Who are the virgins? What color is this woman’s hair?

Lately I’ve come to think of the list Netflix provides on its homepage of its Top 10

most popular shows and movies at any given time as the streamer’s version of the

roll call at the Democratic National Convention this summer: Taking it in, one can only marvel at what a big country this is and how many, many different people, with very different entertainment preferences, occupy it. Where else does one find prestige programming like The Crown and The Queen’s Gambit cheek by jowl with docufiction about aliens, a Christmas movie from 20 years ago, and, always, between one and five options you’re convinced don’t actually exist beyond their thumbnail images?

For the past week or so, the honor of most fake-seeming show on the list has belonged to something called Virgin River. In contrast to the monthslong publicity campaigns that precede some Netflix releases, others, like Virgin River, just seem to show up one day, their Rotten Tomatoes pages suspiciously lacking in reviews. With its blandly scenic setting and its generically good-looking leads, Virgin River feels, even more than most Netflix shows, like it could have been generated entirely by artificial intelligence. So what is it? Where did it come from? Why were so many people watching it last week? And should you? Allow me to be your River guide as I attempt to answer those questions. Surprise No. 1: There was actually already one season of this show last December, and this is another one.

So who are these virgins?

The show isn’t actually about virgins (or if it is, I’ve seriously misunderstood it). Virgin River is just the name of the small Northern California town where the series is set. Its premise reinvents no wheels: Main character Mel Monroe arrives in quaint Virgin River at the beginning of Season 1 (“from the big city,” no less!) to work as a nurse and midwife, having been hired by the town mayor, who lured her there with the promise of a job with a doctor who needs her help and a cozy cabin to live in. Except wouldn’t you know it, the doctor actually doesn’t want her there and the cabin is a hovel. But Mel ran away from her old life for a reason, and also she quickly catches the eye of the grizzled inactive Marine who owns the town watering hole … you see where this is going.

That sounds kind of like Everwood.

Lately I’ve come to think of the list Netflix provides on its homepage of its Top 10 most popular shows and movies at any given time as the streamer’s version of the roll call at the Democratic National Convention this summer: Taking it in, one can only marvel at what a big country this is and how many, many different people, with very different entertainment preferences, occupy it. Where else does one find prestige programming like The Crown and The Queen’s Gambit cheek by jowl with docufiction about aliens, a Christmas movie from 20 years ago, and, always, between one and five options you’re convinced don’t actually exist beyond their thumbnail images?