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Both seasons are full of soaring earnestness and palpable caution, two instincts that reflect familiar teenage impulses.
Theres more caution in season two.
What happens in that limbo space between knowing something about yourself and publicizing it?
Why doesnt the internal feeling of a thing translate more easily to the outer self?
The key toHeartstoppers unmistakable swooning impact is how well it performs the exact translation that Nick finds so hard.
Everything inHeartstopperlooks the way it feels.
Charlie, the one who hides his anguish, is all angular features and dark curls.
They and their friends live in a world of perfect 19th-century-style pathetic fallacy.
Doesnt that make much more sense than some cold, false objectivity?
But the other effect ofHeartstoppers visual subjectivity is its stark legibility.
Yet the viewer is never, ever allowed to feel a matching ambiguity.
But its all over the dialogue too: this need to reassure, to forestall any doubts.
Important disclosures are met with clearly articulated, emotionally open responses.
Nick asks while giving Charlie a modest kiss on the neck.
How about we promise to tell each other when weve got stuff going on?
Is there an element ofHeartstopperthats more about modeling behavior than it is about reflecting humanity?
And still, its hard to deny how winning this show can be.
Because if they did, the fantasy would end.
