Few things inspire such universal joy, loathing, and terror as a clown and, depending on what stage in your life you’re at really seems to determine which camp you fall in.
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.
