As we consider the television offerings of the past year, a handful of series stand out not for their brilliance, but for their spectacular shortcomings. Ranging from cringe-inducing sequels to confusingly bad docuseries, here are the productions that had us scratching our heads or just reaching for the remote.
Where to begin with this divisive spin-off? Burdened with woeful writing, painful character development (justice for Miranda!), and a mere 71 seconds of fan-favourite Samantha, the series fought to find its footing. For a moment, as the final season started, it looked like it had finally hit its stride. Then arrived an episode all about Seemaâs natural deodorant. Little surprise the showrunner declared this would be the last season. It concluded on a bum note; the lingering shot of Mirandaâs toilet flooded with poo was just way too on-the-nose. Yet, viewers undeniably had a hoot picking apart every single âwtf?â episode. And as Carrie â a single woman once more â danced around her sprawling townhouse to Barry White, who didnât release a little sob?
âIs Kim Kardashian an actress? Of course she canât.â
But that was practically the least of this drama's issues. The subject of a exceedingly uncommon zero star review, it was difficult to know where to begin enumerating the problems. The laughably wooden writing? The tedious veneration of wealth and materialism? The seemingly deliberate parade of tropes? Acting so bad they felt almost spiteful? Suffice it to say âall of the aboveâ and never speak of this series again. Except, a second season has been ordered, so weâre probably going to have to.
Considering the restraining orders, domestic violence allegations and parental failures, itâs reasonable to say Charlie Sheen has been a bad boy. Not youâd truly have known it from this three-part docuseries which chuckled along at Sheenâs various episodes of self-destructive hedonism while struggling to tell us anything we didnât already know. Rather, it felt as if this volatile personality was being pandered to, so any pity this series might induce should be reserved for the people who have had to endure proximity with this charming but flippant egotist.
Naturally we understood it was preposterous from the outset: a thriller about a supercomputer known as Charlie Big Potatoes that could either save the world â or annihilate all of humanity. We persevered out of sheer admiration for its leads ⊠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 slicing Charlie with an axe ⊠in super slow-motion. That's what you call giving up the ghost.
Dodgy figures convening in empty boxing gyms? The Prodigyâs Firestarter jackhammering away in club scenes? The late 90s called and wants its crime drama back.
In truth, that is harsh on the crime shows of the late 90s. Many look a bit old-fashioned now, but at least they didnât suffer the embarrassment of having to accommodate baffling accents. But there were many other problems. Primarily that it was just profoundly dull; a dispute over drug-selling territory between various London picaresques which felt a bit basic.
Considering the extent to which she provokes the ire of certain performatively enraged commentators, itâs almost easy to applaud the Duchess of Sussexâs various forays into twee lifestyle as intentional statements. But then you view them and are forced to concede that in this case, they may have a point. Itâs like watching a lifestyle catalogue animated; a meme for wine oâclock with delusions of grandeur; a parade of sleeping dogs, buzzing beehives, Hallmark platitudes and forgettable crafting âtipsâ youâll not remember instantly. All supported by vast, largely unearned wealth. Ugh.
There are obviously interesting things to be said about both Victoria Beckham and her struggles with vocation, identity, self-worth. But for some reason, this documentary series chose not to explore them. Rather, the viewing was akin to consuming a sales catalogue. She clearly has good reason to resent what she describes as her âmiserable cowâ image. But sadly, she failed to do herself any favours with this guarded letdown of a series.
It had the potential to be the next cultural phenomenon â except even camper, with a glamorous star playing dead and a well-known personality managing her inheritance. What more could you ask for? As players battled it out, there was plenty of backstabbing and arguing. But the rules quickly became incomprehensible: itâs even now too confusing to explain what precisely was happening. Even more regrettably, we only saw glimpses of the star via prerecorded videos. The show ended up smelling of a production that was trying way too hard to live up to something far greater than it.
How does one follow a show that captured a generation? The expectation was immense for this starry romantic comedy about Jessica, a rosy-eyed New Yorker who arrives in London with a shattered romance. The lead actress took her biggest role by the horns and was a delight to watch, reveling in Jane Austen levels of romantic ideals. But it was all very slick and, paradoxically, was not enough. Plus, the abundance of celebrity cameos involved felt uncomfortable.
Not even good enough to be âpatchyâ.
Given the shrewd inclusion of talented emerging comics, expectations were high. But sadly, most of it didnât 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 irate mode. The behind-the-scenes sketches, meanwhile, simply provoked the idea 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 exclusively presented the viewpoint of Amanda Knox. So, while there undoubtedly is an compelling drama to be made about the tragic 2007 murder, this was not it. The material needed to be treated sensitively. Instead, the series laboured awkwardly to find the right voice, lumbering from strangely breezy, slightly mannered farce to inevitably, real-life horror. Twisted? Perhaps. A total mess? Absolutely.
We admire the star ⊠but did we buy him playing the most brilliant maths genius since, a man so smart heâs on the brink of a breakthrough that could destabilise society? Nope! This international thriller about secret services targeting â and killing off â intellectuals honestly got more farcical by the second. Silliness-by-numbers.
This hagiography followed the online personality notorious for explicit exploits as she prepared for her most extreme feat yet. What on earth would possess her? What we wanted was way more examination of her true psychology, plus those of the men in the queue. They could at least have interviewed the now-famous mum who showed up to drag her son away from the queue. What we got was disturbing shots and zero critical analysis of her infamy whatsoever. It's staggering to consider, the documentary-maker has a teenage daughter too.
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