Last year, right as the TV season was starting up, I embarked down a new journey in my ordinary life. As it turned out, graduating college and getting a full time job required a lot more of my time than I had originally anticipated. My brain was so exhausted by the end of the day that I couldn’t watch anything more complicated than a half hour comedy, and even those were taxing at times. When I watch TV, whatever it may be, I invest myself in it. For some shows, it’s enough to sit back and enjoy them (I’m looking at you, Vampire Diaries), but for shows like Mad Men or Dexter or other such hour-long dramas, I need to fully immerse myself in them mentally.
That goes double for Joss Whedon’s trippy, intellectual, complicated-even-when-I-was-at-full-capacity late, great effort Dollhouse. Despite (or maybe because of) my love for all things Whedon, and the fact that the first season was, although often flawed, some of the most fascinating and intriguing TV ever, I couldn’t turn on the show. I didn’t watch a single episode last season (which, yes, I know makes me part of the evil masses not watching Dollhouse that led to its cancellation).
So when Christmas break arrived this year, and I was faced with a full week without stress and work, I knew what I should do with all that time to de-stress: delve into a series where every episode makes my brain hurt.
I’m currently four episodes into Season Two, and what I’m feeling most is an undeniable sense of loss of possibility. Both for the series itself (thus far, it is continuing its run of being the most fascinating TV show ever, if not always the most entertaining) and for my possibilities as a reviewer. Half the reason I write for this site is an attempt to add something to the conversation, and it feels a little strange coming to the conversation a full year late. None the less, I kind of think it’s impossible to watch Dollhouse without feeling the need to talk about it.