Dear JJ,

I’d like you to know first and foremost that I have never before been compelled to write to a celebrity. I would like you to know secondmost that I have just finished watching season 1 of ‘Alcatraz’, and thirdmost that I have some giant, Ultrasaurus-sized bones to pick with you.

First, some context…something you’ll know all about after taking 13 episodes to set some of it. I currently reside in South Korea, where the lack of english-language television is made up for only by the frankly threatening download speed and apparent lack of piracy laws. I’ll get this admission out of the way early – I pirated your show. I’m not even all that sorry about it, if I’d paid good, hard-earned money for it I’d probably be delivering this letter in person, a machete between my teeth and the receipt in my pocket. You got off lightly JJ, and don’t you forget it.

In the none too distant past my partner in life and TV-watching came to visit me, boarding a 24 hour flight with Qatar Airways with hope in his heart and a personal entertainment unit at his fingertips. He arrived at my door with cramp in his legs and a tale to tell; during a break from 30 Rock and Parks and Recreation he had discovered a new, compelling, mysterious and only slightly shit TV show for us to watch together! I admit, Mr Abrams, that I was skeptical at first. As he explained the premise (“prisoners disappeared from Alcatraz in 1963 and are reappearing in modern day San Francisco…without having aged!!”) I began to wonder whether the free plane-whisky had affected his judgement. For reasons somewhere between trust, love and slight guilt at the entire journey having been for my benefit, I caved and downloaded the entire series.

Over the course of the following two weeks we watched the whole kaboodle, and by about the fifth episode I was shamelessly enjoying it. Yes, part of my enjoyment was rooted in pointing out what an unlikeable, speculative, eating-with-her-mouth-open oik Rebecca Madsen is, or how uninterested she must have been in her deceased family not to have ever looked into her Grandfather’s past as a prison ‘guard’ at Alcatraz. I admit, a further part of my enjoyment was talking along with Sam Neill’s ham-tastic delivery of the clunky opening lines. I may even, JJ, have once or twice tittered as Rebecca ordered her dangerously overweight co-worker to “stay low” in a car he was already packed into. He’s hardly going to fit in the footwell, Rebecca, you should probably invest in a roomier automobile if you want to keep the helpless bugger alive.

But enjoy it I did, at first a sort of ‘shit but fun’ way but then in a more positive, ‘actual enjoyment’ way as the unbending formula of the first six episodes (pushing it there Abrams, not a flippin’ chance would I have stuck with it for six weeks during the original broadcast) gave way to a diverse, well-acted and (mostly intentionally) humorous sci-fi/buddy cop drama. Admittedly I never did grow to like Rebecca, but Sam Neill’s incredible delivery and fantastic eyebrows more than made up for her being a bit of a wet flannel.

Often I was concerned that ‘Alcatraz’ was going the way of ‘Lost’ which, popular as it may have been, was pretty annoying for those of us without infinite hours of TV-Time on our hands. I remember spending an entire week of my life wondering about a cliffhanger from the previous episode and eagerly, finally sitting down to watch, certain that my little mind would be put at rest and finding that you had decided to introduce a polar bear into the story. A fucking polar bear JJ, on a tropical island already filled with enough unsolved mysteries to shake Dudley Dursley’s Smeltings stick at. I felt let down in that moment, and I’d still love to know what the Hell you thought you were playing at.

But back to the matter at hand. Somewhere around episode seven, we were well and truly into the story and we needed answers like Warden James needed to learn to speak out of both sides of his mouth. We went for dinner with some friends, I casually dropped into conversation that we had become worryingly addicted to a crappy sounding but actually rather decent JJ Abrams vehicle named ‘Alcatraz’ and with a few words my self-confessed (and rightfully proud) sci-fi nerd friend shattered my world.

“You know it’s been cancelled, don’t you?”

If only you could have seen my face at that moment, Mr Abrams. Disappointment and fury accosted me with equal force, and immediately the discussion began as to whether there was any possibility of damage-control in giving up on the series partway through. After a few days of deliberating whether to just Wikipedia the damn thing to see if any answers would be forthcoming, we decided to grit our teeth and make it through to the end regardless. Closure or no closure we’d see this mother through to the bitter end…which was last night.

And that, JJ, is how I came to be sat here on my bed at 20:27 in Busan, South Korea, after a long day of teaching when I really should be doing something more productive or more relaxing than venting about a lost cause on the internet. But I’m angry JJ, and anger does strange things to people.

With 941 rambling words and the context finally set (I suppose I did learn something from the show) I reach the crux of my letter. There’s things I want to know, Abrams, in the hypothetical follow-up season:

Why are Alcatraz prisoners coming back in the present day, what has happened to them in the time being, why does silver in the blood have healing powers, why is Tommy so important, just how evil is Warden James, will the sexy coroner and the overweight nerd-Doctor get together because of their mutual appreciation of hipster Tees? Oh yes, I’d also like literally every other unsolved mystery from the first series to have a definitive answer, and woe betide us all if you decide to introduce any new characters/plotlines/locked doors until the above questions have been locked down beyond questionable doubt.

And, JJ?

So help me God if I see another fucking polar bear.

 

Yours,

Caroline Quick

 

***** A small side-note to Qatar Airways – in future please check to see whether shows have been prematurely cancelled before you allow rogue episodes to appear on your inflight entertainment system. Without the mid-air luxury of an internet connection, who knows what addictive, unfinished TV crack you’re slipping the Economy Class meat sacks. Have a little pity, Qatar Airways, we can’t all afford to fly Business.

 

 

*****Before anyone says it, I am fully aware that J.J. Abrams is the Executive Producer and not the Writer/Creator or whatever else. Unfortunately, the trouble with being the big name attached to something is that all the shit comes your way.*****