Ted Danson and Kathy Bates show boomers won’t let age sideline them

From its opening scenes, Michael Schur’s new comedy assures us that we’re in good hands. Deft, poignant and evocative, the introduction to A Man on the Inside (Netflix) is rich in revealing detail and infused with a quiet melancholy as Charles Nieuwendyk (Ted Danson) awakes to his daily routine, noticeably alone in his double bed. The retired engineering professor and widower had been dreaming of his wedding speech, a flashback taking us to a time when, as a young groom, he’d been elated at the prospect of sharing a long life with his bride.

In A Man on the Inside, Charles (Ted Danson) gets a new lease on life by going undercover in an aged-care home.Credit: Netflix

To the lilting strains of Cat Stevens’ The Wind, he begins his morning ritual: shaving; plucking nasal hairs; choosing his clothes from the half-filled wardrobe and neatly dressing; brushing lint off his jacket; weighing out the beans for his coffee, then reducing the amount as he’s reflexively scooped too much. Then, coffee mug beside him on the table, he does the newspaper crossword.

Afterwards, in his tidy, tasteful home, he naps in an armchair by the fire, newspaper on his lap, then clips an article which he sends (snail mail) to his daughter, Emily (Mary Elizabeth Ellis). He wistfully watches people at play in the park, eats takeaway noodles for dinner – from one of the two cartons he’s ordered – and goes to bed reading John le Carre’s Smiley’s People. It’s a day filled with the familiar but aching with loneliness, eloquently speaking, without dialogue, of a man adjusting to life alone.

The co-creator of Brooklyn Nine-Nine (Netflix) and Parks and Recreation (Prime, Stan, Binge) and creator of The Good Place (Netflix), Schur excels at sweet-natured yet incisive comedies enlivened by effervescent ensembles. His warm-hearted and distinctive tales of community offer laugh-out-loud moments while fluidly incorporating insightful observations about idiosyncratic characters.

His new series joins a growing contingent of recent shows focusing on mature-aged citizens. Retirees, widows and widowers, late-stage divorcees, grandparents, residents of aged-care homes. Old folk. Once relegated to the margins, they’re increasingly front and centre, no longer automatically stuck in supporting roles. You could call it the March of the Baby Boomers, historically a vocal generation and now not one content to withdraw into the anonymity of the Third Age. Since the ’60s, Boomers have been demanding attention and agitating for change. A noisy bunch and not one inclined to remain meekly on the sidelines, in society or on screen.

You might also call it the Revenge of the Wrinklies, although, due to the prevalence of cosmetic surgery and the unforgiving pressures on actors, nature’s natural lines have often been erased. But while not too many wrinkles might actually be visible, advancing age is a key factor.

Just think of the number of recent productions focusing on characters who are refusing, in their own sometimes quirky ways, to go quietly into that good night: Only Murders in the Building (Disney+), Grace and Frankie (Netflix), The Kominsky Method (Netflix) and Matlock (Paramount+). What once was an anomaly – like The Golden Girls or New Tricks – has become relatively commonplace. And in these series, the seniors are fully formed characters, not secondary, single-dimension stereotypes: meddling mothers-in-law, grumpy grandpas, doting nannas, nutty aunts, embarrassing uncles, nosy neighbours.

Kathy Bates in Matlock: age is a weapon.Credit: Sonja Flemming/CBS via AP

The Matlock revival, for example, transforms the title character, a lawyer played by Andy Griffith in the ’80s original, into a wily grandmother played by Kathy Bates. She uses her age as a weapon, relying on people’s prejudices to disarm them. If she’s noticed at all – and her early and convincing claim is that age can serve as a cloak of invisibility – she’s underestimated. By the end of the pilot episode, she’s demonstrated that she has the skill, the smarts and the life experience to outfox most of those she encounters.

The updated perspective on characters “of a certain age” also appears to have had some flow-on effect. Even when they aren’t occupying the main roles, some are now more fully developed. Think, for example, of Sylvie (Philippine Leroy-Beaulieu) in Emily in Paris (Netflix): the series’ focus might be on the antics of the girlish title character (Lily Collins) and her BFF, Mindy (Ashley Park), but through the seasons, Sylvie has made an indelible and indispensable mark on the show. A stylish, seasoned, sexy and successful force to be reckoned with, and also a woman of the world who can attract a younger lover and take such an affair in stride. Bien sur.

Series such as Only Murders, Kominsky, Grace and Frankie and now Man Inside feature characters discovering new opportunities: jobs, romances, friendships. This phase of life isn’t seen as a time to sink with a sigh into a recliner but a potentially exciting chapter of unanticipated possibilities.

For Danson’s Charles, the revival comes when he answers a newspaper ad seeking a male aged 75-85 and accepts a job working as an assistant for a private investigator. Julie (Lilah Richcreek Estrada) hires him to go undercover at a San Francisco aged-care home because she’s too young to infiltrate its closed community. His job is to investigate the case of a possibly stolen necklace.

With a pocket square jauntily adopted as a symbol of his new identity, Charles sets about trying to catch a thief at the Pacific View Retirement Community. A former academic who enjoys structure and puzzles, he relishes the gig, which offers him a sense of purpose and a social life. A dapper gentleman who looks good in a suit, he slips easily into the community and is enthusiastically accepted, with combative residents’ council president, Susan Yang (Lori Tan Chinn), noting approvingly of the new arrival: “Smart, good jawline, walks without assistance.”

Pacific View looks more like a plush hotel than a retirement home and Charles quickly discovers that it’s a vibrant establishment where, even if the preferred bedtime is 8pm, happy hour starts mid-afternoon. Overseen by Didi (Stephanie Beatriz), a caring and compassionate manager, and an attentive, helpful staff, Schur’s assisted-care home is the kind of facility anyone of a certain age might dream about. The place regularly rings with laughter and the residents are an engaging group with interesting stories to tell. They’re also a lusty lot: “It’s like high school!” Charles giddily reports to Julie after a night of getting drunk and stoned with the ad-hoc welcoming committee and noting, with some surprise, a general air of horniness.

But, of course, it’s not all happy hours and hook-ups. Only Murders, Kominsky and Man Inside take care to remind us, amid the casual chat about backaches and bursitis, more serious conditions also hover: dementia, cancer, heart attacks and, inevitably, death. In keeping with the accomplishment evident in the opening scenes, Schur’s handling of such material over the eight episodes is thoughtful and touching.

His series makes a welcome addition to a discernible trend. And, at a time when so many of the prevailing social messages are about inclusiveness and a recognition of diversity, it’s heartening to see geriatrics getting some love too.

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