I am on part 41 of the Spanish series “Gran Hotel” on Netflix, and let me tell ya, it’s got more twists and turns than a bucketful of nightcrawlers. Some of which I can see coming from a mile away, others, I know they’re gonna get there but for the life of me, I don’t see how they’ll pull it off. It’s really just a telenovella dressed up in Masterpiece Theater costumes, lighting, and art direction, but I can’t stop watching.
Before that, it was Broadchurch, a whodunnit from the BBC with an ending that REALLY shocked the pants off me.
True Crime… couldn’t ladle it down my gullet fast enough.
GoT. I get goosebumps every time I even think about the part where Danerys speaks to the army of The Unsullied in High Valerian.
Homeland. I would pay a king’s ransom to watch this series to the bitter (and I’m guessing) tragic end.
Orange is the New Black? Mais oui!
Peaky Blinders? Whatchu playin’ at, guvnor?
My name is Lucia, and I am addicted … to binge watching. To the detriment of actually having a life. Why go out with friends for dinner when you can be surrounded by fascinating, dangerous, terrifying, inspiring, hateful, enthralling characters (or dragons) with just a couple of keystrokes?
This all started about two years ago when I sat down one afternoon to watch episode one of House of Cards with ultra creepy Kevin Spacey. Before I knew it, it was the dead of night and I was panting for the next season—which hadn’t yet been shot. I began to shake; chills and upset stomach followed. How was I going to do without Kevin Spacey and Robin Wright? “Frozen” is about the ice queen? Fuggedaboudit. Robin Wright inhabits every cell of the Ice Queen. She’s not misguided; she’s pure unadulterated evil with her eyes on the prize (The White House). She doesn’t break into Disney-fied song: she SERIOUSLY refuses to Let It Go. This character is definitely not a role model; so why did I love her so much?
Here’s the thing. The big suits in Hollywood have figured out how to sell crack to us little folk on the playground. It’s diabolical. I don’t think they’ll ever change course now that they know they’ve got us in their hot, greedy little hands. But I have to give credit; whoever came up with this binge thing is whipsmart. Soap operas have gone the way of the dinosaur; they were geared toward bored housewives with something like 8 plot points, max, played out for decades. No one stays home anymore, so those never ending stories with their cheap lighting and bad acting are ix-nayed. But the desire to be wrapped up in story time is undeniable, starting in childhood and snaking through our entire lives. Scheherazade, for God’s sake. Add to the equation the component of addiction et voila! You’ve got a blockbuster that has more evil staying power than the Koch Brothers.
I think it was Joseph Campbell who said, “The only difference between animals and humans is that humans tell stories.” I know my dog has no interest in what happens in episode 42 of “Gran Hotel.” But I get her up on the bed next to me as I fire up Netflix. This is when we have special time. At least, that’s what I tell her.