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    The Path


    is another surprising twist of yesterday and despite nighttime headaches and overload, positive, strong and exciting, I am also excited to note that Hulu also knows how to make good television.  

    And series culture is more than just binge-watching; I see it, like some smart observers, as an explosively creative form of literature, beamed away again and again and impressed by the structure and language, by the possibilities of the plots, by their intricacy and depth, mostly puzzles produced by different authors but still fitting together. I'm not sure whether this has been sufficiently appreciated and understood in our narrow limits.

    Screenplays seem like an art form in their own right

    , but are more than just a side event in literature, it is a pity that one would have to reduce oneself to them, but I am sure there are good approaches to get around this.

    To break the formal rules of screenwriting in order to best express the personal style that I propagate and promote, not least through these subjective Blogs.

    HBO is no longer the only creative island, but it has done incredibly valuable work as a role model and in its groundwork. And with every weekend binge-watching, you promote literature more than just regurgitating the umpteenth dusty and often far-out classic. Six Feet Under is Goethe and 24 was Joyce in its early days. And one day it will be discussed in the same way, appreciated to the same extent that we still pay homage to irrelevant history today.

    One sign of this seems to be the somewhat reduced interest in the respective actor, no matter how good his interpretations may be, here for example Aaron Paul as Eddie Lane, who was already able to play the incomparable and more Breaking Bad than he was given credit for Jesse Pinkman so brilliantly.

    Series are works of art

    sometimes entire cities made up of literature cast in images, such as in Game of Thrones, are seen as a whole and must also be understood as such, which is why bingeing has long been established as correct behavior, correct and smart consumption.

    Doing something mindful goes without saying. Good series productions of all kinds ignore the old ways of banal Hollywood, which will sooner or later be disposed of with its admirers and junkies, like Weinstein. They provide the added value of the feeling of being part of something instead of just being fed a promotional clip of the unattainable. Exceptions on the big screen merely confirm the rule, which once again proves the backwardness of German-speaking culture.

    Where prefabricated buildings dominate the market, only the beginnings of plants sprout and at the back of the subculture there is a wild home that has to flee to Arteland because Berlin Babylon already seems to be considered amazing. Anyone who needs to think about that has never been fucked by the Sopranos as a teenager.

    The Path is by no means perfect and one would wish for a similar reckoning with the Vatican as a major European production and successor to the Borgias, which by the way was embarrassingly shallow after the breathtaking Rome. But probably the figures of possible personalities do not make for a good story, just Narcos for the poor? Not at all, it is more the lack of courage, the Abramovic gene, the Nitsch and Helnwein microbiome whose Europe and the German art country are lamentably celebrating.

    Nothing against the universe and everyday stories, our language and culture desperately clings to the old because it has too little new strength and life energy to offer. We are masters of castration.

    Mozart, Freud, they would all be shocked by what had happened on their path and would cynically emigrate to America or England, rich. If you compare Channel 4 and the BBC with the non-Arte channels on the mainland then you suddenly understand the creative genius of the British Brexit soul even if it may seem somewhat different on the surface.

    Well, the Path

    is about fictional Meyerists and threatens us in visions of a Waterloo, a clichéd cult mass murder, but in scenes like the one about the professor for new religions, it is reflected better within the series itself than a year-long essay in Zeit and Süddeutscher, than that packaged in wonderfully weird Fast Bdsm, perhaps I think the third season is just starting to overdo it, but whatever, it's nice to let it end without dropping in quality.

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