We’ve been enamored with Bryan Fuller’s new show, American Gods ! Neil Gaiman’s remains an executive producer on the show. We can be assured it will not stray too far from the source material. American Gods, like the fantastic Hannibal before it, allows for us to fall face forward in a pool of bloody and electrified waters. It’s colourful. It’s fun. It’s funny, scary and sexy. I tend to get consumed by Bryan Fuller’s work, not so unlike Bilquis consuming her lovers. Hannibal’s undue (but sadly, expected, cancellation) ended with enough ambiguity that we could imagine Hannibal’s universe continuing on, without us. American Gods seems to solidify a world that is so totally original yet familiar that we can easily guess at all of Bryan Fuller’s creations – Hannibal, Pushing Daisies, Dead Like me, Wonderfall – inhabiting the same space, albeit they are far enough apart that they may not necessarily run into each other too often (except for Hannibal. I can see Mr. Wednesday and Hannibal catching a glimpse of one another from across the streets of Baltimore and allowing their gaze to linger just long enough so that the breath of familiarity breaks on the surface of both their faces).
Can we say that without blinking an eye – no additional consideration needed – did we EVER bow our heads in worship of the new goddess Media. I think it’s pretty clear that we are devoted and seasoned worshippers. Our lives are dedicated to ensure her continued grace and power remain exalted in world. Our desire is to satisfy her with our offerings of painted images and gilded postcards. Television and film grow in crooks of our skin like tall weeds. We discarded long ago the religion our parents. We are children of the new world. We have no sympathy for the faith of the masses because little do they know, they too mostly worship Media.