I always have a lot of missed television shows sitting around my Netflix queue, waiting for me to catch up with them. The other night, I was struck by a random urge to start up the first season of Once Upon a Time. I'm just going to go ahead and stick a "Guilty Pleasure" tag on this entry here and now, because while there's no way I would ever be able to advocate for this show based on the level of its writing or acting, I find it inexplicably magnetic.
It must be a magic spell, cast on me to happily abandon any stringent demands of subtle storytelling or layered character development. It doesn't even matter that Jared S. Gilmore causes one of the worst cases of Insufferable Child Syndrome I've ever seen. The moment I find myself with free time, I devour another episode, to the point that I may just catch up with Season 2 (currently airing) by Thanksgiving.
Once Upon a Time actually shows encouraging signs of addressing all of its issues as I zoom along through the first season, but let's be honest. Even if it had remained a cheesefest with laughable CGI, I'd still be glued to the screen.
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