OK, Sunday night television: I surrender. You clearly don't want me ever going out, talking to relatives or even reading. Over the years, you wore me down with Walt Disney, Columbo, 60 Minutes, The Simpsons, The Sopranos and The Wire. Then you made sure I couldn't walk away from you with Mad Men, Breaking Bad, Curb Your Enthusiasm, The Good Wife, Game of Thrones, Veep and the incredible True Detective. Then, of course, between September and January, there's Sunday Night Football--still the highest rated primetime show on network television.
So, usually, I like to let the TV set cool off in the summer. But no, Sunday night, you wouldn't let it rest. You delivered my latest Sunday-night addiction: BBC America's The Musketeers, with its messieurs wielding big swords and mademoiselles squeezing into bust-bulging corsets.
The Musketeers pays proper respect to Alexandre Dumas' 19th century source material, but the show crackles with fresh wit. Peter Capaldi (the current Dr. Who) appears to be having the most fun as Cardinal Richelieu, whose sharp tongue is as formidable as any musketeer's saber.
And by the way, Masters of Sex and Ray Donovan, two more gems, are about to begin their second seasons this month... on Sunday nights. I give up.