Friday, January 12, 2007

deadwood season three

Biggest letdown since The Phantom Menace. 150 chinks out of Custer City, 17 1/2 hired guns from Cheyenne, six subplots, two Earps, one dead miner and another dead hooker, and what does it all add up to? Jack Squat.

Boy am I pissed off. I don't care what themes David Milch wanted to "explore," or why the writers abruptly retreated into verisimilitude in the last fifty minutes, but that's damned sloppy storytelling. I can't believe I sat through 13 hours of that self-indulgent arrogance, only to have the producer thumb his nose at the audience in the end. And don't tell me how it was all about the balance of power or personal fulfillment or whatever. I've got an English degree, thank you very much. It's still unacceptable.

And now I have Gerald McRaney's voice coloring all the thoughts in my head.

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