If you’ve followed this blog for a while, you’ll know that I’m not exactly big on whatever we like to classify as nerd pop culture. I’ve never played a videogame (unless you count Tetris on my ancient Gameboy) and the last time I read a comic book was before the cold war ended – and even then my reading material mainly consisted of Mickey Mouse (or Archie at best). The only superhero movies I’ve actually watched are Nolan’s Batman trilogy, and I guess that says it all when it comes to my utter ignorance of the genre and the Marvel/DC extended cinematic universe.
Unless you count Jessica Jones, that is – which I honestly don’t. Superpowers aside, I enjoyed the Netflix show mostly because of the tone and actual storyline, and especially because a noir show about an alcoholic reluctant heroine and a villain who’s not two–dimensional isn’t something you come by every day. The superpowers, in this case, were merely a plot device, almost an afterthought, certainly no more than a means to an end. And that’s as much as my tolerance level would allow.