The age of “Peak TV” is over. We’re living in the rubble after the fall of the empire, in the damage it’s wrought, in a sulfuric landscape of pale imitators, mushroom monsters or nuclear zombies or whatever else I have no personal desire to ever watch, ruled over by Fury Road–style warlords like David Zaslav. We’re swimming in marital mysteries based on Strand-approved paperbacks, prestige comedies that don’t know how to be funny, dull Marvel nothings, and slick Netflix IP grabs.