On New Year’s Eve, I became gripped by a debilitating migraine that would keep me in bed for two weeks. Each morning, with the lights off and curtains tightly drawn, I opened up Netflix to see what the TV and film streaming service was promoting to me that day. As I slipped in and out of sleep, I watched everything. 

There was Spinning Out, a teen drama about a bipolar figure skater; Virgin River, a romance about a Los Angeles woman who moves to a rural cabin for a “fresh start”; You, in which a former teenage pin-up plays a sociopathic stalker who locks the women he dates in a glass cage. Nothing was beneath me.

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