I love Netflix on many different levels, not the least of which being the 381% profit I have made off of it’s stock. But, what I really love about Netflix is the concept, a company which serves as a portal through which a universe of entertainment is brought into my home cheaply and efficiently. Their original programming is superb. So, yeah...I love Netflix.
But, not everything that comes streaming into my living room via Netflix belongs there. Last night provided a perfect illustration of this truth.
Recently, Pam and I were in a show hole, that miserable state of television purgatory where you finish binge watching a really great show and suddenly find yourself with nothing interesting to watch. We stumbled on a new British detective show called Marcella, the premise of which was quintessentially British...a brilliant but deeply troubled detective battles her own inner demons while tracking down a vicious killer. It’s not the best show we’ve ever seen by any stretch, but it was well written and well acted and we made it through the first season pleased enough to give season number two a shot. Last night was the first episode of season two.
Almost from the first five minutes I felt uneasy. Something felt wrong. But if I’ve learned anything from watching British television it’s the fact that you have to be patient. Sometimes it takes a while for a show to get interesting. But, if you hang in there you’re almost always rewarded. Thirty minutes in, it became apparent that season number two of Marcella would feature our hero tracking down and catching a sadistic pedophile serial killer. Ten minutes from the end of this first episode I thought to myself...Why am I watching this? When it was over, I turned to Pam and said...No. We won’t be watching this show anymore.
Censorship is a horrible thing when it is practiced by governments, but for individual human beings it is an essential function of mental health. Years ago I heard a non-religious speaker say something that I have never forgotten about this subject...Stand guard at the door of your mind. His point was that each of us has to serve as the guardian of what we allow inside our brains. If you want to lose weight, you probably shouldn’t flip through a donut magazine. If you have a gambling addiction, you probably shouldn’t move next door to a casino. And if you want to maintain your sanity in the midst of an increasingly dysfunctional and evil world, maybe you shouldn’t invite a story about men sexually abusing young boys into your home.
Despair is an addictive drug. It’s easy to fall into and difficult to climb out of. The news that gets filtered down to us through the news media is often overwhelmingly depressing. Watch enough anguish and injustice every night and it’s easy to lose hope. The solution isn’t to retreat into a pollyannish world of Leave It To Beaver and Andy Griffith every night. Sometimes, we need to be confronted by the world as it is, in all of it’s evil glory. But, I believe there is a limit. That limit is probably different for each person. But, it is essential that each of us knows what that limit is and that we have the wisdom and courage to say...No. Not that. Not here.
Last night I discovered that limit. I will not organize a boycott. I will not call for Marcella to be taken off the air. I will simply exercise by rights of free agency by not watching. While standing guard at the door of my own mind, I have discovered something that I would rather not expose it to. I wasn’t placed in this world to limit what my neighbor wants to watch on television. But I better be careful what I watch.
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