If youve paid even the most minimal attention to my write-ups week after week, you know that I just wholeheartedly buy into The Leftovers with both feet in, or whatever mixed metaphors Damon Lindelof and Tom Perotta would prefer. I cant say its perfect, but I can say its perfect for me, or at least the gremlin-looking thing inside of me that feeds upon shards of hate-bile and insectile fragments of depression. I cant imagine anyone expected The Prodigal Son Returns to be a marathon of joyful surface conversations, and it was indeed yet another exercise in uncharacteristically enjoyable drama eked out through surreality, violence and questionable coincidences. Just like your grandmother used to make.
Knowing that Season 2 of The Leftovers is another 42 weeks or so away, it wasnt surprising that no one opened up a yellow envelope with a sheet inside that definitively answered how crazy Kevin actually is. For most of the episode, hes kind of a rugged badass. Burying mean bitches (Pattis throat-...
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