There is all this constant pressure to “do” and “be” “more” as a human being. As though the very basic obligations of said title aren’t arduous enough. Those pursuing an artistic path face even greater pressure from the mainstream societal viewpoint about what they “need” to do in order to truly be seen as “legitimate.” After enough years devoted to a certain medium (though often not considered a “métier” if it doesn’t pay) without “transcending” to the “next level,” the assumption is that said person 1) isn’t really that talented or they would have been discovered by now and 2) they should probably move on to a “real” career that actually pays them enough to keep their head above water (even though nothing does).
When we saw Mrs. Maisel (Rachel Brosnahan) at the end of season three, she was being given the boot from Shy Baldwin’s (Leroy McClain) tour for saying “too much” about him—a.k.a. overtly implicating his sexuality—in her comedy routine at The Apollo. With the start of season four, Miriam is once more relegated to New York City after having bought back her old apartment thanks to a loan from Moishe (Kevin Pollak), her ex-father-in-law. The assurance being that she has this big-time touring gig as collateral to repay him. But with her firing comes the same old financial woes as before. And yes, there are “broke socialite” types all over the Upper West (and East) Side. Luckily, America has never stopped people from pretending to live large just because they don’t have liquid cash. So Miriam does what any white girl would do: she starts a line of credit at every store in the neighborhood, talking each proprietor into giving her a higher amount to charge up.
By the second episode, “Billy Jones and the Orgy Lamps,” this mode of debt-ridden living is already starting to catch up as Mrs. Maisel’s father, Abraham (Tony Shalhoub), tries to help his daughter out with the bills by offering the entirety of his pittance from his new job working at the Village Voice. As they joke about how little the check can actually buy, Abe remarks, “You know what the irony is about this whole thing? The job—it’s great.” Which speaks to the notion of how the things we actually enjoy doing rarely pay (or rather, capitalism does not deem most art as something of “value”). Miriam replies, “I know this is a shock, but look at it this way: you are doing something that you love.” For most people, that turns out to not actually be enough, and they always end up straying back to the god that capitalism created for them: money. Abe accepts this newfound pay grade and also consoles his destitute daughter with, “Yeah. The both of us. Pursuing our art.”
He then asks, “Are you sure you can handle all this?” The inference being weightier than just: can you handle this financially? What he’s also asking is the question that every artist has to ask themselves after enough time has passed without “succeeding”: can you handle continuing to do this in the face of a society that only values money? She doesn’t answer, instead toasting, “To art.” The opening notes to 10cc’s “Art for Art’s Sake” then begin as the credits roll. The sardonic single explores the warring desires that every artist has: to do what they actually want pitted against the indoctrinated belief that money is true power and we should all surrender to it. Thus, the chorus, “Art for art’s sake/Money for God’s sake.” In addition to the tongue-in-cheek lyrics, “Money talks so listen to it/Money talks to me/Anyone can understand it/Money can’t be beat” and “Gimme a country where I can be free/Don’t need the unions burying me/Keep me in exile the rest of my days/Burn me in hell but as long as it pays.” And that’s quite literally what most are willing to do in their lifetime for the paycheck (for there is no setting more hellacious than just about any job).
Miriam refuses to surrender, taking it as the sign of a golden opportunity to perform her act exactly the way she wants it when she ends up in the slammer again with a stripper who leads her backstage to a “jiggle joint” called The Wolford. It isn’t “stripping” the way we know it now, so much as “elegant” burlesque. In effect, there’s a plot that the girl must get through before she disrobes (including a re-creation of The Wizard of Oz’s tornado scene). And, it should not be lost on the viewer that Lenny Bruce (played by Luke Kirby) came up in the world of strip clubs as an MC as well. But, apparently, to him, what Miriam is doing isn’t “good enough.” He ultimately shows no understanding for why she would be partial to continuing at a place where she can say whatever she wants without inhibitions or restrictions—which is exactly what allowed Bruce to hone his own style of stream-of-consciousness comedy.
In the background of season four, Lenny still looms. Even though we all know the actual Lenny never would’ve gone for Miriam, or vice versa—what with Bruce being a domestic abuser, scam artist and all-around “bad boy” (complete with a Phil Spector friendship). As Amy Sherman-Palladino garners plot momentum for the finale, centered on Bruce’s real-life performance at Carnegie Hall in February of 1961, we find there is nothing surprising about him and Miriam finally “coming together,” for the buildup has been a long time in the making ever since the show started. And then there was that season three episode, “It’s Comedy or Cabbage,” when he comes to see her at the Fontainebleau in Miami.
But the real reason behind fortifying this romantic rapport is so that Bruce can essentially lord his Carnegie Hall success over her in the season finale. Which is why he drags her out on the stage to make her see how he feels when he’s on it. To tempt her with notions of “True Success.” In response to turning down a gig he tried to get her as Tony Bennett’s opening act, she says, “I made a decision to do things my way… I just want to say what I want to say.” Angered, he tells her, “Do you understand that this is a business? Like anything else—you get hired, you get paid… And the trick is to get good and get paid.” She counters, “I get paid at The Wolford.” He balks at that, leading her to demand, “You never compromise, why is it wrong for me to want to do the very same thing?” “I’m not a stand-up messiah. This is what I want,” he concludes, motioning to the seats at Carnegie Hall. “You’re not gonna get [here] hiding yourself away in a club that technically doesn’t exist.”
Miriam rebuts, “I’m not hiding. I have a plan.” Lenny insists, “Don’t plan. Just work and keep working.” Which is precisely what Miriam has been doing, even if not at the gigs that Susie (Alex Borstein) or Lenny want her to. And in the present, most would advise the opposite: that you have to plan for how to “market” the work you’ve done already. Make it go “viral.” In fact, “just working” at one’s art is the most critiqued approach ever at this moment, with many saying you can’t just keep doing the same thing and expect to be discovered without “pushing” said work. But in the alternate realm of Mrs. Maisel, a song like Sparks’ “How Do I Get to Carnegie Hall?” (also part of what the finale’s title is based on) is meant to iterate the false notion to artists that “practice” and “work” is all it takes, when we all know it’s ultimately ass-kissing, cock-sucking or simply being born into a family with the right last name (Coppola, De Laurentiis, Fonda, Seydoux, etc.).
Incidentally, the eulogy given at the real Bruce’s funeral indicated he was a sort of “stand-up messiah,” and went as follows: “He was in a sense an evangelist, on a street corner. He was a man—up tight against an artificial world… who shattered its facades, and its hypocrisy, and—if you will pardon the phrase which seems to become a cliche—he saw life as it is.” That said, it’s easy to see that life does not favor “pure” art, always wanting to taint it with commerce. To poison the artist’s mind with ideas not pertaining to art itself, but how it can be commodified. And, contrary to popular belief, can anything ever actually be great when money is the sole motivator?
The ingrained idea within all artists that if they don’t get famous or, worse still, paid for their work, then they’re actually “nothing” and should just give up is a tale as old as time. Or maybe not, since artists back in the day were given intensive training and patronage. But anyway, the external pressure of what and how you “should be” becomes self-imposed, and we start to forget about art for art’s sake, getting in our own heads thanks to commentary from people like Lenny, who tell us we’re blowing it and that we need to “grow” (cough cough “bend over”) if we want to “move forward.” Indeed, that’s the cheesy line Mrs. Maisel briefly hallucinates in the snowstorm she has to walk through after Lenny’s performance. But what moving forward always means to people is compromising artistically (unless you’re Madonna, who famously said in Truth or Dare, “I’m not going to compromise my artistic integrity”). That’s what you “have to do” to get an audience, right? To inveigle someone with money to pay you for your art.
At the same time, most artists in Mrs. Maisel’s position, presented with her opportunities, wouldn’t rebuff them. The difference here being that Maisel actually gets an opportunity to rebuff, whereas most wait their entire lifetime for something like that. And who knows what further benefits Mrs. Maisel would be given if she was actually Brosnahan herself, the niece of Kate Spade.
And not ever managing to finagle some kind of golden opportunity begs the question: what if some of us are “okay” with being “mediocre” a.k.a. “plodding along”—what Bruce calls “keep working”—and never touching the “greatness” deemed to be monetary success as an artist? What if that’s the best most can actually hope for in their artistic “non-career”? Miriam not becoming a success would, indeed, be the bolder, more realistic choice (see: Inside Llewyn Davis) for the Palladinos to make with the fifth and final season.
But, of course, we all know Miriam must “move forward” (read: “compromise”—another polite word for “sellout,” which only Charli XCX can make look good) in order for the audience to feel she’s achieved an “arc” along this journey they’ve taken with her. Plus, “moving forward” is just the nature of the human condition, n’est-ce pas? Sure. Tell that to the vast majority that is a “stagnant” population, consigned to the day-to-day slog of bare-minimum living, with little room to be told they should be doing “more” to achieve their dreams.
