Dexter is coming back! ‘Cause, I don’t know, why not? It’s building off the original finale, which pretty much everyone fucking hated. I mean, a lumberjack? So, no matter what, it can’t really be any worse.
That Twin Peaks revival that’s been on, off, on again? It’s finally getting started this September. Yes, yes! you proclaim. But when is it dropping? Uh. Um. Sometime. In 2016.
Well, isn’t this a curious, fortuitous, radical swinging of events. Not only is the Twin Peaks revival happening, not only is David Lynch returning, but the show’s order is expanding to eighteen episodes.
Very good, very good news indeed for Twin Peaks fans. David Lynch has rejoined the show’s revival, and is slated to direct every episode.
You can always go home again. It seems. David Lynch is bringing back Twin Peaks. A show which has always been popular, but judging by Tumblr, Instagram, Facebook, and Netflix activity has seen its cult swell in recent years. Lynch is bringing his baby back to none other than Showtime, for nine-episodes.
So it looks like Showtime is going to be Microsoft’s partner when it comes to a Halo TV series. It’s done! Guaranteed!…okay! Maybe! Possibly! Probably! This is the Internet, we oversell everything.
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.