Somebody saaaaaave me. I’ve become thoroughly addicted to Smallville, the TV show about the teenage years and early manhood of Superman. I didn’t watch it when it was actually running, but now it’s over I’ve decided to watch all ten damn seasons. The teen drama and endless angsting kind of gets on my nerves. I watch it mostly for the Luthors: Lionel and Lex. What a wonderfully twisted family!
It’s kind of funny watching all the seasons so close together. How many times can people get blown up, stabbed, shot or experimented upon and yet show up in the very next episode perfectly fine and with nary a scar? Answer: a lot. How many times can Clark flash his baby blues at the endlessly irritating Lana, while lamenting that they can never be together. Answer: a lot. How many plot holes can be created, then ruthlessly ignored? Answer: a lot.
And yet, I’m hooked. Whenever I’m about to throw in the towel I’ll get tossed one of my favorite episodes (anything involving Clark tripping on red kryptonite, Lex wobbling on the edge of redemption or Lana locating her backbone) and then I’m clicking away, ordering the next season.
Sigh. Only four more seasons to go. Please. Somebody save me. It’s not like I don’t know how it all ends! Anyone out there watch the entire thing? Why is this show so damn addictive? I’m not even a Superman fan! Sigh. I just ordered Season Seven.
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Diane Dooley writes stuff, reads stuff, watches stuff and blogs about – you’ve guessed it – stuff.