This week's New Yorker contains a witty review Kalefa Sannah of "Fringe", a medical investigation drama set in Boston. Excerpt:
"The series began in September, with a passenger on a flight to Boston injecting himself with what appeared to be insulin; the syringe actually contained a man-made virus that, within minutes, reduced the plane’s population to zero. The midair gore (the Parents Television Council called “Fringe” that week’s worst show, citing a vivid depiction of “instant, extreme, liquefactive necrosis”) was less spooky than the idea of the ghost plane gently touching down at Logan Airport, guided by computers that must have been slimeproof. Dunham needed help with the case, and, as so often happens at the F.B.I., the experts decided that the right man for the job was a mad scientist who had spent the better part of two decades in a mental institution; in keeping with common practice, the institution agreed to release the man, Walter Bishop, on the condition that his estranged son, Peter, keep an eye on him and give him his prescribed dose of two or three wordy rejoinders per scene."
This review, which I read yesterday night on a plane gently touching down at Logan Airport, is genius. I am always looking for ways of getting some value from the money I pay monthly to Comcast for cable TV, so in the case of "Fringe" I may go beyond reading reviews of TV programs in the New Yorker and actually watch the program on TV. Now that would be something.
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