The first, but probably not the last thing I write about WestWorld:
The show Westworld
begins with a dejected Dolores Abernathy sitting naked on a stool. One arm
hangs limply. Her lap cradles the other. Her knees lean in on each other, due
to her pigeon-toed feet. Her blonde head tilts to the side, and, in a mostly
dark room, she is the epitome of defeat and vulnerability. A fly crawls across
her eye. She does not react. She is not irritable. She is not human.