IF I KNEW that COVID-19 signaled the end of our species, I would handle things differently. For example, believing it to be temporary and wanting to avoid getting sick I am eating very healthy meals, healthier than usual, in hopes of boosting my immune system. But if I knew that in six months we’d all be dead I would go a different route, one involving chocolate babka, bagels and lox and Fritos and dip.
The not knowing is what’s getting me crazy. Will I get sick and die? Will anyone I love get sick and die? Will we all end up homeless? How bad will life be after this virus is gone? And for how long will it be gone before it comes roaring back next year? These questions haunt me, causing random outbursts of intense sobbing. The only good that has come out of nightmare is my discovery of the Netflix series “Schitt’s Creek.”
The show debuted in 2015 but I was never drawn to it, mostly because of the off-putting title. Who wants to spend time in or up shit’s creek, either with or without a paddle? But desperate times call for desperate measures, and so my husband and I tuned in to what has been a wildly popular show for six seasons and found out why. It is, simply put, hysterical. Each episode, which lasts only 20 minutes, is side-splitting, mostly due to the deadpan performances by the perfect cast.
Eugene Levy plays Johnny Rose, the patriarch of a super-rich family that is suddenly penniless. Like a reverse of “The Beverly Hillbillies,” this Canadian comedy follows the trials of Rose and his wife Moira (Catherine O’Hara), a former soap opera star, and their two spoiled-rotten grown children (Dan Levy, Annie Murphy) as they try to make do living in a crappy little motel in a nowhere town they happen to own. (Johnny bought it as a joke gift for his son years ago.) Character actor Chris Elliott plays the town’s mayor, appearing for the first time in a starring role and excelling at it.
So every night my quarantine partner and I eat our super-healthy meal, clean up after dinner and watch about 45 minutes of deeply depressing news, catching up on the current death rates, and the grim forecasts pertaining to our country’s financial downfall. Then, grabbing our only lifeline we switch to “Schitt’s Creek,” where we laugh away our cares for an hour or so and where we wish we lived, with or without a paddle.
Andrea Rouda blogs at The Daily Droid.