A loose thought on the conclusion of Sons of Anarchy

For all its convenience and research-friendliness, binge watching of television shows strips us not only of the time between episodes necessary for reflection (which, I venture, accounts for Lost‘s failure with many late- and now-comers). Between-season breaks are harrowing and mid-season hiatuses are plain irritating, particularly if we like the show, but they also provide a sense of rhythm, a weird kind of media seasonality (as opposed to the succession of life seasons, whether natural or work-related) that, when looked back upon, creates a backward-looking perspective. The conclusion of a multi-season show creates a little pocket for thinking back on the events of our own lives that happened while we followed the series but also invests the moment with a brief moment of nostalgic poignancy.  I have had some problems with Sons of Anarchy, which wrapped up forever two days ago, but all in all I liked the show. (My little theory is that at its core is not the infectiousness of criminality or the burden of responsibility, but a tragic premonition of the generational conflict in which all evil is, in one way or another, perpetrated or caused by our parents, from whose past there is no escape.)  And now, after four years (I got into the show at the very beginning of the 4th season) of Tuesday or Wednesday nights, I will never see Chibs or Tig again. Which is fine (I’m sure I’ll adopt another show soon, or will simply watch one movie a week more), but a bloodied piece of bread in the middle of the road really made me revisit, if only for one evening, the sinuous waves of the last four years. This isn’t, of course, the only trigger for self-reflection, but I suppose Gibson from the sky-above-the-port period would have loved the idea that at least some of the rhythms of personal memory are regulated by media events.

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