Loudermilk
This is a reprint of the Television essay from Issue #89 of Exploits, our collaborative cultural diary in magazine form. If you like what you see, buy it now for $2, or subscribe to never miss an issue (note: Exploits is always free for subscribers of Unwinnable Monthly).
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On the surface, Loudermilk is a show about a former music journalist (Sam Loudermilk, played by Ron Livingston) who leads a substance abuse recovery group. It positions its protagonist as a curmudgeon who alienates everyone who isn’t under a court order to be around him. He is a faded relic of the original grunge era, a stereotypical Gen-Xer sliding gracelessly into middle age, incapable of allowing any slight or grievance to escape his judgement. He’s also writing a book, because of course he is, but no one seems interested in reading or publishing it.
At its heart, Loudermilk is a show about control, and there may be no better persona to center this story around than an aging critic who can’t let anything go. Whether Loudermilk is lecturing his neighbor Allison (played by Laura Mennel) about her pedestrian musical taste, excoriating a coffee shop patron over their line etiquette or imparting a lesson to someone in his support group, he needs everyone to know exactly what he thinks is wrong with everyone else’s behavior, treating all three scenarios with equal urgency but getting through with varying levels of success.
Loudermilk carries on this way most of the time until, without giving away too many spoilers, he learns a harsh lesson about the destructive power of chasing clout when he discovers a past review he wrote ended the career of a once-promising singer-songwriter. It’s a moment of self-reflection that gives him the space to show he isn’t cold-hearted (and to establish a redemption arc through the conclusion of the show’s third and final season). What he considered a throwaway piece about a throwaway record was a devastating dismissal of an artist’s life’s work, delivered carelessly and without regard for its impact beyond his own ego.
There’s a subtext here that asks the viewer to consider the role of criticism in the arts. Writing about culture – whether it be about music, television, or any other medium – should be about more than just trying to control the narrative around a creator or their work. Writing persuasively is an artform unto itself, and yet there’s often nothing persuasive about Loudermilk’s blunt delivery of his version of the truth. It isn’t until he has this realization that he’s able to genuinely connect with another person, and to honestly begin telling his own story in a way that matters.
