#dtamhd

in dtamhd, we're treated to life through the eyes of the most unreliable narrator on the face of the earth. of course everything goes his way in the end - he lowers his blood pressure, shoves it in the face of his doctor, walks out of there with a smug smile and a fresh layer of delusion. pointedly: he is alone.

in prime time, we see all that stripped back. he's a stuttering, teary mess, humiliated and exposed and spiralling when faced with other people seeing him in the exact opposite way than how he is (literally) begging them to. his insecurities, his sexuality, his trauma, his deep and immovable sadness on show. no matter how hard he tries (has tried all his life), he simply is not fooling anybody. he relied on the scripted nature of reality tv to carry him through, to keep up appearances, to maintain a sense of control - he is classy. he is refined. he is dignified. not the least bit abnormal in any way - and the audience sees right through his bullshit.

prime time is so satisfying because it denies him the mask, denies him the opportunity to try and change the shape of the shadow he casts. he loses, monumentally, publically. but at the end of it, where is he?

surrounded by his friends, just as degenerate and abnormal as he is, the people that know him best and have stuck around all these years for better or worse, feeding his own words back to him:

can we just be us? people get you or they don't get you. yes. alright. yeah.

Glenn Howerton: [...] and we talk about that all the time when we're writing Sunny, it's like this moment is like 'it's not funny enough,' and I'm like yes, but is it *entertaining,* is it interesting to watch? [...]