a feeling of freedom and bondage, shyness and fearlessness,” which the young actress perfectly embodied. At her audition in 1992, Danes, Holzman recalled years later in the New Yorker, “was sexy and not sexy, free and bound up, open and closed, funny and frighteningly serious.” Writer John Lahr, who spoke to Holzman for the magazine in 2013, defined Danes’s acting as “a combination of thoughtfulness and impulsiveness” and what better way to describe Angela Chase? “I don’t think I’ve ever played a character who was having such a parallel experience,” Danes said in an interview for the DVD collection My So-Called Life: The Complete Series. She filmed the pilot in early 1993 and ABC first mentioned MSCL to the Times in April, calling it the “anti-90210.” There was talk of a midseason pickup, but, Herskovitz said, “they don’t really have a place for it.” The network took almost a year to find one, and in May 1994 it was announced that MSCL would appear that fall on Thursdays at 8 p.m. By that time, Danes was 15 like her character. “Angela and I were the same age, so we could dance around each other,” she told the New Yorker. “Sometimes I would have an experience and then it would be articulated in the show. Other times, I would play it out, then experience it personally later.” Both she and her character took themselves seriously, but they also felt repressed by the line they toed. “I remember being so relieved that I had an opportunity to voice my complaints about my time at school so perfectly and so eloquently,” Danes said, “with the right amount of rage and humor.”
But she couldn’t have done it without Holzman, and Holzman couldn’t have done it without her. “We gave birth to each other,” the writer told Lahr. “I was looking at someone who literally could do anything, and so I could too.” Timing did, however, play a pivotal role. If Holzman had auditioned an older Danes, their meeting might not have been so serendipitous. It was that fleeting elixir of adolescent energy that synergistically bonded Claire Danes and Angela Chase. The result? The pinnacle of Danes’s acting career, the sole instance in which she and her character would be so fluidly continuous, imbuing her with a rare power (at any age, let alone 13): the ability to shape the show around her. Because Danes was underage, she could only spend a small amount
