Looking back, we consider the television landscape of the recent year, a handful of series emerge not for their brilliance, but for their spectacular failures. Ranging from awkward spin-offs to confusingly poor docuseries, here are the programmes that had us scratching our heads or simply reaching for the remote.
Where to begin with this love/hate follow-up? Burdened with dreadful writing, painful character development (justice for Miranda!), and a mere 71 seconds of beloved Samantha, the series fought to justify its existence. Briefly, as the final series began, it seemed as if it had at last hit its stride. Then came an installment all about Seemaās natural deodorant. No wonder the creator announced this would be the final season. It concluded on a bum note; the lingering shot of Mirandaās toilet full of poo was simply too symbolic. Yet, viewers undeniably had a hoot picking apart every single āwtf?ā episode. And as Carrie ā a single woman once more ā twirled around her sprawling townhouse to Barry White, who didnāt let out a small sob?
āCan Kim Kardashian act? The answer is a resounding no.ā
But that was practically the smallest of this show's problems. The recipient of a very rare no-star review, it was hard to know where to start listing the flaws. The laughably wooden writing? The mind-numbing veneration of wealth and consumption? The seemingly wilful parade of tropes? Acting so poor they felt borderline malicious? Letās just say āeach and every oneā and never speak of this series again. Except, a second season has been commissioned, so weāre likely going to have to.
Given the legal troubles, domestic violence claims and parental shortcomings, itās reasonable to say Charlie Sheen has been a bad boy. Not that youād really have gleaned it from this multi-part docuseries which chuckled along at Sheenās various episodes of self-destructive excess while failing to tell us a single thing we didnāt already know. Rather, it felt as if this loose cannon was being indulged, so any pity this show might evoke should be saved for the people who have had to suffer close contact with this charismatic but flippant egotist.
Naturally we understood it was preposterous from the get-go: a thriller about a supercomputer known as Charlie Big Potatoes that could either save the world ā or destroy all of humanity. We stuck with it out of sheer love for its leads ⦠but by the end, it felt like even they had given up trying. One barely cared 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 convening in empty boxing gyms? A certain band's Firestarter blaring in club scenes? The late 90s called and demands its gangland drama back.
In truth, that is unfair on the gangland dramas of the late 90s. Many look a bit old-fashioned now, but at least they didnāt endure the ignominy of having to accommodate baffling dialects. But there were plenty of other issues. Primarily that it was just really dull; a conflict over narcotics territory between various cockney picaresques which felt a bit basic.
Considering the extent to which she grinds the gears of certain performatively angry commentators, itās almost tempting to applaud the Duchess of Sussexās various ventures into twee homemaking as intentional provocations. But then you watch them and are forced to concede that in this case, they may have a point. Itās like watching a homeware magazine come to life; a poster for evening drinks with delusions of grandeur; a parade of snoozing dogs, buzzing beehives, Hallmark platitudes and forgettable crafting ātipsā youāll not remember instantly. All underpinned by vast, mostly undeserved wealth. Ugh.
There are clearly interesting things to be discussed about both Victoria Beckham and her struggles with vocation, identity, self-worth. But for whatever reason, this three-part series opted not to explore them. Rather, the experience was like reading a marketing brochure. She clearly has every right to resent what she describes as her āsternā image. But unfortunately, she didnāt do herself any favours with this cagey letdown of a series.
It should have been the next cultural phenomenon ā except even camper, with a famous star playing dead and a sharp-tongued personality overseeing her estate. What more could you want? As contestants competed, there was plenty of backstabbing and squabbling. But the rules quickly became bewildering: itās still too complicated to detail what precisely was happening. Even more disappointingly, we only saw glimpses of the star via filmed videos. The series ended up smelling of a production that was trying way too hard to emulate something way beyond it.
How do you follow a show that defined a generation? The expectation was immense for this starry romcom about Jessica, a hopeful New Yorker who lands in London with a shattered romance. The star took her biggest role by the horns and was a delight to watch, embodying Austen levels of romantic ideals. But it was all very slick and, paradoxically, was not enough. Plus, the sheer amount of celebrity friends involved felt uncomfortable.
Not good enough to be āunevenā.
Given the smart inclusion of gifted younger comics, hopes were high. But unhappily, most of it fell flat. A particular sketch was a one-note joke milked to a husk but repeated in every episode. One star seemed too ready to slip into a well-known irate mode. The writing room sketches, in contrast, simply provoked the idea that they should probably have stayed in there a bit longer.
This retelling of the story of Amanda Knox was executive produced by Amanda Knox and pretty much exclusively showcased the viewpoint of Amanda Knox. So, while there probably is an interesting drama to be made about the tragic 2007 murder, this isnāt it. The material needed to be treated sensitively. Rather, the series struggled painfully to find the right tone, lumbering from oddly breezy, somewhat stylised farce to inevitably, real-life horror. Twisted? Perhaps. A complete mess? Very much so.
We admire the star ⦠but did we buy him playing the greatest maths genius in history, a man so smart heās on the brink of a discovery that could destabilise society? Nope! This international thriller about secret services targeting ā and killing off ā intellectuals honestly got more farcical by the second. Silliness-by-numbers.
This hagiography followed the content creator notorious for explicit escapades as she prepared for her biggest challenge yet. What on earth would motivate her? What we wanted was far greater interrogation of her actual psyche, plus those of the men in the line. 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 horrific imagery and zero critical analysis of her notoriety whatsoever. And to think, the documentary-maker has a teenage daughter too.
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