Over Christmas, though more specifically, that post- Bacchanalian lull between Boxing Day and New Year, (You didn't have one ? Poor you.) we started to watch Orphan Black on Netflix. If you loved Desperate Housewives, or Revenge then this is the show for you. I said to Sonetlumiere that it was a bit Buffyesque in order to ensnare him, so that I could discuss it with someone... but he rebuts that descriptor, saying it's more X-Files than Vampire-slaying. Never mind. He's hooked now.
There has, in fairness been a plethora of good television to watch. This autumn we discovered Narcos. If anybody had told me I'd be recommending the true story of Pablo Escobar, Columbian drug baron, I would have insisted they checked me for a pulse. Absolutely knicker-grippingly good. And my Spanish, with all those sub-titles, improved immeasurably. Then there was the extraordinary Stranger Things which made fantasy and sc-fi beguiling, in a way that I have not seen since early Spielberg. The Crown was, for me unexpectedly, a joy and delight. So in brief, we have been thoroughly spoiled by Netflix. So we were woofling around for another hum-dinger.
If we are unsure of a new series, we give it a 30 minute chance to grab us. So it was with the 30 minute mandate that we gave Orphan Black the once-over. We were seduced immediately. Ridiculous premise, but it went at a stonking pace. However, even while cocooned in our bubble, I did venture to point out that the only way we were watching a drama such as this was because there were no distractions. Dearest nodded, while pouring another glass of wine.
He returned to work on Tuesday and after supper I put on Orphan Black. Ten minutes in, he said,
"I can't watch any more of this rubbish. I think we pigged out on it too much last week."
You'd think that Orphan Black has been orphaned once more.
Fear not. Mummy is here. She's got an awful lot of ironing to catch up on. Which she will be doing very slowly, darling.
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| Tatiana Mislany is the very talented lead. |
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