The writing is absurd good. The gore is abundantly black and profoundly disturbing. The dialog is lyrical and literate over my head.

It disgusted my wife so much she stopped paying attention when I was binging on it and found something else to do. She’s now addicted to social media.

It is the most compelling thing I’ve ever seen on television. Ozark, Bates Hotel, Jessica Jones. Daredevil, Luke cage. Shameless, Ray Donovan, Aquarius. Better Call Saul. Breaking Bad.  Netflix is king hell now. Fast food wrappers piling up on the coffee table. Cocktailing for months and watching TV to the point where I’m ordering exercise equipment and walking around the block everyday at the very least.

They knew they were cancelled at the beginning of their last season and they pulled it off.

Sensual violence.  A loneliness so thorough in the characters that I became an empath. Half the time I was watching a cooking show that featured human meat. All three seasons wore a lugubrious pall.

Whoever mixed this thing should be taken out and shot. I finally resorted to close captioning.  The music and sound effects so loud with the characters whispering most of the time. The balances fucking suck to the point of annoyance at the amateur hour attempt.

Fishburn is amazing as Jack Crawford.  Will Graham (Hugh Dancey) smolders. The Mason Verger
character is Thurston Howell in porcine obsessed serial killer drag.  The female players are almost all smokey and strong femme fatales. They all have power in the plot, wrenching the narrative back and forth to suit themselves.  As clever as they can be in a den of cascading male psychopaths.

Fantastic stuff with an overwhelmingly artful presentation.

Goddamn, it’s well done.

It’s art.

It’s crazy.

Nobody escapes.

Drinks for my friends.

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