And so we land in March,

But the references that have been coming to mind a lot lately aren’t limited by recency, as I shall attempt to list…

1. Mindhunter – I’m so glad I sat through this with my parents early-mid-summer last year (which was 2020, if you’re not reading this too late). Of all Netflix originals, this one felt most rewarding. Fidget your way through the dense dialogue that grips most of the first season, and you’re in for a twisted ride the rest of the time. It appears as an overly “cool,” highly stylized version of reality, but the unfolding of each character’s coolness is exactly what kept me and my parents hooked.

Though I was aware of Mindhunter’s hold of me at the time, indicated by simple remarks as “Wow, this is a really good show,” I didn’t expect its cinematography to color my conceptualizations of the lives of sexual deviants in America, suburban 1970s America, federal crime bureaus, and American crime culture in general. Really, I couldn’t have chosen a better show to welcome me back to my country this summer, as tumultuous as the climate was.

Atmosphere. Atmosphere is what’s missing from the fast-digesting TV that most everyone has no problem binging. A side-note about binging: my problem isn’t as much the time-wasting component as much as the mindlessness, and I’m sure many agree. As much as I might crave the instant gratification of the endless autoplay, I think binging does the whole art of narrative a disservice. We don’t need to write a thesis or think deeply about all the possible interpretations and existential meanings of an episode before moving to the next, but wouldn’t you say that discussing a show or film with your viewing partner makes for a more meaningful (enjoyable being too subjective) experience? No given piece of media stands alone; as viewers, readers, listeners, we do so more in shaping its ultimate consumption than we think. So much lies beneath consciousness.

Anyway, back to atmosphere. OK, so I’ve been binging Kim’s Convenience lately. Though it’s also a stellar Netflix product, I generally hesitate to watch such fast-digesting media because I know that in the long-view, my brain wants to collect artsy-fartsy images, and sitcoms aren’t made to obsess over lighting and focal length and composition and, especially, moody landscapes. In any given moment, of course I’d rather spend my time laughing out loud at punchlines than cataloguing moody depictions of dilapidated houses in neglected neighborhoods of 1970s Atlanta or eerie roadside ditches… but those images, cumulatively, enrich my imagination and inspire me… to what end, I am not sure– I don’t plan on directing a thriller anytime soon– but suffice to say, it informs my taste.

Oh, and speaking of the genre I supposedly don’t plan on directing but not-so-secretly think about a lot:

2. That Invisible Man movie directed by Leigh Whannell of SAW fame did not live up to SAW but remains my reference point for modern thrillers with memorable, albeit outrageous, moments. Made for a worthwhile fall Friday night with my mom.

3. As for a non-thriller but so much more than a filler: Fleabag. Perhaps it is because I’m reading the Blind Assassin, a book centered on two sisters coming from a prim and proper household defined by paternal withholding of love and maternal presence of ersatz rather than biological nature. I always felt a bit dirty watching Fleabag, especially the first season, unnerved by its ability to serve heart without sentimentality. Maybe the characters’ unabashed worship of thinness, paired with the brutal portrayal of the date with the teeth (if you don’t know, you don’t know) ruffled my abnormally delicate feathers a bit much–on top of the big reveal about our protagonist’s true nature, of course. Coming out of the second season unscathed confirmed that the worst had already happened in the first one, or else I’d just adapted to the tone and found it a more pleasant watch that way. But given the deliveries of the first season, how could the second not have softened around the edges?

Anyhow, I watched that show during the worst month of my life, November 2020, and many of its moments have stayed with me. Although the tides have shifted, with two New Year celebrations out of the way, I can’t say I’m out of the woods yet. This winter remains challenging. I am home alone, my days defined by job-seeking and self-questioning: am I going about this right? Am I doing enough? Do the things I do even matter? There’s no time like the present to test one’s resolve, to knock and see if the legendary “little light of mine” can spark. What keeps it dormant? You have your usual dopamine dealers–media-binging, boredom-induced eating, and shopping for some–but also the larger offenders: unfulfilling jobs and relationships, often so awkward in their scale. Sometimes, I think that my determination to limit these unhelpful elements causes more stress than they’re worth, but I’d like to think I’m wrong.

Which brings me back to the fickle nature of consumption. I’ve been at this solo lifestyle for so long that I could use some extraneous variables to affect my media consumption, and this white screen with its blinking cursor is a perfect candidate. I’d love to know what my friends thousands of miles away are watching, but not in the form of a 3-line text exchange. I can’t just assign them to write reviews with word count minimums (not for lack of trying), but I can turn that privilege onto myself.

Here’s to a March of mindful, not manic, escape through your storytelling medium(s) of choice.