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Did she ever put these questions to Sarah? One thing she always told me was that throughout my childhood and my teenage years she would worry incessantly about me, particularly on stormy nights of which there are many in Ireland.

She would be lying in bed hearing the windows rattle and the wind howl and she would be possessed by panic and worry and hope that I was safe.

That broke my heart when she told me that. Both women lie to each other, both impose silence as a form of emotional management, both make unilateral decisions about what should happen next.

She pulls over to find a text from one of her three birth siblings. The phone beeps again. Sarah has told two of her three children about her!

But any hope that this is a step towards resolution quickly vanishes. By sharing her secret with some but not all of her family, Sarah has traded openness for a more complicated secret.

The truth, if Sarah ever tells it, will now need to include the subsidiary revelation that the news is news to only half the family.

How much more treacherous the divulgence must now seem. The book is part of that plan. She has tried to make it do so many things.

Memoir is only one function. The book is an attempt to publicly exonerate Sarah, but in an awful twist there is a danger that it may lead to her irrevocable estrangement.

She sent the book to Sarah and her two known birth siblings but none has responded, though her adoptive parents, Liam and Mary, have read and loved it.

Plot Keywords. Parents Guide. External Sites. User Reviews. User Ratings. External Reviews. Metacritic Reviews. Photo Gallery. Trailers and Videos. Crazy Credits.

Alternate Versions. Rate This. Episode Guide. The story of Maggie Beare, an elderly woman suffering from dementia or so she says , and her faithful, yet long suffering son, Arthur.

Despite all of Maggies manipulative ways, he is her carer, even if they don't always get along. Creator: Geoffrey Atherden. Added to Watchlist.

Top-Rated Episodes S6. Error: please try again. Fav TV shows. Best Aus and NZ shows. Share this Rating Title: Mother and Son — 8. Use the HTML below.

You must be a registered user to use the IMDb rating plugin. Episodes Seasons. Edit Cast Series cast summary: Ruth Cracknell Maggie Beare 42 episodes, Garry McDonald Arthur Beare 42 episodes, Henri Szeps Robert Beare 38 episodes, Judy Morris Edit Storyline Arthur Beare is a 40 something son still living at home taking care of his senile mother Maggie.

Taglines: She's losing her wits and he's at his wit's end! Genres: Comedy. Edit Did You Know? Connections Remade as Glöm inte mamma!

User Reviews Losing your mind was never meant to be this funny. A tribute to Ruth Cracknell! Later, as they lay snuggled together, still warmly bonded, she wonders if her sense is premonition; and despite her usual precaution, it does seem the soft circle of rubber was dislodged in the perfect afternoon of lovemaking.

Thus, did I enter the world. This realization took some years to sink in. Everyone had always commented that my brother and I looked like my mother, while my sister took after my father.

This apparent contradiction was the source of a long-standing family joke. By carefully piecing together snapshots and the accompanying timeline, I believe that within days of missing her period, my mother flew to Turkey and spent a long weekend with my father--sufficient explanation for my birth eight months later.

In any event, my slightly premature birth was unremarkable. Her lover certainly bore a resemblance to her husband, but not strikingly so.

Without becoming too dewy-eyed, I think my mother responded to the duty she undoubtedly felt to her unborn child.

She paused, trying to remember any difficulty, and seemed to fail. A second child would have put those thoughts to rest. Or perhaps she feared my father was infertile, and that he would begin to question her initial pregnancy if nothing came of their unions.

With my mother, both of these are entirely possible, since both would conserve the marriage and family unit equally well.

But given my own current confusion, I tend to distrust any conclusions about my mother, or my own situation, that seem too facile.

My mother was fortunate to find a trustworthy lover who was blessed with a distant marriage of convenience; his requests for transfer to Hawaii never seemed to get granted, and so he stayed on in D.

I am not sure what instigated his eventual transfer, be it bureaucratic machinery or his own decision to leave D.

In any case, my biological father left when I was six, and my mother quit her job shortly thereafter; she then housewived her three children until my father returned for good several years later.

Apparently the following affairs she tried were not so fulfilling or lasting; and eventually, I think her unhappiness forced my father to forego the overseas assignments which might have boosted his rank to Colonel.

He returned to a D. If he felt bitterness over the cost of her happiness to his career, he never expressed it to me. Now I wonder, in a sort of distaff irony, if he would not have been happier if my mother had found another willing and kind lover to satisfy her for another four years, until his overseas duties could have borne their final fruit.

Yet I think not, for even as I try to distance my own affair from her book, the powerful emotions and sexual joys she describes are too natural and imperfect not to be drawn from experience.

I cannot doubt that she did make love one perfect afternoon on a remote Virginia hilltop, or stood nervously awaiting her husband with the dampness of a morning tryst still on her skin.

And yet I am wary of that conclusion, too, for it serves too neatly as a sort of generational justification for my own affair. Just as my mother was the lonely woman far from her husband, so the woman I furtively meet is in the Bay Area, far from her husband in Honolulu.

And it would please me, too, if I could believe that I was like my mother, sustaining myself to be dutiful by means of this affair.

But I cannot believe it, for it strikes me as false on so many counts; first of which is that my wife and I have made no unspoken pact, as my parents did.

My affair feeds me, but it also distracts me; it does not enable my duties as husband and father, it cripples them.

Yet in saying that, I also wonder if the rot did not start with her, and that in glorifying her balancing of infidelity and duty, I may be trying to let her off the hook for the subtle damage she rained on her children.

But that very path ends in letting me off the hook, swinging the responsibility from myself to her. Perhaps that is illusion, too, but I cannot honestly say I felt the uncertainty that children feel when their parent is weak, distracted or vulnerable.

My mother seemed to know what she needed, and found it without burdening her children. Perhaps few, perhaps none; perhaps he too favored the conveniently married.

But there is no symmetry in my situation; my wife looks at me with concern, worried by my slow shattering; and I cannot give her a comfort I do not feel, nor an explanation I do not have myself.

I think there is another difference between my mother and myself; from her book, it seems that she and her lover were dear friends whose circle of mutual interest included all things sexual.

Yet I do not sense that she was riven with the sort of crazed thoughts that run through my mind, of leaving my wife and family for my lover, of imagining an open love life together rather than a sordid affair.

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Arthur Beare is a 40 something son still living at home taking care of his senile mother Maggie. However no matter what he does he cannot seem to get ahead and is always coming unstuck, where Robert cannot put a foot wrong in his mothers eyes, where all he is after is his mothers hidden money.

I can only imagine what is like to grow old, yet with a grandma like Maggie, I think she would put me in the grave for how frustrating she really can be.

This would have to be one Australian TV's funniest comedies, with Ruth Cracknell at her brilliant best. Arthur Beare is a 40 something son still living at home after getting a divorce from his first wife, but in the bargain gets to take care of his senile mother Maggie, who suffers from Alzheimer's disease.

However no matter what Arthur does, he cannot seem to get ahead and is always coming unstuck. Robert on the other hand cannot put a foot wrong in his mother's eyes, where all he is after is his mother's hidden money and assets.

This TV series was a very simple set up, but boy was it funny. Having a 40 something son taking care of his mother would in most cases not seem to most people to be that funny.

Yet with the very funny Ruth Cracknell anything and everything is going to be hilarious. With the catch cry of "Oh Arthur", you knew that something totally crazy was about to happen.

I mean in some of the episodes of this show, we get to see Maggie play with her late husband's ashes in the garden, buying oranges going on the way to a funeral, washing strawberries with detergent and blowing up the kitchen.

Look there is probably more things, but I can not remember them. In fact this review is making me want to watch the whole series all over again.

This show also had some great male actors. Yet as Arthur Beare audiences must have felt sorry for him. Looking after his mother, who does not appreciate him, ruining his social and working life.

All this in addition to the worry she causes at home between Arthur and herself. McDonald is a great actor, with a minor role in the big movie, Moulin Rouge as the eccentric doctor.

He makes out on the outside that he has his mother's best intentions at heart, yet deep down he is waiting for his mother to pass away, so he can reap all the rewards of her will.

Henri was perfect in this role. Judy Morris also brings another interesting character to this show. Judy plays Robert's wife Liz, and with her sarcasm and cynical outlook on both her husband and her mother-in-law making the show even funnier at times, as she knows what her husband is truly up to.

The writer of this show, Geoffrey Atherdon, had a wonderful story, with Mother and Son. I really felt that he was original in what he wrote in his scripts, making it all the funnier show.

Throw in director Geoff Portman who must have had one of the best jobs in Australian TV for 11 years, also put some very funny touches to this classic Australian comedy.

This review is a tribute to a brilliant actress, who had a wonderful career. Sure most people we only remember her in this very funny TV comedy, yet Ruth Cracknell is so much more.

I am disappointed that I did not see her in more acting roles, whether it was on stage, TV or cinema.

In a funny way she is the reason we love Australian TV today. This a big loss for the Australian TV industry, but I am sure that it will recover from it.

I am sure Ruth would rather us celebrate her life, than mourn it. This review is for you RUTH!!! Looking for something to watch?

Choose an adventure below and discover your next favorite movie or TV show. Visit our What to Watch page. It was then I had the first suspicion that my mother was different than the other mothers in our circle of family friends.

I imagined all the ancient year old parents I knew could still enjoy a late-night tumble now and then; I could see sex as a release or weekly pleasure for them.

But I began to wonder if sex was more than just occasional recreation, or earlier, procreation, for my mother; perhaps it was what had powered her.

Lest this sound like yet another tale of repressed womanhood flowering in sexual discovery, or another sappy tale of wild passion driving yet another good soul to ruin, let me say that my mother has never struck me as repressed or even suppressed.

What I find admirable in her secret life of sexual fulfillment was her sense of duty to herself, her children and her husband.

When I first read her memoir-as-novel, I was of course devastated by her infidelity, and saw not a sense of duty fulfilled but simple betrayal.

But as I have left my idealistic years behind, and indulged in my own secret life, I have discovered that she fulfilled her duty to herself with uncommonly good sense and a parallel care for her family.

Her infidelity did not intrude on her family, and apparently when it threatened to do so, she ended it.

She neither sacrificed her own selfhood, nor the sexual life of her marriage, nor the security of her children.

She did what she needed to stay whole enough to parent. I should say immediately that I made a slip of tense a moment ago; I said that mother liked sex tremendously, when in fact I have little reason to doubt that she likes sex tremendously, and may well enjoy it with someone in addition to my father to this day.

My queasiness remains, I suppose, as perhaps it should; I have no desire to know who she makes love with or how many times she does so.

And she, of course, would never breathe a word of it to any of us, perhaps especially not to my sister. I have also been thinking lately that my father may not be the quiet, ignorant cuckold I once took him for.

Now I think that he loved my mother well, and made love with her well, and therefore he knew that weeks or months without touching were not in her nature.

Yet his sense of duty, and to some degree his ambition and love of the intelligence trade, required him to be stationed overseas on remote assignments for months at a time.

And his sense of love and duty required that he not ask my mother to hole up somewhere nearby, just for his occasional comfort; nor did it let him ask for a fidelity that would be broken, along with his trust.

Instead, I think, he said nothing, and trusted that my mother would find a decent man to make love with, and spare him both the details and pain of any emotional bond that would threaten their marriage or plans to have children.

There was, after all, nothing to do but trust her. For her part, I think she did likewise, trusting my father to wear a condom when loneliness and ardor became wearisome, and likewise trusting him to keep his sensual pleasures safely separate from his feelings of love and devotion for her.

And when, as her book suggests, her boss asked her to make love with him, she also agreed to this, my father was, if not relieved, then unsurprised.

I think now that whatever discomfort the image of his sexy wife splayed under another man no doubt caused my father, he preferred it being another Japanese-American man to any other.

What outraged me when I first read her book, and now causes me to smile with wonder at her naughtiness, was her apparently guileless pleasure in maintaining two lovers when my father would come home on leave.

Now, having experienced it myself, I believe her lack of guilt evidences an inner confidence which I greatly respect, especially when compared to my own conduct.

My mother, I sincerely believe, assessed who she was, the love match she made with my father and the career paths she and my father had chosen, and made a clear-eyed decision of what would sustain her through the times apart.

Cleaving off her part-time lover during his leave probably struck her as needless and perhaps even phony; to her, I think, duty to the secrecy that bound and protected them both was neither hypocritical nor immoral.

Indeed, it was perhaps the boldest form of morality and duty a married couple can share; the point was not to hurt or humiliate your partner with the mechanics of what kept you whole in their absence.

From references in her book and odd bits of recounted family history, I gather that my parents decided to start having children when they turned twenty-five.

They may not have understood all that it entailed, but they wanted them just the same. I gather my father stopped using condoms during his visits.

I imagine her lover complained about using them, as did the lover in her book; and so, shouldering the birth control burden herself, she began using a diaphragm with him.

In the very scene I first turned to in discovering her memoir-novel, the heroine is languorously enjoying a second lovemaking session on a hilltop picnic towel.

Her sense of spiritual completeness causes her to hold her lover to her, to capture the full joy of unity with Nature. Later, as they lay snuggled together, still warmly bonded, she wonders if her sense is premonition; and despite her usual precaution, it does seem the soft circle of rubber was dislodged in the perfect afternoon of lovemaking.

Thus, did I enter the world. This realization took some years to sink in. There was barely a minute to register and evaluate these feelings while Mary smoothed the sheet, puffed the Paddington Bear pillow and patted the Paddington duvet into place.

I absolutely know I did. I was awash with confusion and angst and total loss. She has laid it all out in her memoir, An Affair with my Mother, in which she tells the story of Sarah, who conceived her outside marriage in , in rural Ireland , and handed her over at birth to a Catholic adoption agency.

Theirs is a relationship conducted entirely undercover. They have emailed and texted, and never once surprised one another with a knock on the door or a spontaneous call to a landline.

She little understood that the time Sarah needed might be a lifetime. For all their love, their respective wishes repel the other.

These wishes cannot both be satisfied. Occasionally, the hurt tips into rage. Time and again she is thwarted. She interviews local historians, she even meets Philomena Lee , whose search for her forcibly adopted son was the subject of the film Philomena.

Sarah is extraordinarily elusive and the book itself, as it jumps between past and present or draws a veil over a private conversation, abets her escape.

She is there, and she is not, in the text as in life. She taps her throat, as if the secret were a fishbone. Despite her great wish for openness, she says she has never tried to persuade Sarah to divulge her existence to her husband and three children.

But she also colludes in that secrecy, accepts it as the necessary condition on which she can know her mother.

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