As we consider the television landscape of the past year, a selection of shows stand out not for their excellence, but for their spectacular failures. From awkward sequels to confusingly poor documentaries, here are the programmes that had us utterly bewildered or simply reaching for the remote.
Where to begin with this love/hate spin-off? Burdened with dreadful writing, painful arcs (we demand better for Miranda!), and a mere 71 seconds of beloved Samantha, the show fought to find its footing. For a moment, as the final season started, it looked like it had at last hit its stride. Then came an installment centered on Seemaās natural deodorant. Little surprise the showrunner announced this would be the final season. It ended on a low point; the closeup of Mirandaās toilet flooded with poo was just way too symbolic. Still, viewers certainly found joy dissecting every single āwtf?ā episode. And as Carrie ā once again single ā twirled around her sprawling townhouse to Barry White, who couldn't let out a small sob?
āIs Kim Kardashian an actress? Of course she canāt.ā
But that was practically the smallest of this show's problems. The recipient of a exceedingly uncommon no-star review, it was hard to know where to start enumerating the flaws. The hilariously wooden dialogue? The mind-numbing glorification of wealth and materialism? The seemingly wilful parade of cliches? Acting so poor they felt borderline malicious? Letās just say āall of the aboveā and forget about this series again. Except, a new season has been commissioned, so weāre probably going to have to.
Given the restraining orders, domestic violence claims and fatherly failures, itās reasonable to say Charlie Sheen has been a troubled figure. Not that youād truly have known it from this three-part docuseries which chuckled along at Sheenās various episodes of self-destructive hedonism while failing to tell us a single thing we didnāt already know. Instead, it felt as if this volatile personality was being pandered to, so any pity this show might induce should be saved for the people who have had to endure close contact with this charming but flippant narcissist.
Naturally we understood it was ridiculous from the outset: a thriller about a AI known as Charlie Big Potatoes that could either solve global crises ā or annihilate all of humanity. We persevered out of sheer love for its stars ⦠but by the end, it felt like even they had given up trying. One barely reacted when his character died, and the other ended up hacking Charlie with an axe ⦠in super slow-motion. That's what you call giving up the ghost.
Shady figures meeting in deserted boxing gyms? The Prodigyās Firestarter blaring in club scenes? The late 90s called and demands its crime drama back.
Actually, that is harsh on the crime shows of the late 90s. Many seem a little old-fashioned now, but at least they didnāt endure the ignominy of having to accommodate unconvincing dialects. But there were plenty of other problems. Mainly that it was just really boring; a dispute over narcotics territory between various cockney picaresques which seemed rather simplistic.
Considering the extent to which she grinds the gears of certain ostentatiously angry commentators, itās temptingly tempting to admire the Duchess of Sussexās televised forays into twee lifestyle as intentional provocations. But then you view them and are compelled to admit that in this case, they may have a point. Itās like watching a lifestyle catalogue animated; a poster for wine oāclock with ideas of grandeur; a parade of snoozing dogs, humming beehives, Hallmark sayings and pointless crafting ātipsā youāll not remember instantly. All supported by vast, largely undeserved wealth. Ugh.
There are obviously interesting things to be discussed about regarding Victoria Beckham and her struggles with career, self-image, self-acceptance. But for some reason, this documentary series chose not to say them. Instead, the viewing was like reading a sales brochure. She clearly has good reason to resent what she describes as her āmiserable cowā image. But unfortunately, she didnāt do herself any helps with this cagey letdown of a series.
It should have been the next big hit ā except even more extravagant, with a glamorous star playing dead and a sharp-tongued personality managing her estate. What more could you ask for? As contestants competed, there was plenty of backstabbing and arguing. But the rules quickly became bewildering: itās still too complicated to explain what exactly was happening. Even more regrettably, we only saw glimpses of the star via filmed videos. The series ended up smelling of a programme that was straining desperately to emulate something far greater than it.
How do you succeed a show that captured a generation? The pressure was immense for this glitzy romcom about Jessica, a hopeful New Yorker who arrives in London with a shattered romance. The lead actress seized the opportunity by the horns and was a delight to watch, embodying Jane Austen levels of romantic ideals. But it was all very slick and, ironically, was not enough. Plus, the abundance of celebrity friends involved felt uncomfortable.
Not good enough to be āunevenā.
Given the shrewd inclusion of gifted emerging comics, hopes were high. But unhappily, most of it didnāt land. A particular sketch was a single joke stretched to a dry pulp but repeated in every episode. One star seemed too ready to slip into a familiar irate mode. The behind-the-scenes sketches, meanwhile, simply provoked the idea that they should probably have remained in there a bit longer.
This dramatisation of the story of Amanda Knox was executive produced by Amanda Knox and pretty much exclusively showcased the perspective of Amanda Knox. So, while there undoubtedly is an interesting drama to be made about the tragic 2007 murder, this was not it. The subject matter needed to be treated with care. Rather, the series struggled painfully to find the right tone, lurching from oddly breezy, slightly stylised farce to inevitably, real-life horror. Twisted? Arguably. A complete mess? Very much so.
We love the star ⦠but did we buy him playing the most brilliant maths genius since, a man so smart heās on the verge of a discovery that could ruin society? Nope! This globe-trotting thriller about secret services spying on ā and eliminating ā intellectuals honestly got more absurd by the second. Formulaic nonsense.
This hagiography followed the content creator renowned for sexual exploits as she prepared for her biggest feat yet. What on earth would possess her? What we craved was way more interrogation of her actual psyche, plus those of the men in the queue. They could at least have spoken to the now-famous mum who showed up to haul her son out of the queue. What we got was disturbing imagery and absolutely no critical analysis of her infamy whatsoever. And to think, the documentary-maker has a young daughter too.
Elena es una escritora apasionada por la psicologĆa y los sueƱos, con experiencia en blogging y anĆ”lisis de temas existenciales.