OK, I confess. I'm enjoying "Desperate Housewives" in semi-regular doses this season.
The show lost me a few seasons ago with too many inane flights of fancy. Maybe I've mellowed, maybe in these turbulent times a guilty, soapy, silly pleasure is just what you need on a Sunday night. Or maybe the ABC sudser has simply gotten better after leaping five years into the future at the end of last season.
The storylines this season, from Lynette's son's affair with the soccer mom to Carlos' miracle blindness cure to the blossoming of Bree's Martha Stewart empire to Neal McDonough as Edie's hubby with the psycho-vendetta against Mike Delfino (who's now shacking up with Katherine, etc. etc.), have been fun and lightly addictive, kind of like M&Ms. Eva Longoria Parker has also been a standout this season, offering comic relief in all the right places. Felicity Huffman is unfailingly good at what she does, and earlier in the season Lily Tomlin was also a fun addition to the troupe.
I don't watch "Housewives" religiously every Sunday as I did in season one, but this season I've found myself checking in every other week or so to keep up with As Wisteria Lane Turns ...
Meanwhile, after all the fanfare and critical hosannas showered on the series finale of "Battlestar Galactica" this past Friday, I'm feeling awful for never diving into the show.
It really makes no sense. By all rights, the remodeled "Battlestar" should be my kind of show -- smart fantasy drama with great characters, swell spaceships and scribes with a lot to say, Gene Roddenberry-style, about the state of our world by imagining the goings-on in distant galaxies. On top of all that, I'm a fan of Edward James Olmos.
Somehow, I missed Sci Fi Channel's initial boarding call for this mission when it began as a miniseries in 2003, and I just never caught up. I suppose that's what DVD box sets are for. If only spare time could be acquired as easily.