Dippity bix3/21/2023 Inside, the drama is domestic, small: the relationship turmoils of the friend for whom ‘nothing goes right’ (she wailed this once, after she discovered the cupboard emptied of Dippity Bix ) the woman, who owns the house, her upcoming wedding is marred by troubles, and her husband is busy on his quest to build the zeitgeist sausage and the daughter, with the lackadaisical husband who works at the nearby hi-fi store, he stuffs up often and is compelled to repent. A green tiled roof, speckled brick exterior, and neat, low-maintenance garden: a style of house obedient like a stamp. In this world, the lives of each of the characters unfolds within a modern suburban house. The daughter wants to go to Fountain Lakes, a fictional, but familiar, Melbourne shopping centre, where the two women fulfil their consumerist fantasies, wandering into the homewares store where they are unknowingly patronised by Prue and Trude, the snooty assistants, have a cappuccino at an unnamed café that’s built as if from a template of every other one. In another episode: ‘You’re a grown woman’, says the mother, and the camera zooms in on the daughter’s pierced belly button and hand in a jar of Tiny Teddies. She plonks on the couch and with a flick of her hair rebukes her mother’s exasperated pleading, that it’s time to get her life together, time to sort out her dysfunctional marriage. She’s lost her job at the call centre, the one she didn’t really want anyway, but can’t believe she lost, what with her people skills, she knew herself above it, her talent wasted and unused. The younger one, the daughter, picks up the ringing house phone. What could be more iconic than the sound of a sliding door opening into a living room (a sneaky back entrance for close friends only), one that leads into the beating heart of the home, its kitchen, complete with laminate benches, cream-toned cabinets, a small congregation around its island, one of them, a woman, a gloved and yellow hand, smoking a durry out the open window?
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