Greek life is a powerful social system on campus — powerful enough to make a seasoned journalist sweat through three layers of BareMinerals powder and powerful enough to draw a crowd of hundreds to a standard Thursday evening mass meeting.
Since “The Sopranos” kicked off the “Golden Age” of TV, the small screen has become the new hotspot for powerful cinematic authors. It’s the series’ showrunner who usually gets the auteur treatment, because he holds a role similar to the movie director.
There’s something so rewarding about following seasons and seasons of a show and anticipating the ignition of romance, waiting and waiting until some far-off season finale when those two will finally freaking kiss.
“Masters of Sex” has passed the midpoint of its season, but the show still lacks direction. Thankfully, “Masters” has retired some of the ridiculous plotlines that plagued earlier episodes of the season (hello, boob-grabbing zoo gorilla) and stopped trying to make us care about Virginia’s teen daughter — but the show has some work to do if it’s ever going to be good enough to deserve Josh Charles.