On the one hand, Jekyll: Extraordinarily well thought-out BBC miniseries from Steven Moffat (now running Doctor Who). It doesn't have a 'central metaphor,' it has a dozen of them, each more fruitful and unsettling than the last. The one-liners are too glib at times, the acting sometimes a bit off-key, the weird American accents jarring - but that's a small price to pay for a world containing a Scottish Joss Whedon. Gleefully recommended.
On the other hand, the final episode of Lost, 'The End': Deathly Hallows + Last Battle + Family Guy + high fructose corn syrup. When I can suppress my contempt long enough to talk about it, we can talk about it. For now, let's leave it here: the two big scenes with Juliet were nice, but the rest of the 150-minute finale fell short of my expectations. Trust me: that's saying something.
Since I wrote this post to help me stop crying, and I've stopped crying, it's time to go to bed.
