If Station Eleven was a line from Scott Pilgrim vs the World, it would be “we are Sex Bob-omb, and we are here to make you think about death and get sad and stuff!” Dumb, you say? Sure. But it’s true. That’s what you come here for: Truth.
Station Eleven isn’t a show to turn to for comfort and good feelings, and the logline tells you as much. Who wants to watch anything about a highly contagious and lethal virus going wild across the globe, reducing civilization to ash, right now? No one. But we all should. This is a good show. In its weird way, the production is actually kind of a relief, not in a “well, it could be worse” way exactly*, but in a “we can get through this” way.
That may not sound like a party to you, and hey, no worries, don’t watch the show. But I dug it. You can read my full review for The Playlist to find out more.
*Though there’s a bit of that, and I’d be lying if I said otherwise.
A Constant Visual Feast 