The reason the characters in “Men of a Certain Age” are unappealing is simple — and intentional. They’re too young to be so grumpy, too old to behave like Peter Pan.
But these guys can grow on you. Spend a few episodes, and revulsion turns to pity, pathos evolves into a rooting interest. You kinda like them.
If women of a certain age in Manhattan had their TV moment, coveting Jimmy Choos and drinking cosmos, then men pushing 50 in Los Angeles are getting theirs, in sweats, at diners.
TNT’s sweet and sour tragicomedy launched last week with an audience of 5.4 million, much better than average ratings for the cable network. It follows “The Closer,” which helps; but it’s up against Monday Night Football, which doesn’t.
The chronicle of three male friends on the downslope of aging continues Mondays at 8 p.m.
If those women of HBO’s “Sex and the City” were superficial and catty, at least they looked good while experiencing big-city ennui. The men are immature and petty, with adolescent values combining in an unflattering way with graying hair and oversized guts. The strip malls, motels and suburban houses that are their backdrop can’t compete with Manhattan. And only one of them cares about appearances.
Three respected actors — Ray Romano, Andre Braugher and Scott Bakula — all winners in their TV and theater careers, play losers at midlife, indulging adolescent-boy fantasies and irresponsibility. They hold ungratifying jobs and are happy just to connect with each other at a coffee shop.
Their interests range from sex to cyber-sex.
In their sunny but often empty Southern California lives, they are at various stages of marriage, divorce and bachelorhood; they find themselves either stressed, bored or devoted to six-pack abs and yoga class.
Romano (“Everybody Loves Raymond”), who also produces the series, plays Joe, the owner of a party-supplies store. He’s trying to bounce back from a divorce and a gambling addiction, although he spends more time talking to his bookie than his two kids. Living out of a motel room, whining endlessly about the end of his marriage, he is profoundly lost.
Braugher (“Homicide: Life on the Street”) plays Owen, a man worn down by his job as a salesman in his disapproving father’s car dealership. He has a stable marriage and three kids, but his health is an issue. He could be on the brink of happiness, if he could commit to his life and connect with his adoring wife. But he is stuck.
Bakula (“Quantum Leap”) plays Terry, a past-his-prime ladies’ man and gym rat who works harder on his body and hair than on his relationships. He’s now regularly the oldest wannabe actor at open-call auditions, still waiting for a break while working as a temp. He’s enviable in some outward respects, the furthest from adulthood in others.
As the episodes advance, there are hints of growth in each character. The audience’s empathy kicks in as each man realizes how lost he is, how much time he’s wasted and how hard it will be to strain against habits.
Our sympathy is triggered, too, as the clueless buddies face their ticking biological clocks: Mortality is nudging them as they fumble into the second half of their lives. (Owen, the uncaring diabetic, will be lucky if he’s got another half.) Where do they go from here, as slacker-boy behavior becomes less and less attractive?
The emotional withholding in this male bonding venture may be puzzling for female viewers, who are accustomed to oversharing in life and in female-centered television shows. There’s no way the “Sex and the City” babes would have kept major secrets from one another the way these guys routinely do. Here, reticence is part of the character, certain macho posturing is expected. Insecurity is best battled in silence.
After an off-putting start, the three strong performances make that unlovable behavior compelling.
Joanne Ostrow: 303-954-1830 or jostrow@denverpost.com
