I've been watching TV since we got our first one 72 years ago. Much of my life, like every other American, has been spent in front of the boob tube. And that derogatory term fits because the large majority of TV isn't worth the time. I could have written that novel or solve hunger. Even some of my favorite shows aren't all that memorable. When this one came on, people told me, "You've got to watch this." That's normally the kiss of death. So when Netflix put the whole thing out there, my wife and I started. While it has a flaw or two, I have never been so emotionally moved by a dramatic TV show. We watch as though it were a documentary. We feel what the characters feel. The simplest explanation is that it grabs at our experiences and our pain and our fear of failure and our fear of dying and our fear of losing control and not being able to make things better. Jack dies in a fire because he goes back in a burning house to rescue a dog. He comes out, but the damage to his lungs is too much and he has a heart attack. The pain Kate feels is expressed so realistically because she demanded he save the dog. If she were a real person, she would never get over that. We also now know what's with Kevin, who wasn't there but was with his girlfriend. He can only speculate as to what he would have done and then he goes after Randall, who had no role in anything but survival. And so he feels the blame, even though everything was chance, except for Jack's foolish act. And, for a while, he seemed to land on his feet. I thought the hospital scenes were the most realistic I've ever seen. And when fate comes crashing through, that is why we need to care about each other and live every day, even when our egos can barely stand it.
Review of Super Bowl Sunday
