Looking back, we consider the television landscape of the past year, a handful of shows stand out not for their brilliance, but for their spectacular shortcomings. Ranging from cringe-inducing sequels to bafflingly bad docuseries, here are the programmes that left us scratching our heads or just reaching for the remote.
How to start with this love/hate follow-up? Burdened with woeful scripts, cringe-inducing arcs (we demand better for Miranda!), and a mere 71 seconds of fan-favourite Samantha, the series fought to justify its existence. Briefly, as the final series started, it looked like it had at last found its groove. Then arrived an installment all about Seema’s natural deodorant. No wonder the creator declared this would be the last season. It ended on a low point; the lingering shot of Miranda’s toilet full of poo was just way too symbolic. Yet, viewers certainly found joy picking apart every single “what on earth?” moment. And as Carrie – a single woman once more – danced around her palatial townhouse to Barry White, who couldn't release a little sob?
‘Is Kim Kardashian an actress? Of course she can’t.’
But that was almost the smallest of this show's issues. The recipient of a very rare zero star review, it was hard to know where to start enumerating the problems. The laughably leaden dialogue? The tedious glorification of affluence and consumption? The seemingly wilful procession of cliches? Acting so poor they felt almost malicious? Let’s just say “each and every one” and forget about this show again. Except, a new season has been commissioned, so we’re likely going to have to.
Given the restraining orders, abuse allegations and fatherly failures, it’s reasonable to say Charlie Sheen has been a troubled figure. Not you’d really have known it from this multi-part docuseries which chuckled along at Sheen’s various bouts of reckless excess while struggling to tell us a single thing we didn’t already know. Instead, it felt as if this volatile personality was being pandered to, so any pity this show might induce should be reserved for the people who have had to suffer close contact with this charismatic but dismissive egotist.
Naturally we knew it was ridiculous from the outset: a thriller about a AI known as Charlie Big Potatoes that could either save the world – or annihilate all of humanity. We persevered out of sheer admiration for its leads … but by the end, it felt like even they had stopped bothering. One scarcely cared when his character died, and the other ended up slicing Charlie with an axe … in super slow-motion. That's what you call admitting defeat.
Dodgy characters convening in empty boxing gyms? A certain band's Firestarter jackhammering away in club scenes? The late 90s called and wants its crime drama back.
Actually, that is harsh on the crime shows of the late 90s. Many look a little old-fashioned now, but at least they didn’t suffer the embarrassment of having to accommodate baffling accents. But there were plenty of other problems. Primarily that it was just profoundly dull; a conflict over drug-selling territory between various cockney picaresques which felt a bit basic.
Considering the extent to which she grinds the gears of certain performatively enraged commentators, it’s temptingly tempting to applaud the Duchess of Sussex’s various forays into quaint homemaking as deliberate provocations. But then you view them and are forced to concede that in this case, they might have a point. It’s like watching a homeware magazine animated; a meme for wine o’clock with ideas of grandeur; a parade of snoozing dogs, buzzing beehives, Hallmark sayings and pointless crafting “tips” you’ll not remember instantly. All supported by vast, largely undeserved wealth. Ugh.
There are obviously interesting things to be said about both Victoria Beckham and her journey with career, identity, self-worth. But for some reason, this documentary series opted not to say them. Instead, the viewing was like reading a sales catalogue. She clearly has every right to resent what she describes as her “miserable cow” image. But sadly, she failed to do herself any favours with this guarded non-event of a series.
It should have been the next big hit – except even camper, with a glamorous star as a deceased benefactor and a well-known personality managing her inheritance. What more could you ask for? As players battled it out, there was plenty of betrayal and squabbling. But the rules quickly became bewildering: it’s even now too confusing to explain what precisely was happening. Even more disappointingly, we only saw glimpses of the star via prerecorded videos. The series ended up reeking of a production that was straining desperately to emulate something way beyond it.
How does one succeed a show that captured a generation? The expectation was enormous for this glitzy romcom about Jessica, a hopeful New Yorker who arrives in London with a broken heart. The star took her biggest role by the horns and was a delight to watch, reveling in Austen levels of romantic notions. But it was all very glossy and, ironically, was insufficient. Plus, the sheer amount of famous cameos involved felt uncomfortable.
Not even good enough to be ‘patchy’.
Given the smart inclusion of talented emerging comics, expectations were high. But sadly, most of it didn’t land. A recurring sketch was a single joke stretched to a dry pulp but repeated in every episode. One star seemed too willing to slip into a familiar ranting mode. The writing room sketches, in contrast, simply inspired the thought that they should probably have stayed in there a bit longer.
This retelling of the story of Amanda Knox was overseen by Amanda Knox and pretty much solely showcased the viewpoint of Amanda Knox. So, while there undoubtedly is an compelling drama to be made about the horrific 2007 murder, this was not it. The subject matter needed to be treated sensitively. Rather, the series laboured awkwardly to find the right voice, lurching from strangely jaunty, slightly stylised farce to ultimately, real-life horror. Complex? Arguably. A total mess? Very much so.
We love the star … but did we believe him playing the greatest maths genius in history, a man so smart he’s on the brink of a discovery that could ruin society? No! This globe-trotting thriller about government agencies spying on – and eliminating – intellectuals honestly got more absurd by the second. Silliness-by-numbers.
This hagiography followed the content creator renowned for explicit exploits as she prepared for her biggest feat yet. What on earth would motivate her? What we wanted was way more examination of her true psyche, plus those of the men in the queue. They could at least have spoken to the legendary 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 notoriety whatsoever. And to think, the filmmaker has a teenage daughter too.
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