Catching up on Dexter, and I recognized Fred 62s! Nice try, L.A. location scouts, but you couldn’t get it past a late-night diner rat like me.
Television, I tried.
Grimm: why you so clunkily written? I want to like you…but your writing just makes it SO HAAAARD. Same goes for you, American Horror Story. I’m frustrated by the promise in both these series that seems to be squandered on speedy exposition and cheap tricks. Sigh.
Once upon a time, I could sustain interest in something with little substance, and almost no payoff. But now, well, I guess I’m too old and busy.
So, I finally finished Mildred Pierce…
KATE. KATE. YOU ARE FUCKING FLAWLESS, JESUS CHRIST.
Impeccably done, deserving of all its little gold statuettes. I would normally be able to give a coherent review, since that is my job, but right now I am too busy feeling things.
Going to sit here for awhile, just recovering.
Ugh. Awful. I don’t even care about the quality, I just needed to make a point with that piece of dialogue.
I tried, Midnight in Paris, I really did. But for all your attempts to downgrade pretension, you’re still coming off much worse as a shallow, obvious, classless piece of bourgeois shite.
Lately, I’ve felt the sudden urge to buy suspenders.
Then, I realized, it’s not that sudden. Just like all the epaulets and the navy blue greatcoat, and the cufflinks aren’t that sudden.
Looks like Torchwood has finally completed it’s Inception job on me.
(Though I can still barely forgive the belt-with-suspenders thing. Particularly given the speed with which Captain Harkness frequently wishes to exit his clothes.)