A man stands alone, wearing a designer suit and a shit-eating grin. An anonymous skyline occupies the backdrop behind him, imposed on a green screen. On occasion, some scuzzy-looking dude wearing a bikini top pops into frame. For over ten years, that has been the vehicle that delivers bite-sized pieces of TV at its trashiest right into your home, sealed with a snarky one-liner and a kiss.
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Shonda Rhimes’ How to Get Away With Murder is a show with a lot of hype behind it, and rightly so. It’s hard to deny the series’ first season didn’t make a strong impression. It threw together an awesome and diverse cast, a fun episodic formula, and a serialized mystery that definitely hangs with the best of them.
That said, it was How to Get Away With Murder’s blend of contemporary college drama and sprawling murder-mystery that stuck with me the most, because it evoked a fascinating set of similarities to Donna Tartt’s seminal campus-murder novel, The Secret History.
By now we know that there have been several “self-styled” kings, and many that have claimed the rights to Game of Thrones’ kingdom of Westeros. Whether you have read all of George R.R. Martin’s books to date, or are only a fan of the television series, we have been subjected to a parade of aspiring leaders that all feel they have a claim to the Iron Throne.
But of these wannabes, which of these actually would make a good ruler? Which of them actually has a true and valid claim? Which of these people would avid readers and watchers of the Game of Thrones universe actually like to see sitting atop the Iron Throne?
It’s becoming a bit of a joke. The man hasn’t made a legitimate mainstream movie since 2001 (2006 if you count the digital experiment INLAND EMPIRE) and yet he remains one of the most highly regarded and beloved auteurs in all of film. His past efforts include masterworks such as Mulholland Dr., Lost Highway, Wild at Heart, Blue Velvet, The Elephant Man, and Eraserhead, and even his lesser efforts (Dune, The Straight Story, to some extent) radiate an artistic immediacy that is hard to shake.
Last Friday, Marvel Entertainment released Daredevil, their first of four Netflix-exclusive series. Like other Netflix-exclusive releases, all 13 episodes of Daredevil were released at the same time, which means it was ripe for binge-watching. As someone who is an avid comic book fan, and a proponent of any live-action comic book adaptation, I really wanted to immerse myself in Daredevil once it was released. So, like many Americans this weekend, I binge-watched all 13 episodes of Daredevil in basically one sitting (I took a few breaks in between episodes). During my marathon viewing session, I live-tweeted my spontaneous reactions and unprocessed thoughts on the show. What follows is the Storification of my tweets that, when compiled, work as a real time review of Daredevil.