So much for a fresh start in 2021. Between skyrocketing COVID-19 cases and an unhinged, maniacal president, I’ve desperately been seeking means of emotional escape. Thank God for online streaming services. Puzzles and books are fine, but nothing compares to a juicy Netflix series for those wanting a complete detachment from reality. Yes, please!
My latest fave is the CW’s “The 100,” a young adult sci-fi show that follows a group of beautiful but delinquent teens who’ve been sent to a post-apocalyptic Earth to see if it’s inhabitable again. The writing is horrible, the acting is only marginally better, and the production value is somewhere between “Flash Gordon” and a ‘90s sitcom.
No matter! I’m immediately transported to a world where eye makeup is consistently on point, whether emerging from gladiatorl-style combat or cryo-sleep, relationships bloom and dissolve faster than I can click “Continue to Next Episode,” and the ethics of cannibalism is a re-occurring theme. It’s pure TV gold.
More important, “The 100” is keeping me sane. I look forward to it each night, curled up in bed or on the couch, maybe a hot cup of tea in hand, and savor those moments of disconnect from the ever-crazy headlines of the day. Will Clarke become the commander? Will Bellamy ever confront his demons? And how do humans living in a cultish commune on a distant planet’s moon 300 years in the future acquire a printing press? These are the questions that occupy my thoughts.
And I’m good with that. Self-care is key to surviving these insane times, and if that means binge-watching a “Terminator-meets-Dawson’s Creek” soap opera, so be it.
Peace out.
