I don’t consider myself to be a particularly religious person, but in my living room is a large, rectangular black altar. It’s the central feature of the room. The furniture is oriented towards it. You can’t walk from one end of the house to the other without passing it, watching it as you go by, while it watches you in return. It’s the television. 

My children love it. Like most children these days, they’re fond of screens in general but the dominant screen in their life is the TV, if only by dint of its size and central location. It’s the source of much joy, but also much conflict. They are all individual creatures with their own personal tastes and finding something they can all watch peacefully together can be a challenge. Occasionally, when they are unable to resolve their differences of opinion peaceably and resort to pushing each other over and sitting on top of one another while trying to extricate the remote from the clutching fingers of whichever unfortunate brother or sister happens to be the “sitee”, I might wish we didn’t own a TV. I might wish that they’d all go away and do something useful like milking the cow and then churning the milk for butter. But then I remember that it’s 2019 and we don’t own a cow, and that all the milk we consume comes from plastic bottles bought at a supermarket rather than a bucket beneath the udders of an obliging bovine. (We do however have seven chickens, so at least our eggs come au naturale. Here’s a picture of one of them, because, well… chickens).

Sometimes, when I’ve had a bad day and the sound of screaming is especially grating on the ears, I tell my children I’ll put an axe though the TV if they don’t stop fighting. It generally stops them, if only momentarily, but I think they know it’s an empty threat and born of desperation—I’d never go through with it because I love TV too.

I love it even though I don’t watch a heck of a lot of it. Together, my wife and I watch even less. By the time we get home from work and dinner is made and the children have left most of it on their plates and have asked for three rounds of Marmite sandwiches instead and the dishes are piled high on the kitchen bench for someone else to do the following day, the lure of bed often wins out over an hour spent in front of the goggle-box. 

Occasionally, however, the stars align and the mood is right and my wife and I will sit for an eve on the couch in front of the TV. Like our children, our taste in televisual fare is quite different, but there are a couple of shows where we’ve managed to find common ground and which have entertained us together over the seasons. One of these is Jane the Virgin.

We like it a lot. We watched every episode of the first couple of seasons. Through season three, my wife kept up while my viewing became more sporadic. Now we’re into season four, and I’ve joined the fold again (we’ve just watched Chapter 72, and I like where it’s going—I’m on Team Raf).

If you enjoy the show, you might find this article food for thought. I like Jane The Virgin for the warmth and the positivity and the humour—it doesn’t really do dark and gloomy, even in the face of death. While there certainly are moments that pack an emotional punch (and yes, I’m including Michael’s death here), they’re often centred around Jane’s relationship with her mother and grandmother. Jane’s love triangle with Rafael and Michael is secondary to the one with Xiomara and Alba, and all the other plot twists come off the backbone of the story of the three generations of Villanueva women and their bond with each other.

I also enjoy the ridiculous meta aspects of the show—it’s a romantic comedy-drama based on a Venezuelan telenovella that sends up telenovellas while simultaneously embracing the telenovella, using the telenovella as a narrative device, having a main character who is a telenovella star, and having numerous scenes set on the set of a telenovella.

But mostly I watch Jane the Virgin for the characters. The characterisation is great—all the main characters are flawed and fully drawn, and it’s been fun to watch them develop over the seasons. I love how the writers have been able to show characters doing such terrible things, yet still have the audience rooting for them. There’s no better example of this than Petra. Like many others (including my wife), Petra is my favourite character. I love her story arc, from bitchy, selfish villain, to caring and vulnerable hero.

Are you a fan of Jane The Virgin? If you are, who’s your favourite character? Let me know in the comments.

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