You know by now that I take Orphan Black’s allusions to the prolific work of English philosopher and scientist Francis Bacon seriously.
Its characters are creatures of habit, seeking and constantly rebuffing liberation, and the series similarly depends on its tired rituals to survive.
Surprisingly, the first few episodes of season seven indicate a willingness on the show’s part to take some new chances.
Each season of Dexter has started slow before building momentum, and this season is no exception.
Dexter is such a darkly comic and self-aware show that its creators would joke about how far from cutting edge it is.
It’s tempting to say that the structural sloppiness of the fourth season of Showtime’s Dexter is a deliberate bit of auto-critique.
From the opening title sequence of Dexter, the motif of humans-as-meat is firmly established.
Dexter in its second season is bolder and stronger than almost any other drama on the dial.
Dexter, a good drama but an average psychological study, is always pointing out distinctions between right and wrong.
The sitcom really is in as much trouble as it seems to be.