This was published 2 years ago
We need to talk about The PM’s Daughter, the weirdest show on TV
Throughout the late 1990s and into the early 2000s, a particularly niche genre of films became bizarrely popular: movies about kids who had a parent that was the president of the United States. Whether it was First Kid, starring the criminally underrated Sinbad or First Daughter starring the equally underrated Katie Holmes, for a generation of moviegoers (including me), these films were a kind of political Disneyland.
Imagine living in the White House! Having Secret Service officers as best friends? And they all have guns!
Eventually, our collective cynicism kicked in, and we no longer wanted to roam the corridors of power, choosing instead to take a more traditional teenage path: drinking in the park.
Fast-forward to today, and teens are much more intelligent and far more politically engaged. So it makes sense that the presidential-kid genre received a 2022 refurbish, which brings us to The PM’s Daughter, the ABC tween series which premiered earlier this year.
Trapped somewhere between geopolitical drama and Gilmore Girls, The PM’s Daughter might just be the most head-scratchingly brilliant show of our time. Pitched as a “political comedy for kids” the plot lines fit that wonderfully confusing brief: one minute we’re excited because Beyonce is planning a visit to The Lodge, the next we’re on the front line at a climate rally.
Earlier this week ABC greenlit another season of the show and, quite frankly, we’re excited about The PM’s Daughter getting a second term.
What is The PM’s Daughter about?
I mean, it’s all in the title, really. The show follows Cat Parkes Perez (Cassandra Helmot), a teenager who finds herself living at The Lodge when her single mother Isabel (Claire Fearon) is elected prime minister of Australia.
Cat is a teen activist who shows an alarming lack of analysis when it comes to adopting a cause, despite having her heart in the right place. “If there’s a protest, I’m there,” Cat mentions casually to a friend at school. Any protest will do!
Eventually, she finds herself drawn to Action Uprising, a youth-led climate group who are campaigning for the prime minister to do more on climate change. But once Cat digs a little deeper, she discovers that someone within Action Uprising is determined to sabotage her mother’s government by any means necessary.
Who is this show for?
Tonally this show is much like dealing with a real-life teenager: wildly unpredictable. It sometimes feels like your typical “no one understands me” tween drama, with Cat and her mother fighting over what she should wear to meet foreign dignitaries.
“It makes me look like a lemon slice,” shouts Cat when Isabel presents her with a Hillary Clinton-inspired yellow power suit. “Oh, and by the way, your government’s climate policy totally stinks!”
But in the next scene, we’ve changed gears as Cat listens to her classmate Miro (Nya Cofie), son of the US ambassador and a self-described “diplobrat,” pontificate on the emptiness of his life.
“Going from one corrupt country to another, meeting dictators’ sons and prime minister’s daughters, it’s the same bunch of crooked elite,” spits Miro.
Do teenagers talk like this? Apparently, they do because a few beats later, Cat’s conversation with her mum sounds more like an ICAC investigation. “You’re out here letting dodgy MPs off the hook to protect your backroom deals with the nation’s biggest polluters.”
Does it bring in real-life politics?
It’s impossible to watch this show and not compare it to the current political landscape, including the prime minister’s home life. There are moments that feel deeply rooted in recent history.
In episode three, the PM butts head with the West Australian premier, Carl Winstone (Michael Beckley), seemingly the love child of real-life politicians Bob Katter and Mark McGowan. He wears an Akubra everywhere (that’s the nod to Katter) and wants WA to secede (That’s McGowan). Their arguments feel eerily reminiscent of those between Prime Minister Scott Morrison and McGowan during the heady days of the Hard Border™.
Will I hate it?
Absolutely not. In the same way politics often reels you in despite being horrified by what you’re seeing, The PM’s Daughter is immensely watchable even when it’s cringe-worthy.
Yes, Miro might use the word “sheeple” too much, and yes, Cat’s friend Georgie might say things like, “Teen rebellion is so in right now, they call it the Thunberg effect.” But these eye-roll moments only serve to make The PM’s Daughter more enjoyable.
It doesn’t take itself too seriously until it takes itself way too seriously, making for a confusing but engaging viewing experience that will have you racing for the “next episode” button.
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