Read that headline as homoerotically as you wish. I know I will be. Here is another trailer for the third season of Homeland. Taking itself way too seriously. Just a bunch of sad people looking sad. No matter. It features The Beard preparing its search for that ginger-headed terrorist fuck.
It only took nearly twelve episodes, but something dope finally happened on Dexter. As the door swung shut on the season the writers decided to throw us starving wolves a grizzled piece of meat to gnash our teeth on for ten months or so. It only took nearly twelve episodes, but the writers have delivered a trajectory for the final two seasons. Incestuous complications and abject horrifying revelations await those of us who will return from this season – an exercise in apathy – and hope for greener pastures as the Bay Harbor Butcher and his brother-lusting sister complete their journey through the wilds of Miami Metro.
For the love of all that is holy I’m fucking done with this season of Dexter. Or whatever has become of it, which seems to be a pastiche of HBO television tropes. We have the incestuous vibes from Game of Thrones, the insufferable psychoanalysis of the Sopranos, and the Six Feet Under (Hi David!) prolonged dream sequences. Meanwhile people are running around and Colin Hanks is trying really, really hard to make grim faces. Let’s rock out this shiz with some bullet point blitzes.
Let’s not complain about Dexter this week. Let’s just not do it. Waddle over to that Pharma-Installation that’s mandated to be in every house now. Take the happy pill. Snap it between your teeth and smile. It’s Christmas time, and if you’re not eating elbows from Soccer Moms and swearing in the parking lots that mayhaps there’s a chance you’re ready to swing with some fucking Yuletide cheer. Showtime has already announced that the end of Dexter is coming. The end game approaches. So let’s just smile and gently wait for the final descent to begin.
I was wrong about this season’s Dexter. If you can draw a thesis from a season of a television show midway through (and I’m not sure you can), then I would argue that it’s not about Faith at all. No sir. That’s the Red Herring. Don’t buy into it. By the end of “Just Let Go”, with Brother Sam dad and Dexter seeing his serial killing brother it became pretty fucking apparent.
This season is about choice of interpretation.
Is anything going on in this season of Dexter? Is there ice on the tarmac? What the fucking is going on. I couldn’t believe when I heard that this was the fifth episode of the season. It’s a yawntacular batch of nothingness. It’s the television equivalent of entropy. It isn’t good, it isn’t bad. It’s just…there.
Quite often the efficacy of the sidekick is downplayed. They are relegated to pure ancillary uses. You know, serving to wipe down your bloodstains, do the laborious bone sawing. The grunt word of the serial killer underworld. Let us make no mistakes about it, every serial killer aspires to one day have their own lackey. It’s understandable. They’re clutch though, and if you’re going to take a sidekick into your underworld of Blood and Gloom the best advice I can give you is this. Choose carefully. Your enterprise rides on it.
We’re three episodes into Dexter’s sixth season and ain’t a damn thing happened yet. I’m not worried, no sir. I take the fanboy approach. Patiently awaiting something dope. So the sweet scene with the corpse horses was the last thirty seconds of the episode. So Billy Adama and Father Joe are up to nothing. So Dexter is just giving baby baths and shit.
It can’t stay like this forever, right?
The coda to this week’s episode of Dexter should leave everyone with a resounding “No shit, really Morgan?” It only took the Little Sociopath That Could two and a half years of parenthood to figure out that he would have to don a mask to save his child from the truth? I don’t know why this took so long to register with the typically brilliant slicer, but when the episode ended I was stunned the writers tried to float that proclamation across the narrative like it was a revelation.
Dur-duh-doi! Yeah, that’s what I spit at the screen.
Oh shit!, the sixth season of Dexter is here and it kicked off with some ripping bad assery from our favorite Homicidal Batman. I called dream sequence, the show called my bluff and we finally got to see him kill off a couple of douchebags in a rather novel way. Listen man, my serial killer needs to go beyond the casual chest stab every once in a while.
The show’s jumped a year forward and while I usually bemoan this trope maybe the meds are working and I’m not feeling nearly as critical. In that time Pock Mocked McGee and Deb have been hanging out and chaining annoying vulgar turns of phrase together. He’s been banging her and observing his penis’ clear presence in her Skeletor vaginal canal. LaGuerta divorced Angel which caused him to get a sweet ass beard. Also his sister is hot. Masuka’s still Masuka which is fine by me.
And in my mind: Astor and Cody were eaten by a Kraken, after being dismembered by a saw that was powered by an intensified version of their own cacophonous bitchings.