video review : Orange Is The New Black [ Season 5 ]

video review : Orange Is The New Black [ Season 5 ]

This fifth season of Orange Is The New Black starts promisingly enough. The first few episodes, which bring back the suspenseful zeal of the first two seasons; the story continues at the cliffhanger from the end of the previous one; are a pleasant surprise. But before long, the show loses its focus and slips back into the piss-bowl of mediocrity it’s been swimming in for a while. Part of the problem is that, in an attempt to stretch a few days of rioting into a whole season, the tension wears thin. By mid season, the soap opera has once again become mundane.

Lolly is gone and that’s a big relief, but it also means more screen time for, thus more annoyance from, Suzanne. At one point, she almost dies. I wish she would’ve. Cruel as that may be, it’s not as cruel as what some of the women (inmates) of Litchfield do to the guards they manage to capture. It’s humiliation and “torture”, but is it justified? Perhaps. This is a show that takes pleasure in breaking your moral compass. Is it entertaining? At least more than the overall plot arc, which focuses on Taystee’s strong-willed efforts to get justice for Poussey.

Remember, Poussey died. She was killed by a guard. This season is the immediate aftermath. It’s supposed to be anarchical drama. Again, the first few episodes get it right. The rest drag. The closest thing to an exception is the finale, in which men in riot gear finally bust in with smoke bombs, electrified shields and (peppered) bullets. Chaos ensues and the level of watchability rises, but loose ends are tied too conveniently. The ending suggests next season will be a lot different, which could be just what the show needs to get back on track.

my rating = 3 of 5


video review : Orange Is The New Black [ Season 1 ]
video review : Orange Is The New Black [ Season 2 ]
video review : Orange Is The New Black [ Season 3 ]
video review : Orange Is The New Black [ Season 4 ]

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a three-part dream I had involving police and black guys and a girl probably named Jenese

I was on a college campus among scattered groups of mostly black guys, all facing police officers on a street. There was at least one police car, probably two or three, and at least three officers, probably four or more, standing nearby. They were, or one of them was, yelling for us to go away. “Get away from here,” they may have phrased it, “I’m telling you for your own good; go home or you’re all going to jail.” It was probably an empty threat; it seemed unlikely for them to jail all of us for standing in silence; but the possibility of being taken to jail, or shot dead by a trigger-happy cop, did make me want to leave. I stayed though, with all the other protestors, as I assumed the police were waiting for backup officers to arrive.

I was riding on what seemed to be a high-speed Segway. I don’t know what city I was in, possibly Detroit, but it was in a state of anarchy. There were widespread riots happening by mostly young black males with no police anywhere to be found. Not that I was looking for any as I rolled up or down a relatively empty street, a two-way street, that was normally busy with traffic. Suddenly I saw a big black guy, imagine Kimbo Slice, coming on the opposite lane, riding a Segway of his own. He was holding a big black gun, probably some sort of assault rifle, in one hand. I feared he would shoot me, or at least rob me of my Segway, as I rolled by with a stupid smile on my face, but he just looked at me and saluted as we passed.

I was in a building for young football players, probably part of a university. It wasn’t for housing, at least not the floor I was on; it looked more like a place for them to turn in paper work, talk with psychologists and stuff like that. Whatever it was, I knew I wasn’t supposed to be there, so I made myself invisible as I had the magical ability to do, by blending in with floors and furniture. At one point, I awoke on a couch to the sound of a girl jokingly telling me that it was “time” to give her a massage, or vice versa. It was a girl I knew; Jenese Harris, it looked like. We laughed as she got onto the couch or bed, where I briefly and inadvertently fondled her bare feet, before engaging in a friendly conversation.

2016 ( December 07 )

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