That one scene from TOWIE where Lauren sees Mark's mum in Tesco
a close reading
‘Rather than see close reading as just a means to protect the hypostasized text from its social mediation we see it as one of the many ways in which, over the course of the twentieth century, art has moved from an affair of objects towards one of events, whose modus operandi is performance’ - Peter Howarth, Close Reading as Performance1
Hi! Before you read this, watch this:
Here is the scene: after a nasty break-up between Lauren Goodger and Mark Wright, Lauren runs into Mark’s mother, Carol.
In the opening shot, we’re in the tea and coffee aisle of Tesco, where Lauren is picking up some cappuccino pods for her Nescafe Dolce Gusto. Already, with this small purchase, we know so much about her.
Enter Carol, wearing the ugliest jacket you’ve ever seen, in blue. Blue, a colour that is wise and patient and sad. Blue, that, as William H. Gass wrote, ‘belongs to the past — to the minutes after masturbation, to thought, to detachment and removal, fading, to the inside side of sex and the self that in the midst of pitch and toss has slipped away like a lucky penny fallen from a dresser’2. She’s a fading memory of Lauren’s past, a sad reminder of what could have been and wasn’t. This blue isn’t just a fugly peacoat, it's Lauren’s realisation that this part of her life is behind her. She’s a ghost not invited to the feast.
These are two women who at one point were asked to make room for one another in their lives for the sake of a man. To make a place for each other when setting the table at Christmas, to add an extra birthday to their calendar and ask to be notified a week before, a day before, twice on the day of, to forgive each other when they hurt the man they both love. And now, standing in front of PG Tips at low low prices, they’re confronted with the fact that they don’t have to matter to each other any more, however much they may matter to the man who introduced them. Pamela Cotterill wrote in 1994:
‘In the triad of mother/son/wife activated by marriage, the two women provide a convenient scapegoat for family tensions past and present. We have seen how men control their availability in an emotional and physical sense, thereby limiting their support for both wives and mothers and giving neither woman ' what she wants’. But because the women share an intimate bond with the man which they want to maintain at all costs, they sometimes find it easier to blame each other for his faults’3
But now this ‘marriage’ (decade-long situationship) is over, what are the two women to each other? And what blame and resentment still lingers?
Radiohead’s Paranoid Android plays in the background for some reason. Lauren speaks first:
LAUREN: Carol! What are you doing here?
What is Carol doing here? From the first words spoken, we as viewers can already feel the uncomfortable, tense relationship these two have. Lauren isn’t sincerely asking – it’s defensive, it’s territorial. This strained, reluctant, clenched-jaw nicety sets the tone for the rest of the interaction. What’s made Lauren so unhappy to see her, but obligated to greet her?
CAROL: What are you doing here?
Carol isn’t happy either. She’s played this game a hundred times before. She uses the same words, the same inflexion, the same suspicion. She’s smiling but there's malice in her eyes.
LAUREN: You alright? How are you?
CAROL: Yeah good, thanks. You?
They’re both dancing around the question, neither wanting to show their hand too early. Here, the viewer is painfully aware of the game they’re playing.
LAUREN: What you shopping for?
What an odd thing to ask someone. What are you shopping for, at the supermarket? Of course, this isn’t really what Lauren’s asking. But she won’t ask what she wants to ask because she’s afraid of the answer.
CAROL: Oh… I just got my shopping… and everything.
[BRIEF PAUSE, GIGGLE]
Carol’s choice of words is surprising here. She admits she’s here at the shops for her shopping, but then immediately tries to distance herself with ‘everything’. She understands what’s going through Lauren’s mind here – the fear, the loss, the frustration of not knowing – and she’s conflicted. She wants to be kind, at first. She tries to give away the least amount of information to save Lauren from the truth (or perhaps herself from the bother), but in the end, Carol can’t help herself. The vindictive and grudge-bearing devil on her shoulder takes control of the conversation.
CAROL: Cooking a big dinner on Sunday for, em… Sam’s coming round.
Cooking for others is an act of love. It’s an intricate tapestry woven by generation after generation. Food sustains us – nourishes us physically and spiritually. Allows us to sit with each other and tell stories, sharing in the same experiences. A group of people eating around a table don’t just happen to be there by chance, it’s an act of kindness and trust. Conversely, to be excluded from a meal is a shun like no other, and Lauren isn’t invited to this dinner. Of course, as the matriarch of her house, Carol is expected to cook for this new woman. To welcome her into the home, proving her role as wife and mother by providing for her husband and son, and now this son’s new girlfriend.
Carol uses the word ‘for’, before rethinking her choice of words, releasing her mistake. She tries to make the two sentiments unrelated. She’s cooking a big dinner and, not because. This thinly veiled attempt at making the situation seem less important than they both know it is only serves to upset Lauren more.
CAROL: Yeah just to come round for dinner. Meet the family sort of thing. [QUICKLY] Just a friendly thing.
She backtracks immediately. Just to come round, for dinner. Of course, Lauren knows this. The juxtaposition between the next two sentences also sets off alarm bells to the viewer, and trying to play it down by tacking ‘sort of thing’ only further implicates Carol.
LAUREN: What, so... I thought they weren’t dating. Are they dating?
Lauren betrays herself here. She’s heard the rumours about Mark and Sam, and she’s done well up until now to choose to deny them, but now she’s confronted with the fact that her ex’s new partner is meeting the family. Her role has been filled. She doesn’t use Mark’s name, though, Perhaps it’s too painful, or maybe it’s because it simply doesn’t need saying.
CAROL: No they’re not dating they’re just friends so… I dunno just friends and like-
LAUREN: [INTERRUPTING] Right she’s been welcomed into the family then? [LAUGHING BUT SHE’S RAGING] Taking my space.
Cut the bullshit, Carol. Don’t tell Lauren what you think she needs to hear. This isn’t just a friendly thing. This is an ascension. Sam’s not just joining you all for dinner as Mark’s friend, she’s being initiated into the family; auditioning for her role.
CAROL: I’m cooking her shepherd's pie cause she’s requested it.
Shepherds pie, food of the masses. The Brazillian variant bearing the name Escondidinho, derived from the Portuguese adjective escondido meaning hidden. The symbolism of the shepherd’s pie is painfully obvious to us as the viewer – we all know exactly why Sam’s requested it.
LAUREN: Funny that she giving the orders already!
She’s getting defensive now. What’s she trying to imply here? That Sam’s already too comfortable? That she’s domineering and already proving herself the main woman in Mark’s life without Carol even realising?
CAROL: You gave me enough over the years!
Lauren’s misplayed her hand. She can’t compete with a new girl, one with no history of missteps and faux pas. She can’t criticise Sam without inviting comparison here, and she’s at a major disadvantage.
LAUREN: Anyway good luck with Sam
CAROL: And shepherds pie? I’ll save you some.
LAUREN: Pop round the next day.
CAROL: Yeah you can have the leftovers.
Rapid-fire passive aggression, soaked in years of resentment, hard feelings, and usurpation. Carol’s making it clear Lauren’s an afterthought now, no longer a priority. The end of their interaction is bitter and deflated, any attempt at masking their contempt for each other is half-hearted. Lauren tries to take another jab at Sam, but Carol once again brings up the shepherd’s pie, the gift of the meal that she’s bestowing on Mark’s new beau. She underscores this act of love that Lauren isn’t a part of.
LAUREN: Ohhh thank you.
CAROL: Alright I'll see you later.
Paranoid Andriod starts playing again, for some reason. Lauren looks back again at Carol, before returning to the dolce gusto pod selection. Fade out.
As I come to the end of this really long and pointless post, I suppose my main points of interest in this interaction are threefold. Firstly, the relationships between mothers-in-law and their son’s partners are strange ones to navigate and understand. Neither woman can be too close or too distant from the man at the centre of the relationship, lest they’re criticised for being overbearing or neglectful They’re both expected to perform for the man – cook for him, clean for him, organise him – but when these tasks, which really shouldn’t fall on them to be done, are taken over, it’s less about the incompetence of him and the competition of the other woman. If a woman is not a caregiver, what is she? A rival? Pamela Cotterill’s book talks about this in a much more articulate and well-researched way, so go read that.
Secondly, the relationships we develop over the dinner table are significant. To be invited to someone's home, given something they’ve made with you in mind to nourish you, an act of kindness which we’ve been extending for centuries. We must eat to live, so why not enjoy the obligation together. And don’t invite your stupid son’s ex.
Lastly, while The Only Way of Essex is not that deep, and I was mostly doing this as a fun wee exercise, I really, truly love this video. It’s the perfect human interaction. You can so clearly read every grievance and criticism on each woman’s face, and the hurt that they both feel for one reason or another, trying not to betray themselves, although they do.
And don’t say ‘Lucy, it’s scripted’✋🙄 I really don’t care sorry. This is my blog, not yours.
Howarth, Peter. 2020. ‘Close Reading as Performance ’, in Modernism and Close Reading, ed. by David James (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press), pp. 45–65
Gass, William H. 1976. On Being Blue: A Philosophical Inquiry (New York City, New York: David R. Godine)
Cotterill, Pamela. 1994. Friendly Relations? Mothers and Their Daughters-in-Law (London, England: Taylor and Francis)
Good evening Mr Blog,
I have once again been struck by the incredible elegance and insight of your prose. I felt compelled to comment. Your blog has given me so much to think about and yet, somehow, has left me wanting to know more - namely, the following:
1. What do you think is the significance of Carol's name being Carol and Lauren's name being Lauren?
2. Do you think Carol's quip, 'see you later', was ironic/passive aggressive, a mere accident of habit, or a malicious lie?
3. Since, following Howarth (2020), we may conceive of close reading as operating through a kind of performance, would you, Edward Blog, consider making this metaphor literal by reenacting the whole scene with me, your greatest admirer and (I gesture, as a single tear of hope rolls down my cheek) future friend? You can be Carol or Lauren; whatever you want, Edward.
Thanks a bunch Edward!
hi edward, big fan of this one. have you thought about how the fact that Lauren is actually played by a hyper-realistic cake in this scene maybe changes things?