I love gory, horrific television. Now that’s different from gory film-watching, and films I think are a conversation for another post. But I’ve gleefully watched Dexter, The Walking Dead, True Blood, American Horror Story, and (though less happily this season) Game of Thrones. I’ve fallen in love with NBC’s adaptation of Hannibal. Last night, I watched the first episode of Penny Dreadful, and I loved every monstrous moment. I loved the vampires–and the Frankenstein scene was the most transfixing 5 minutes of TV I’ve seen in a long time. One of the few things I still love about Game of Thrones is the inventiveness of death.
I don’t know why I love gory television. I mean, I’m pretty decent in a crisis, and I don’t faint at the sight of blood, but I could never be comfortable enough with wounds and infections and seeing internal organs to be a nurse, doctor, or surgeon of any sort. But I get to try on all sorts of roles when I’m watching these shows, do and see all kinds of things that I’m never really going to. I’m not likely to meet any vampires, to need to kill zombies, or to cross paths with a serial killer who targets Bad People—but it’s damn fun to imagine it.
Perhaps it makes me unladylike to have such a deep appreciation for arterial spray, broken bodies, and monsters. I’m not sure I care. 🙂