Feminism invites itself behind the stove. Lessons of Chemistry, adapted from the eponymous bestseller by Bonnie Garmus and broadcast from this Friday on AppleTV +, follows the thwarted journey of Elizabeth Zott, played by the astonishing Brie Larson (Captain Marvel), a chemist who is struggling to find a place as a researcher at university. The story takes place in the United States in the 1950s, during the era of Eisenhower, where women are expected to quit their careers to become mothers and to prepare a glass of alcohol for their husbands on their way home from work. The story does not hesitate to take some liberties with historical truth to serve its feminist purpose and manages to give a political dimension to a cooking show.
How did a brilliant scientist like Elizabeth Zott end up on television doing good food? By discovering the personality of the young woman, the question arises. Asocial, not to say unsympathetic, haughty and obsessed with chemistry, it’s hard to imagine her agreeing to appear in a television show – Dinner at six (Dinner at Six O’clock) – which assigns her to the role of housewife. Far from agreeing to play the role model on the small screen, she puts on her white coat, her glasses, sometimes pants (heresy!) and creates dishes, each more succulent than the last. Perfecting a recipe has everything to do with research and scientific experimentation. She thus puts her skills as a chemist at the service of taste and gastronomy.
Taboo subjects
Before becoming a small screen celebrity, Elizabeth Zott faced a sexist scientific world that did not hesitate to erase women’s names from research and steal their contributions. Accustomed to sexist and sexual violence, she has created a concrete shell for herself. Elizabeth Zott would almost suggest that one cannot be intelligent and light-hearted at the same time. Incapable of even the slightest smile or letting herself indulge in idleness, her character sometimes falls into the caricature of the intellectual feminist as amiable as a prison door.
Classic in its form, the series stands out for its purpose. She brings to the screen taboo subjects that are far too absent from the world of fiction. The lack of desire for a child, the rejection of the marital couple, the phobias of postpartum impulses (obsessing fear of doing the irreparable), the very questionable maternal instinct are addressed through this scholarly character who refuses all forms of social servitude. Lacking potty training, she becomes pregnant and has to welcome a newborn alone with whom she struggles to create a bond.
A magnifying mirror of our times
Tested by the incessant crying of her daughter named Mad, in reference to the anger that Elizabeth felt at her birth, she admits to her neighbor, Harriet Slone (Aja Naomi King), fantasizing about hurting her or abandoning her. An important scene where Harriet, who stopped studying to be a lawyer to raise her two children alone, plays down these thoughts. She reveals to him society’s best-kept secret: most mothers are overcome by such ideas of taking action. Opening the door to postpartum anxieties, which are starting to be mentioned in certain essays or podcasts, such as make kids from Louie Media or Bliss Stories, is a resolutely political choice. The series sheds harsh light on the struggles many mothers face during the fourth trimester.
Behind his culinary recipes, Lessons of chemistry presents itself as a magnifying mirror of our times. She describes the patriarchal society of the 1950s to better speak about the ills of today’s society. The thankless tasks of daily life naturally fall to mothers who struggle to reconcile professional careers and motherhood. Society blindly reproduces injustices, incapable of valuing the tasks assigned to women, such as cooking or caring for children. The world of television only knows how to appreciate the merits of a woman if she makes use of her physical assets. Every show ends with the same slogan. “Children, set the table. Your mother needs a moment to herself.” It still deserves to be chanted in many homes.