So many examples exist within the realm of television of overlooked shows or underappreciated properties. Often, an audience dissipates after a series starts slow, because we live in a "What have you done for me lately" culture, as opposed to a long game. Patience remains a virtue, but in TV, if you're not really good...really fast, you could be done. The entertainment landfill is piled to the skies with promising projects that struggled out of the gates, only to be given up on within weeks of their original premieres.

The four major networks don't have the luxury in this era of Peak TV to sit around and wait for a show to bloom anymore, because Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime, cable, and premium channels have continually changed the game. However, for an entity like AMC, quality generally trumps quantity. If a drama moves the critical needle, the executives can use that as enough of a case to keep a ratings-challenged show alive. Awards mean so much more for a cable channel, because that's where class and depth are paramount. It's about building an identity first.

Mad Men was by no means a behemoth, but it was given time to grow, and Matthew Weiner's show did just that. Vince Gilligan's Breaking Bad was obscure and had almost no early penetration, but the performances and the unique storytelling infected the viewing public as each season progressed. With the exception of The Walking Dead and its less successful, but still popular spin off, nothing on the network has been a huge success from the outset. Even Better Call Saul, which has done well, is by no means a ratings juggernaut.

But, because of the aforementioned triumphs, the truckload of hardware the "original two" received, AMC is hesitant to pull the plug on a creative effort in which it believes. Low Winter Sun didn't make it because it simply wasn't good, not because no one watched it. If the viewership is low, the show had better be exceptional. It wasn't, so it was scrapped.

Think of this way. Before Mad Men or Breaking Bad, would you have batted an eyelash when you heard AMC had a new drama premiere on the horizon? How do you feel about that same statement today? That's what the brand structure and the reliance on quality means. "Netflix has its own shows? What the hell?" Then, after you fell in love with House of Cards or Narcos, just as a few examples, everything changes. Ozark suddenly becomes something you HAVE to check out, because it's Netflix.

That brings us to Christopher Cantwell and Christopher C. Rogers' exceptional series, Halt and Catch Fire, which uses the personal computing and technology boom of the 1980s and 1990s as a backdrop for a story about five damaged, self-destructive people inescapably linked both personally and professionally. The reason the above explanation is instructive here is because, indisputably, the early episodes of Halt were not particularly strong.

The pilot was decent, but the three episodes that followed presented unlikable, static characters that behaved in cliched fashion. There was the megalomaniac dreamer in Joe MacMillan, the tech geek in Gordon Clark, the punk rock hacker Cameron Howe, the far more intelligent than her job indicated Donna Clark, and the slick, but straight talking Texas executive John Bosworth. Yes, if you read the first two as Steve Jobs and Steve Wosniak, you wouldn't be wrong, although much of the early stages of Halt and Catch Fire bore more in common with the founding of Compaq, and Apple exists in the show.

Everything was on the surface, and the actions and words emanating from the characters were both predictable and often disappointing. What Halt had going for it from moment one was its talent roster, with Lee Pace, Mackenzie Davis, Scoot McNairy, Kerry Bishe, and Toby Huss all more than ready to shine when the camera was shifted in their general direction. Here, I stuck with the show because I was so intrigued by the premise of five people living in "Silicon Prairie" Texas, who all found themselves at the heart of the computing age explosion.

What I never expected was how far this series has come, even though I was not surprised when it rapidly found its footing and escaped the obvious story tropes in favor of more obtuse, engaging angles. Joe MacMillan's bisexuality felt right when it emerged, but it wasn't a gradual move. Nor was it easy, particularly with the HIV scare last year.

Broadly, in similar fashion to both Sons of Anarchy and BoJack Horseman (strange bedfellows to be sure), it's not always prudent to throw in the towel on a show if there's anything at all about it to like. Here, I dug the cast and the concept, and that was enough to stay on board at least through the end of the season.

And I'm so glad I did.

While there were still some issues at the end of that verse, there was much more to this song. I saw a show clearly trending in the right direction, and by the time the finale aired, I was all-in, becoming a major evangelist online pushing for its renewal. It was certainly not assured, but the news that Cantwell and Rogers were getting a second apple from AMC's tree was the right move. A few weeks before Season 2 premiered, the network sent out screeners of the new campaign's first four episodes.

After navigating through them, I was blown away. Here, my instinct hadn't just been rewarded, I had been provided a true bounty of dramatic television. Season 2 of Halt and Catch Fire was phenomenal, with every character taking unexpected and engaging turns alongside a twisting, evolving story. What was most amazing about these five roles was how the writers managed to keep them true to the initial constructs, but still permitted such an expansion that they simultaneously were exactly the same AND entirely different.

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AMC's Halt and Catch Fire: Still a Killer App