High Fidelity
By Natalie McCarty
I’ve always been quite vocal about my adoration for High Fidelity, the 2000 film directed by Stephen Frears. I must confess, I’m a bit of a Rob apologist — I feel like I really understand him. I’ve found myself guilty of the same quirks as him: meticulously curating playlists to impress a date, and even embarking on the occasional nostalgia-fueled journey to reconnect with past flames, all in pursuit of understanding how things went awry. So, in many ways, I empathize deeply with Rob (sorry).
Now, something I haven’t been as public about is my affection for the 2020 series starring Zoё Kravitz, a modern adaptation of the original film (which starred her mother, Lisa Bonet). Truth be told, my initial impression wasn’t favorable. I found this iteration of Rob to be rather insufferable. But therein lies the brilliance — she’s intentionally portrayed as a flawed character, a bad friend, an unreliable sister, a poor communicator, even a terrible fiancée. The intention is for viewers to simultaneously love and loathe her. The people love to hate her and hate to love her.
Also, the truth here is that I initially harbored a general resistance to anything diverging from the original film. However, upon revisiting the series, especially in the context of living in New York City (specifically the same borough), I came to appreciate Rob for what she truly represents: humanity in all its flawed glory. I think the lived shared experiences–especially of love and heartbreak–provided me with this newfound perspective and deepened my love for the show immensely.
So, in the spirit of High Fidelity, let’s dive into my top five favorite aspects of the series that perhaps were absent from the movie.
Longer Character Arcs
While crafting a ten-episode arc provides ample time to delve into character development, it’s the meticulous exploration of Rob’s flawed humanity in the television series that truly captivated me. What was once a source of frustration transformed into a wellspring of empathy as I witnessed her struggles with friendship, communication, and self-sabotage — challenges that mirrored both my own and my friends’ experiences navigating the complexities of adult life.
What resonated with me most was Rob’s evolution from a mere character to a profound reflection of the human condition. No longer just a romantic anti-hero, she became a poignant mirror reflecting society’s collective insecurities and aspirations. Zoë Kravitz’s portrayal breathed new life into the character, infusing her with a nuanced vulnerability that challenged viewers to confront their own flaws and vulnerabilities head-on.
What sets the television series apart from the original film is its meticulous exploration of the character arcs of not only Rob but also her inner circle: Mac, her ex-fiancé; Simon and Cherise, her friends and employees; Cameron, her brother; Clyde, her new love interest; and even Liam, a quick hook-up. Unlike the film, which primarily focuses on a lovesick protagonist’s quest for closure, the series offers a fresh perspective on Rob and her friends. Their intertwined stories provide a multifaceted look at their lives and relationships, both as individuals and as part of a collective narrative.
Remarkably, the series manages to delve deep into each character’s journey within the confines of just ten episodes. Each member of the ensemble cast is given ample room to grow and evolve, with their own fully developed character arcs. No secondary characters serving as mere footnotes to the protagonist’s story, instead, we’re treated to a rich tapestry of human experience, where every character’s adversities and accomplishments are given equal weight.
Without giving too much away, I can assure you that every character’s arc is resolved satisfactorily by the conclusion (in realistic ways). From starting with personal problems and hurdles to finding resolution, the series offers a raw and human portrayal of their journeys. It’s as if we’re witnessing real people’s lives unfold before our eyes — a testament to the brilliance of the writing and the authenticity of the characters.
2. Being Set in New York City
The original film was set in Chicago, and while I have no beef with Chicago — in fact, I nearly moved there for college instead of New York — there’s something about this story taking place in New York that resonates deeply with me. From the Bedford exit in Brooklyn to the strange clubs in Bushwick, the park in Williamsburg, the Upper East Side in Manhattan, and the bar down the street from her apartment, these locations took me back to the life I once lived. I could attach my own memories to these places, which made the story more personal and immersive.
Her character, for some reason, only makes sense being set in Brooklyn. I can’t quite explain it, but I just wouldn’t expect to meet someone like Rob anywhere other than in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. It just makes sense.
3. Expanded Storylines (Including Rob’s Friends)
This ties into my earlier mentions of longer character arcs, but the established storylines made the whole thing feel more human. I loved Simon and Cherise so much, and Mac and Clyde. I even cared about Liam. These characters added such richness to High Fidelity as a whole. Rob isn’t the center of the world; she exists within this world that’s built through the other characters. They all have their own qualms, but each character’s innate humanity is written so well — from struggles with career, identity, friendship, relationships, and becoming new parents. It’s done so effectively in such a short amount of time. I loved it.
4. Deeper Exploration of Relationships
What set this apart from the film is that you REALLY feel the nuances, the pain, the hope, the joy, the connection, and most importantly, the love between Rob and Mac. Instead of just rehashing the moment where it all fell apart, they explore their relationship and how it ended, along with the messy ways they moved on — or failed to — in such a realistic way.
The birthday episode where Rob spends it with Mac… yeah, I got that. I understood that.
Just like in real life, you see all the reasons they fell apart, all the little moments where they stopped choosing each other, where they abandoned each other in small ways, but also those palpable moments where they were in love and so in sync. You feel the history between them. You feel the love, the resentment, and the remorse. You feel it so entirely and all at once that even as an audience, you’re split on whether they should be together or not.
Beyond that, you see how Rob fails as a friend or sister but also how she succeeds. It’s not just borderline tropes; there are real feelings attached there. And that budding relationship with Clyde, man, you feel like you’re dating him too.
5. I Believe (When I Fall In Love It Will Be Forever)
Music in film has always been something so important to me. There are so many songs on my playlists that I can hear and instantly remember exactly where I first heard them, and the tender or tense moment they accompanied on the screen.
“I Believe (When I Fall In Love It Will Be Forever)” by Stevie Wonder is one of my favorite songs of all time. I remember when I heard it in the film, I thought, “Wow, what a song to leave us on in the credits. Beautiful, pondering.” But the use of this song in the beginning sequence of the final episode — it tugs at your heartstrings and puts a lump in your throat just at the thought or mention of it. And then Cherise singing it at the end… it’s so poetic, so full circle. I can’t even discuss all the intricacies of it without giving too much away, but I think that finale episode is one of my favorite finales of any show ever.
That song takes me back to a time in my life: sharing headphones on the subway, getting lost in the moment. Listening to that same song on a train after a breakup. That song just has that quality about it. It’s immortal. It’s cyclical like life, time, and love. It’s the song of all songs, and in its wake, it creates the moment of all moments.
