Photo Illustration by Luis G. Rendon/The Daily Beast/HBO/Netflix/Disney/Paramount
Dead to Me is over, and I’m a wreck. No more Jen (Christina Applegate) and Judy (Linda Cardellini); no more death metal; no more reeling at the bizarre idea that some cops are nice; no more just enjoying two best friends having a great time. I’m even going to miss Jen’s horrible children. And that cat! With the little collar! WITH A BELL!
I didn’t even mention that this means no more James Marsden, who’s killed it right alongside his co-stars for all three seasons of the Netflix black comedy. But then, it’s easy to forget James Marsden. Case in point: While working on this story about how wonderful James Marsden is, I’ve written the name “Patrick Wilson” more than once.
For most of his career, Marsden has felt peripheral to the cast, even when he’s the lead role. When he pops up as a handsome, successful, somewhat cookie-cutter secondary lead, I instead think of where we have seen him before. I become that meme of Leonardo DiCaprio in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, pointing at his TV screen: “Hey, isn’t that Cyclops?”