Whatever, Martha!

One of the television shows I’ve been enjoying lately is a revolutionary little offering from the Fine Living Network that viciously attacks one of the country’s revered figures. It dares to question America’s blind faith in, and deference to, one of its most celebrated characters, and asks the really tough questions that not even seasoned iconoclasts dare. Questions like, why is Martha Stewart entrusting her makeup to a scary Marilyn Manson-looking clown named Peanut Butter?

I am referring, of course, to Whatever, Martha!, which is essentially Mystery Science Theater with irreverent comments directed at episodes of Martha Stewart Living instead of at bad movies. The concept, in fact, was allegedly dreamed up by Martha Stewart herself while watching a late-night episode of MST3K . . . and yes, I know that it’s virtually impossible to imagine Martha Stewart watching television, much less that show, but that’s the way this particular legend goes. Over classic clips of Martha showing her viewers how to frost cakes, pack potted plants for transport from the city apartment to the summer home, and organize your room-sized linen closest, two hosts cackle and giggle and question her fashion choices.

Jennifer Koppelman Hutt and Alexis Stewart shriek and bicker with each other like two long-term friends. While Martha does her self-assured and maddeningly competent thing, they curl up on sofas and bitch about Martha’s anal tendencies, yell at her baggy sweatshirts and ugly shorts, and whoop over Martha’s tendency to flirt shamelessly with young interns on the set. When Martha invites her personal trainer to show viewers how to do crunches, Jennifer and Alexis are the first to point out when Martha is cheating at them. On those occasions when Martha hosts a cupcake decorating party and fires off delightful animal-themed cupcakes with suspicious ease, Jennifer and Alexis stand by with frosting bags and make piles of frosting that look like cow turds. And when Martha takes up her glue gun and makes bead-encrusted candles, Jennifer and Alexis stand by with craft equipment of their own and attempt to ape her, in real time—usually to give up in frustration and howl that they’d rather buy their beaded candles at Pier 1.

Jennifer is sweet and air-headed, but it’s Alexis Stewart, Martha’s daughter, that gives the show its bite. She originally appeared on The Apprentice: Martha Stewart in the Carolyn Kepcher role, and impressed me then as being unusually level-headed without outright kowtowing to her boss. (She must have made an impression on Trump as well, because he shortly thereafter canned Carolyn and hired his own daughter to stand in her place.) Alexis is gorgeous, impossibly leggy, foul-mouthed, and outright crazy—she makes no bones about the fact that she’s on anti-depressants and keeps a squadron of analysts on her speed dial. When Martha coos about her Turkey Hill farm, Alexis is there to point out that it was a pit with no heat or doorknobs, and that her mother’s idea of parenting was to use her daughter as free labor. She will rail against her upbringing at the drop of a hat one moment, then reflexively rattle off what makes a truly exceptional caesar salad the next. She’s like Martha Stewart’s dark shadow, all uncontrolled impulse and id to Martha’s carefully regulated superego. She’s frank about the fact that she’s slept around a lot. She curses like a sailor, is abrasive, and doesn’t give a damn what anyone thinks about it. She’s also the first to laugh at what an ass she can be.

Yes, I secretly want to be Alexis Stewart when I grow up.

Whatever, Martha!, minor amusement though it might be, has a few things going for it—the not inconsiderable charms of its hosts, a chance to see that yes, other people think the same evil things as you when watching Martha Stewart in action, and the general irreverence of its concept. It’s difficult to conceive of America’s frostiest domestic empress green-lighting a show that pokes fun of herself, but it’s the one facet of Martha that I can appreciate.