As soon as its post-apocalyptic debut season closed with Balkans-style hostilities erupting between two small Kansas towns, Jericho’s walls came a-tumbling down.

Dismayed that ratings had dropped after a protracted winter hiatus, CBS killed their cult serial about rural America in the aftermath of a nuclear sneak attack, a long-form quasi-update of 1983’s landmark telefilm The Day After, also set in Kansas.

But the network was soon bombarded by nuts — over 20 tonnes of which were mailed by fans, referencing a rejoinder by Skeet Ulrich’s character Jake and sending the message it would be “nuts” to cancel their favourite show. It worked. Jericho was resurrected for a streamlined seven episode mini-season and the producers went balls-out proving themselves worth saving, excising lame soap opera elements and boring backstories in favour of plot propulsion and shooting an alternate ending in case they’re axed again. 

As the show relaunches, the town of Jericho finds itself occupied by an American army — but not the American army. It’s the military of the newly formed Allied States of America (ASA), a right-wing splinter government based in Cheyenne, Wyoming locked in a power struggle against rival governments in Texas and Ohio. With power extending to the UN-patrolled Mississippi, the ASA has altered the flag, rewritten history textbooks and is changing the constitution.

This sketchy government is backed by Jennings & Rall (J&R), a military-industrial multinational moulded on Dick Cheney’s ex-company Halliburton, and Ravenwood, J&R’s lawless private security wing inspired by Blackwater, the military contractors patrolling Iraq (and post-Katrina New Orleans).

Last season, Ravenwood attempted to loot Jericho and, after being rebuffed, raided neighbouring New Bern, prompting that season-ending battle with the “the home of the nearest Costco.”
It’s a bold direction considering ratings initially started dropping about the time it became clear that neither Iran nor North Korea pushed the button — though ICBMs launched last season indicate those countries may’ve been nuked on false evidence — but extremist Americans engaged in a bloody secret coup. This season, the small-town story goes widescreen as America’s infamous red/blue divide fuels a second Civil War.

Of course, Jericho’s still an action show so there’ll be viral epidemics, more feuding with New Bern and attempts to expose both the original conspirators behind the attack and take down the ASA, which has (knowingly?) hired the terrorist ringleader as head of homeland security.   
Jericho’s initial mystery of who dropped the bomb is gone, along with those immediate what-if scenarios — windborne fallout, Chinese airdrops, refugee camps, trading posts and roving bandits. But the writers have long been laying this more political groundwork — Jake’s secret trauma, a major early mystery, involved his work for Ravenwood in Iraq.
Now America is the new Mesopotamia and the once-soapy Jericho has become a savage indictment of the privatization of war and outsourcing of post-war reconstruction. By moving Mosul to Middle America, Jericho is trying to translate the horrors of Iraq while warning of chickens coming home to roost.

JERICHO AIRS TUESDAYS, 10PM ON CTV/CBS, AND RE-AIRS SATURDAYS, 8PM ON SPACE

Paradise found
The writers’ strike is approaching its end, but this winter remains mired in a summer-style glut of reality programming. Might as well check into Paradise Hotel 2.

Known affectionately as “Drunk Asshole Hotel,” the 2003 original, now re-airing on Slice, was reality TV distilled to its sleazy essence. No Survivor-style obstacle courses. No Idol crooning contests. They just dropped a group of young, attractive, single jerks into an idyllic, if creepily under-populated, luxury resort, added alcohol and stirred. The only goal is to “stay in paradise as long as you can,” achieved by finding a roommate of the opposite sex before the odd one out gets the boot.

Yep, it’s musical chairs with drunken hook-ups. Wheee!