By Heather Stromski
I begin this having not watched the latest two episodes, because I am afraid that, once I do, I’ll have to delete its recording status every Monday from my DVR timer list and lose out on something amazing, simply because of what makes it amazing. Let me digress slightly by saying I love this show: Kevin Bacon turns in an amazing performance as Ryan Hardy, a disgraced former FBI agent turned alcoholic, and James Purefoy is deliciously evil as the charismatic, engaging, Poe-channeling serial killer Joe Carroll. The supporting roles are done superbly well, and the story is all too easy to lose yourself in, sitting on the edge of your seat while holding your breath, waiting for the next twist to wrench your heart.
I begin this having not watched the latest two episodes, because I am afraid that, once I do, I’ll have to delete its recording status every Monday from my DVR timer list and lose out on something amazing, simply because of what makes it amazing. Let me digress slightly by saying I love this show: Kevin Bacon turns in an amazing performance as Ryan Hardy, a disgraced former FBI agent turned alcoholic, and James Purefoy is deliciously evil as the charismatic, engaging, Poe-channeling serial killer Joe Carroll. The supporting roles are done superbly well, and the story is all too easy to lose yourself in, sitting on the edge of your seat while holding your breath, waiting for the next twist to wrench your heart.
This is where I run into my problem. I am a mother. I have three children – my eldest stepson will be 14 soon and my firstborn just turned three – and I’ll be giving birth to my biological second child in July. I’ve always been extremely emotional and tend to attach rather heavily to things. This is what allows me to argue, rather vehemently, about the latest story arc of Doctor Who; or curse the name of Joss Whedon for the little bombshell that was dropped in the Firefly 10th Anniversary Reunion Special. Added to that, I’ve never been able to watch movies or shows where I know animals get hurt – someone let that one little part of I Am Legend slip before I had a chance to watch it and I haven’t touched it since – and that has doubled where children are concerned since I became a mother.
After the episode, The Poet’s Fire ended, I sat in my chair for a good five minutes, disbelieving what I’d just seen. Joe’s followers Paul, Jacob, and Emma had absconded with the son of Joe and his ex-wife, Joey, at the end of the pilot episode and now a message had been sent to Ryan containing a video of the followers encouraging Joey to make his first kill by tightening a lid on a jar with a mouse inside – obviously beginning tutelage in the art of death, to attempt to make Joey into his father’s heir apparent. The physical harm or death of a child is enough to bring tears to my eyes, unable to separate myself from the fact that it is fiction and it hasn’t actually occurred. This was something altogether all the more painful… the willful destruction of a child’s innocence, all while trying to play like it’s something normal and beautiful, a necessary part of their upbringing.
After the episode, The Poet’s Fire ended, I sat in my chair for a good five minutes, disbelieving what I’d just seen. Joe’s followers Paul, Jacob, and Emma had absconded with the son of Joe and his ex-wife, Joey, at the end of the pilot episode and now a message had been sent to Ryan containing a video of the followers encouraging Joey to make his first kill by tightening a lid on a jar with a mouse inside – obviously beginning tutelage in the art of death, to attempt to make Joey into his father’s heir apparent. The physical harm or death of a child is enough to bring tears to my eyes, unable to separate myself from the fact that it is fiction and it hasn’t actually occurred. This was something altogether all the more painful… the willful destruction of a child’s innocence, all while trying to play like it’s something normal and beautiful, a necessary part of their upbringing.
I love a tale of good versus evil as much as the next person. On some occasions, I even find myself drawn to the villain in some strange way, if it is done well – which The Following most certainly is. I want to lose myself in it. I want to be able to enjoy it for what it is – a thoroughly thrilling, exceptionally told story of wits being matched with life and death hanging in the balance. But it is so immersing that I can see where it would be hard for a normal person to detach themselves from the acts and that goes double for someone as empathic as I am. I love the dark. I love when a show isn’t afraid to go off of the deep end and find all of its many varied twisted roots to bring them to the surface. The Following does it with unabashed glee in the evil it explores, showing its audience where most of its ilk will not that no one is safe, no one is hands-off and nothing is taboo. It just might be this very quality that causes me to turn myself away from this amazing feat of television with a sigh, while picking up and hugging my toddler, offering a silent prayer to whoever’s listening to keep him safe and away from such things.
So, tonight, after my husband and children are in bed and I have time to myself, I’ll pull up the last two episodes from where they wait in my DVR queue and I’ll sit and wait with held breath, preparing myself for either triumph, if good prevails and manages to rescue the boy, or regret, as I resolve to delete the timer and forget all about the show that won’t let fear of the dark keep them from exploring it. Time will tell.
RSS Feed
