It’s one of those film experiences that is so unsettling, from conception to execution, that saying, “Hey, I liked this movie,” runs the real risk of alienating you from friends and family.
I’m glad, then, that Game of Thrones is not that lesser show, and gave us what we knew had to happen—and wanted to happen—so soon into the season six run.
11.22.63 was a show that spent eight weeks going absolutely nowhere and, much like Jake, we the viewers are left at the end having gained absolutely nothing, except fleeting, cruel glimpses of what could have been.
I’m sitting here, watching the seventh and penultimate episode of 11.22.63, running through my mind all the different ways this particular hour is annoying me.
