fun? For bringing something fabulous? Something delightful? After many months consuming prestige TV as if a Michelin meal, dodging online spoilers, I am entering a time in my life where I would like to sit low in a beanbag chair and have a little excitement, a little joy poured directly down my throat like a foie-gras goose.
Currently, I have to settle for less. It is no coincidence that reports of the end of “prestige TV” coincide with my own personal exhaustion of the stuff – I have, I believe, singlehandedly maintained this industry through my personal relentless viewing.
There is not an award-winning drama I haven’t watched, there is not a darkly comic show investigating grief and/or trauma I haven’t mainlined with biscuits, there is not a philosophical American review I haven’t read solemnly at midnight, occasionally looking up Shakespeare references by the light of a phone.
But now the shows have ended, with no obvious heir in sight. And the entertainment which has replaced them is not (as some have written) reality TV like Love Island, its scandals now as predictable as its catchphrases and bikinis, and it’s not comedy (as others suggested) – Hannah Gadsby’s latest project is a show at the Brooklyn Museum called “It’s Pablo-matic” where she has annotated Picasso paintings with jokes “calling out” Picasso’s misogyny, to loud criticism.
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