Smallville isn’t the only fictional town in Kansas

Over the last two and a half weeks, Fuzzy and I have worked our way through the entire too-brief run of Jericho, thanks to the superpass at Blockbuster that allows you to take out a movie, and keep swapping it for other movies and/or games for one monthly fee.

Those who know me will understand why I resisted watching it when it was on: Other than the fact that it conflicted with Project Runway at least some of the time, I have issues with movies and shows that involve people being tired, cold, scared, hungry, dirty, or lacking toilet paper. It is for this reason that I stopped watching Battlestar Galactica, and it is for this reason why the Underworld movies, which premise I like, did not appeal.

I have no problem with dark subjects, blood and guts, or violent scenes as long as they move the plot forward, and as long as they also involve the main characters getting to go home to a warm dinner, a hot bath, and bunny slippers after they’re done saving the world or fighting for injustice.

Nevertheless, once we were fifteen minutes into Jericho, I was wishing we had a living room with surround sound and home theater seating, because I was hooked. It helped, I think, that some of the writers had worked on one of my favorite shows, The West Wing, and that the producer, John Turtletaub was also involved with the National Treasure movies, which I think are lovely escapist entertainment.

So, this post sees me standing corrected. Jericho rocks, and I’m sorry I didn’t watch it when it was actually, you know, on.