Animation
Disney Junior’s Ariel
Disney Junior’s Ariel is so kid-friendly, even the sea witch is now the friendly and soulful Tauntie Ursula.
Someone always walked Edgar Anderson to school. Always.
Or someone always did.
But one morning, bleary after too much wine and worn from too much fighting, Edgar’s father, Vincent, begged off. “He’s in fifth grade,” he told his wife, Cassandra. “It’s only a couple of blocks.” Vincent barely gave his little boy a glance as Edgar walked out the door, the sound of Mom and Dad fighting still reverberating in the hall.
Edgar never made it to school. Only a bloodstained shirt was found a day later. And Vincent believes—Vincent knows—it’s his fault.
But he has a plan to bring Edgar back—and he has help, too. A giant, horned, hairy monster named Eric.
If Eric can’t help Edgar, no one can.
Vincent Anderson knows something about monsters. His wife, his coworkers, perhaps even his own son would say he can be one.
But he’s also the visionary artist who created Good Day Sunshine!, an early 1980s Sesame Street-like puppet show filmed and broadcast in New York City. He’s created his share of wacky characters for the show.
But Eric? That was Edgar’s idea, actually. When the studio’s suits suggested that a new puppet might boost Good Day Sunshine’s flagging ratings, Edgar got to work. He designed Eric to be a “walk-around” puppet, covered in blue-and-orange fur and topped with pointy ears and a set of horns.
Vincent didn’t much care at the time. When he was sober, the guy barely glanced at Edgar’s drawings. After a few drinks, he demanded his 9-year-old boy pitch the idea to him like he was one of his employees, then shut the kid down when the “presentation” got too boring.
But now that Edgar’s gone, Vincent believes that the puppet might be the key to bringing his son back. Get that furry monster on TV, and Edgar just might find his way home.
Cassie believes that Vincent might be losing it—again. And the police, led by Det. Ledroit, plan on taking a different, more sensible tack. The superintendent for the Andersons’ building seems nice enough—perhaps too nice. Edgar’s path to school took him right past a shady nightclub, too, and Ledroit suspects its owner is engaged in human trafficking. Why, this New York neighborhood is teeming with suspects.
And regardless their airtight alibis, even Vincent and Cassie feel a little suspicious, too. They might not be guilty of kidnapping Edgar. But are they guilty of something? Oh, you bet they are.
Eric, a six-part limited series on Netflix, is as dark and unsettling as any show featuring a large puppet monster has a right to be.
While we don’t know who took Edgar, the implications of why—at least at the outset—seem more straightforward and deeply disturbing. He might be dead or, more likely, it would seem, the victim of human trafficking. We hear allegations of other boys being trafficked and references to pedophilia.
But consensual relationships between adults come with their own share of problems. Ledroit is in a same-sex relationship with a sick, older man (perhaps dying of AIDs, given the early 1980s timeline), hiding his sexual predilections from his police associates as best he can. Cassie is having an affair with another guy—and perhaps another suspect in Edgar’s disappearance. While we’ve not seen any explicit nudity at this early juncture, people are depicted in the throes of intimacy—their encounters as shadowy as the corners in which they embrace.
Vincent also has plenty of problems, including his own somewhat shaky grasp on reality. That issue is exacerbated by his alcohol abuse—which encourages his own emotional abuse of the people around him. If Vincent is intended to be the show’s “hero,” he’s as unsympathetic of one as I’ve seen this year.
It’s ironic that such a flawed, mean man would helm such a seemingly innocent kids’ show. If Good Day Sunshine! taught its young listeners how to spell based on Vincent’s own vocabulary, the lesson would begin and end with the f-word. He and others fling the profanity around like blue confetti. And when he and Cassie are together, they fire off obscenities like rifle rounds. No wonder that Edgar, alone in his room before his abduction, has his drawing of Eric lob the f-bomb so frequently.
The show is smartly written, to be sure. And its mystery pulls you in. But boy, the problems go deep here. Vincent might have called his own TV show Good Day Sunshine!. But the Netflix show in which he appears feels more like a black, bleak night.
(Editor’s Note: Plugged In is rarely able to watch every episode of a given series for review. As such, there’s always a chance that you might see a problem that we didn’t. If you notice content that you feel should be included in our review, send us an email at [email protected], or contact us via Facebook or Instagram, and be sure to let us know the episode number, title and season so that we can check it out.)
As his parents fight, Edgar leaves the family apartment to school, walking alone for the first time. He never arrives. Vincent—who ignores his wife’s frantic messages most of the day—doesn’t even know it until he comes home from work. By then, Det. Ledroit is already canvassing the neighborhood, looking for clues. And while evidence is in short supply, suspects are not.
Ledroit immediately suspects Gator, owner of a local nightclub (The Lux) who just got out of prison after a six-year stint for drug distribution. He reminds his captain that Gator’s previous establishment was the site of underage prostitution. “The age of some of the kids he was running out of that place, doesn’t that punch you in the gut?” (The captain tells Ledroit that they were “hustlers,” suggesting that Gator wasn’t responsible for their presence.)
Ledroit goes to the Lux to do his own investigating. The place has a mixed clientele, and it seems to be popular with the LGBT community, judging by the number of same-gender couples we glimpse in the men’s bathroom. (Nothing critical is seen, but we see and hear enough to indicate intimate activity.) A man using a urinal seems to be looking for a partner: Two other men beat and kick the guy, with one demanding that he leave the bathroom “before you give me AIDs.”
Afterward, Ledroit goes back home, where we meet his own male lover—now grievously sick. (We can assume that he has AIDs). The two kiss and cuddle, and the sick man seems to joke about suicide. Vincent crudely suggests that a female coworker’s closest intimate is a sex toy.
Vincent snipes at Cassandra that it’s been weeks since the two have had sex. Shortly after Edgar’s disappearance, Cassandra meets with her apparent lover, and the two passionately kiss. A drag queen greets Ledroit outside the Lux. (“Hey handsome,” he says. “Welcome back.”) Some conversations inside the Lux suggest to Ledroit that Edgar’s being kept there—perhaps already being trafficked.
A man gets struck by a speeding car and lands in the street, unconscious or dead. (Blood pools around the man’s head.) The car speeds off without even a pause.
Ledroit returns Edgar’s now-bloodied shirt to the boy’s parents. Vincent sports an unexplained wound on his head on the day of Edgar’s disappearance. We hear references to someone who might’ve been killed. A building superintendent talks about how Edgar “was a good kid,” suggesting that the super thinks he’s already dead.
Vincent drinks heavily in a few scenes—especially the night after Edgar disappears. He imbibes what appears to be a whole bottle of vodka before starting on another. He ultimately wakes up in Edgar’s bed—before being pushed out of it by Eric, Edgar’s proposed puppet. (It’s telling that one of Edgar’s pictures of Eric depicts the monster spilling what appears to be a beer.) Vincent totes around a small bottle, which he takes gulps of while walking down the street. Another character staggers out of a bar, clearly drunk. Vincent and Cassie drink wine as well, and Cassie smokes. Shots are consumed. Cigarettes are puffed. Someone snorts cocaine.
Characters say the f-word about 60 times and the s-word five times. We also hear “a–,” “crap,” “p-ssed,” “pr–k and “f-ggot.” Jesus’ name is abused five times. We hear crass references to testicles.
Paul Asay has been part of the Plugged In staff since 2007, watching and reviewing roughly 15 quintillion movies and television shows. He’s written for a number of other publications, too, including Time, The Washington Post and Christianity Today. The author of several books, Paul loves to find spirituality in unexpected places, including popular entertainment, and he loves all things superhero. His vices include James Bond films, Mountain Dew and terrible B-grade movies. He’s married, has two children and a neurotic dog, runs marathons on occasion and hopes to someday own his own tuxedo. Feel free to follow him on Twitter @AsayPaul.
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