I know. I know what you’re thinking.
“HELLO! It’s not even December and you want us to vote for the 2009 dramas? Getting carried away with this poll thingy, are you?”
Wait, hear me out. I know it’s early, but depending on which spot on the planet you’re planted, December is just 1-2 days away, anyway. Also, some of you made up your minds long ago (woohoo, City Hallers!) and have been waiting for a poll like this, right? (Excuse me, Ms. Thundie, we’re not poll-crazy like you!)
I’ve been checking the voting for the 2003-2008 polls and reading your comments. The results have been interesting, with some dramas leading both the best and worst categories! In about 2-3 weeks I would like to write up a special summary post on the Best and Worst Dramas of 2003-2009. Instead of the seven-year itch, this will be the seven-year pitch where I’ll pitch (on your behalf, because you’re the ones who voted) for the best dramas.
Act Two opens, and confirms what we had suspected earlier about Jilted Bride: The woman is a grandfather enslaver.
Observe how she bawls the moment she sees Grandpa running into the police station, his face clouded with concern, his eyes barely registering his own grandson. She knows exactly which buttons to push to turn him into putty in her hands, and why not? As The Chairman’s youngest grandchild and the center of her parents’ gilded universe, she has always been precious and precocious. Imagine Grandpa’s dismay, therefore, at the sight of her now, handcuffed and frowzled.
Covering their ears at the caterwauling, the five lizards in the station choke on their unsalted flies and scramble for cover. Their appetite for dinner similarly ruined, the cops hurry to free Crazy Woman at Grandpa’s request. As they leave, she clinging triumphantly to the old man’s arm, he is racked with guilt. At his next cemetery visit, how will he explain to The Departed One the ignominy that had befallen Dearest Granddaughter?
Let me tell you about the latest offering at the Theater of the Absurd.
A 70-year-old grandpa used to be the personal driver for a man whom he fondly calls “The Chairman.” Said chairman is dead and gone, but memories of his benevolence continue to drive (pun unintended) the behavior of his former employee. If not for the chairman’s generosity, what would the grandpa have become? A hobo? But because the chairman provided for the grandpa and his family, the grandpa has sworn permanent servitude upon himself. Just look at his thrall-like behavior around the chairman’s descendants.
The chairman’s son (let’s call him Chairman Junior) treats the driver with as much disdain as he would a faulty golf club, tossing him away one day for the flimsiest of reasons. Why Chairman Junior hates Mr. Chauffeur is unclear and may never be known. In the Theater of the Absurd, there’s no need to explain anything.