Imagine you’re perusing through Apple+ trying to find something to watch when you suddenly pass an image of Rose Byrne in her best Olivia Newton-John, circa 1981, neon spandex and all. The kind of cover art makes it easy to imagine what this series is about. Physical is a period piece with an aerobic twist.
When the sweaty drama begins to unfold, however, it’s evident that this seemingly one-dimensional premise is deeper, darker, deceptively physical, and increasingly psychological, with themes of gender, sex, politics, body dysmorphia, bulimia, abuse, and feminism is interwoven with early ’80s pop, neon spandex, and bored housewives. These themes paint a muted, jaded, and cynical tone, just like the voice of the show’s heroine, which is heard repeatedly through voice-over narration. And what a voice it is!
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Masterfully delivered by the unstoppable Byrne, who has continued to dazzle since Damages was on television in the early aughts. That’s a conversation for later, however. A more important question is how season two of Physical is placing Byrne in the lead for the 2023 Best Actress in a Drama Series award at the Emmys, Globes, and SAG Awards. But how does a feminist story about a bulimic aerobics instructor with a duplicitous inner psyche and an unscrupulous obsession with making a fortune get made at Apple+? Let’s start at the beginning.
What Is AppleTV+ Physical About?
It’s 1981, San Diego, and Sheila Rubin (Byrne) is miserable. She’s the poster child for the white suburban privileged baby boomer who has finally woken to the fact that her upbringing, education, and marriage have led her nowhere but towards deep self-hatred. She grapples with this by binge-eating greasy fast-food cheeseburgers and then purging them in secret hotel rooms where she assaults herself with insults. She’s clearly gifted, smart, calculating, and neurotic to the bone.
Unattractively duplicitous with a borderline personality that most likely borders on the edge of sociopathic, she’s easy to love. Why? Because she’s a flawed human being. She’s vain. Judgmental. Harsh. Mostly to herself. That’s why she purges the multiple burgers she binges on: she hates herself more than everyone else. And everyone in her world deserves her hate. Why? Because she’s the victim in all of this. Marginalized, humiliated, tortured, and abused, she’s terribly broken by a childhood trauma that has left her full of pain, rage, and narcissism. On top of it all, she is a woman, and there’s nothing more political than that.
Except, of course, if you happen to be a feminist woman, and in 1981, feminism was just starting to hit the mainstream. Women were educated at a higher rate than ever in history. Divorce rates and judicial legislation like Roe v. Wade freed women from the shackles of centuries-old oppression. More than ever, working women realized they could survive and thrive without a man’s name attached to theirs. So it’s no surprise that Sheila decides to let the hate out of her head, managing to transform it into a hobby that turns into an obsession that she weaves into a career, which ultimately earns her a fortune and subsequently leads her to freedom.
In her own twisted, maniacal way, of course, as she still remains a sociopath, but a (dis)likable one, such as Tony Soprano, Walter White, Nurse Jackie, Don Draper, and Carrie Bradshaw before her. They are made-for-television anti-heroes with relatable human flaws. Sheila Rubin is the new kid on this boulevard of broken dreams, but one in which it’s possible for the audience to actually hear her thoughts, which they do. Loudly. For better or for wicked worse, all of Sheila’s thoughts are laid out on the table for her to use against herself, others, and the audience themselves.
Now, breaking the third wall through narration, whether via voice-over or on the screen, is usually the sophomoric and lazy way for the writers to let the audience into the inner climate of a character. But exceptional writing can break all the rules. In the case of Physical, it makes sense because Sheila is both the hero and the antagonist, and the dialogue between the two can evolve the story. It’s a delicate balance between cheesy and brilliant, and only someone like creator Annie Weisman and Rose Byrne can pull that off.
Rose Byrne Deserves All the Awards
Apple TV+
Byrne has been on an upswing since Damages to Bridesmaids to Mrs. America, in which she plays the feminist icon Gloria Steinem. It’s clear that she’s not afraid of taking on tough, uncomfortable roles and deconstructing them into something beautiful, powerful, and hilarious. Very few Hollywood starlets have that kind of ferocious, brilliant talent. Carole Lombard, Barbra Streisand, and Shirley MacLaine come to mind.
That makes the fact that Byrne’s season one performance did not make the 2022 Golden Globes or Emmys shortlist that much more puzzling. How could she not be rewarded for such a triumphant return to the screen?
Physical Is the Feminist Show of Today
There’s so much craft in the show that deserves to be celebrated. From the writing to the direction, cinematography, production design, costume design, make-up, hair, and editing, the show sparkles and shines in the right places. It’s like a deeper, darker, funnier version of Glow, the Netflix series about the famous ladies of wrestling, starring the perfect Allison Bree. What Glow lacked in depth, Physical covers in spades, with a prescient, timely fervor that begs for the show to be watched now, while herstory is being made.
Now is the time that more uncomfortable stories about women breaking through glass ceilings need to be on the screen, even if those women are complicated, terrible, and destructive. None of those reasons mean she can’t be aspirational as well. That’s what makes Physical so bold and edgy: its silver lining. In neon spandex, of course.
