I have never been so touched to the core by any multiple-episode screenplay as by this one. In Deadwood, Milch found a setting to pursue threads of the human condition along their interwoven sources and ends. The characters don't just get under your skin; you find they've already long been living there. We all stake a claim of some sort in the lawless thoroughfares of Deadwood, just by being the people we are.
Above, Doc Cochran, played by the great Brad Dourif, is a tormented healer who saw the worst blood of the Civil War and comes to Deadwood to find his humanity again -- by tending to the camp's prostitutes.
I could see doing a blog for one year about this one show, but my powers of articulation are not up to the task -- I can't convey what I see, feel and ponder on in the depths. The series serves up moments that intersect with my deep moments of living; little startling, stunning experiences of truth, where time and costumes of convention fall away. Naked little strangers we are, no matter what we imagine we're packing in our holsters.
The best fuckin' thing I can recommend is to go to HBO.com and buy the DVDs of its three complete seasons, watch them several times, and get yourself a copy of David Milch's incredible accompanying book -- Deadwood: Stories of the Black Hills. It's utterly fantastic and fascinating -- best of the best.
