Swingtown Nothing to Dance To
Okay, I did it. I watched Swingtown. I not only watched it, I watched it with Mom, an authority on all things having to do with the sixties and seventies.
The plot is paper thin. A young couple moves to a more expensive neighborhood and is introduced to swinging by neighbors. Friends from the old neighborhood visit and are as horrified by the couple swapping as the first couple is, dare I say, seduced.
From the perspective of a viewer, the show didn’t work on any level. Viewers with a prurient interest in swinging are bound to be disappointed. The network only hints at the sex. It never shows any. Anyone interested in why swinging appeared to erupt mini-phenomenon in the seventies is also going to be disappointed. The network doesn’t offer a single clue into what prompted middle class interest in it.
Not surprisingly, Mom had a few ideas. She conceded that the network did get a few things right. Some men did wear high waisted polyester pants, she said, although she didn’t know any. Disco enjoyed a brief popularity and Mom says it was kind of fun, but nothing anyone reared on Dylan, The Band or Eric Clapton took seriously as “real” music.
She started to leave then. Like Forrest Gump, this appeared to be all she had to say about that.
I wouldn’t let her. I made some English tea and insisted she tell me why. Why did obviously middle class people, people with responsible jobs and children get into swinging? What was in it for them?
She looked at me like I’m an idiot.
“Oh, Bunny,” she said. “Don’t you get it?”
“No,” I said with some irritation. “That’s why I’m asking.”
“But it’s obvious.”
“Not to me.”
“Well, dear,” she finally said. “People like this, suburban types, slept all the way through the sixties. Think of what went on. Civil rights. The war. Women’s rights. Social justice. A lot of hard work went into the movement. These were issues that changed society and changed our perceptions of government, relationships, work, and most of all ourselves and what we wanted from life. Sex was only a part of it.”
“Okay,” I said, thinking I was about to get another lecture on the righteousness of the sixties. “So what?”
“They didn’t participate. Do you honestly think a guy in polyester slacks has a thought on women’s rights?” (Mom’s something of a snob, but I was beginning to understand her.)
“So when they woke up in the seventies, they found everything had changed. And, they realized they’d missed out. They felt they were owed something. Why I don’t know, since they choose to opt out and, remember, Bunny, there was still plenty of work to do in the 1970s. Still is, for that matter.”
“Okay,” I agreed. I didn’t want to get into a discussion of the environment. Mom despises what she calls my “Goldwater” tendencies.
Again, she started to leave. Again, I stopped her. “So, that’s it?” I asked. “That’s all there is to it?”
“Yes, dear. That’s all there is to it. People like this were selfish in the sixties and selfish in the seventies. Really, dear, they’re dead bores. I don’t understand why you’re so interested.” Then, she did leave.
I thought about what she’d said and have to admit.
She’s got a point.
Tags: Add new tag, Bob Dylan, sex, Swingtown, the seventies, the sixties