I don't subscribe to the adage that "there are two kinds of people in the world," even if it makes for some pretty great
Twitter jokes. There are, for instance, at least three different kinds of people who are obsessed with Ryan Murphy's body of work ALONE. There are the sincere die-hards (consider the Gleeks or anyone part of the
BooBooDaddy fan club); the ironically-distanced hipster "hate-watcher" ("Did they starve Jessica Lange before filming because if she chewed that scene any harder blah blah you get the point
HERE'S A FUNNY MEME") and then there's me. I call myself a wary appreciator of Ryan Murphy and all his crossover, campy, frequently lazy but sometimes INCREDIBLE coterie of television programming. I myself
fall more into the first subset of people than the latter, and I'll admit that I still care enough about
American Horror Story--yes,
Freak Show and all--to be deflated when a premiere doesn't live up to my expectations. And for all the hoopla and buzz and highly-marketed misdirects (which in itself was weird advertising, to have your creators come out and gloat about how it would be impossible for them to live up to their own hype), "My Roanoke Nightmare" felt markedly...flat. On purpose, for sure. But still...
sigh.