Looking back, we reflect on the television offerings of the recent year, a selection of shows emerge not for their excellence, but for their spectacular shortcomings. Ranging from cringe-inducing spin-offs to confusingly bad documentaries, here are the programmes that had us utterly bewildered or simply reaching for the remote.
How to start with this love/hate follow-up? Burdened with dreadful writing, painful arcs (justice for Miranda!), and a mere 71 seconds of fan-favourite Samantha, the show fought to find its footing. Briefly, as the third season started, it seemed as if it had finally hit its stride. Then arrived an episode all about Seemaâs natural deodorant. Little surprise the creator declared this would be the final series. It ended on a bum note; the closeup of Mirandaâs toilet flooded with poo was simply too on-the-nose. Yet, viewers certainly had a hoot dissecting every single âwtf?â moment. And as Carrie â a single woman once more â danced around her sprawling townhouse to Barry White, who couldn't let out a small sob?
âCan Kim Kardashian act? Of course she canât.â
But that was almost the smallest of this drama's problems. The recipient of a exceedingly uncommon no-star assessment, it was difficult to know where to start listing the flaws. The laughably wooden dialogue? The tedious glorification of affluence and consumption? The seemingly deliberate parade of cliches? Acting so poor they felt almost spiteful? Suffice it to say âall of the aboveâ and forget about this series again. However, a second season has been ordered, so weâre likely going to have to.
Given the restraining orders, abuse allegations and parental failures, itâs reasonable to say Charlie Sheen has been a troubled figure. Not youâd really have known it from this three-part docuseries which smirked its way at Sheenâs various episodes of reckless excess while failing to tell us a single thing we weren't already aware of. Rather, it felt as if this loose cannon was being pandered to, so any pity this series might induce should be reserved for the people who have had to suffer proximity with this charismatic but flippant narcissist.
Naturally we understood it was preposterous from the outset: a thriller about a supercomputer known as Charlie Big Potatoes that could either solve global crises â or annihilate all of humanity. We stuck with it out of sheer love for its stars ⊠but by the end, it felt like even they had stopped bothering. One scarcely reacted when his character died, and the other ultimately slicing Charlie with an axe ⊠in painfully slow-motion. That's what you call admitting defeat.
Shady figures convening in deserted boxing gyms? The Prodigyâs Firestarter jackhammering away in club scenes? The late 90s called and wants its crime drama back.
Actually, that is harsh on the gangland dramas of the late 90s. Many look a little old-fashioned now, but at least they didnât suffer the embarrassment of having to indulge baffling accents. But there were plenty of other issues. Primarily 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 provokes the ire of the nationâs ostentatiously angry commentators, itâs almost easy to applaud the Duchess of Sussexâs various ventures into quaint lifestyle as intentional statements. But then you view them and are forced to admit that in this case, they might have a point. Itâs like watching a homeware magazine come to life; a meme for evening drinks with ideas of grandeur; a procession of sleeping dogs, humming beehives, Hallmark sayings and pointless crafting âhacksâ youâll forget instantly. All supported by immense, mostly unearned wealth. Ugh.
There are clearly fascinating things to be said about regarding Victoria Beckham and her journey with vocation, identity, self-acceptance. But for whatever reason, this documentary series opted not to explore them. Rather, the experience was akin to reading a sales catalogue. She obviously has good reason to resent what she describes as her âmiserable cowâ image. But sadly, she failed to do herself any favours with this cagey non-event of a series.
It had the potential to be the next big hit â except even more extravagant, with a glamorous star as a deceased benefactor and a sharp-tongued personality managing her estate. What more could you ask for? As contestants competed, there was plenty of backstabbing and squabbling. But the rules quickly became bewildering: itâs still too confusing to explain what exactly was happening. Even more regrettably, we only saw glimpses of the star via prerecorded videos. The show 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 pressure was enormous for this glitzy romantic comedy about Jessica, a hopeful New Yorker who lands in London with a shattered romance. The lead actress seized the opportunity by the horns and was joyous to watch, reveling in Jane Austen levels of romantic ideals. But it was all very glossy and, ironically, was not enough. Plus, the abundance of famous friends involved felt icky.
Not even good enough to be âpatchyâ.
Given the shrewd recruitment of talented younger comics, expectations were high. But sadly, most of it didnât land. A recurring sketch was a single joke stretched to a husk but repeated in every episode. One star seemed too willing to slip into a familiar ranting mode. The behind-the-scenes sketches, meanwhile, simply provoked the thought that they should probably have remained in there a while longer.
This dramatisation 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 undoubtedly is an compelling drama to be made about the horrific 2007 murder, this isnât it. The subject matter needed to be treated sensitively. Instead, the series laboured awkwardly to find the right voice, lurching from oddly jaunty, slightly stylised farce to ultimately, real-life horror. Twisted? Arguably. A total mess? Absolutely.
We admire the star ⊠but did we buy him playing the greatest maths genius in history, a man so smart heâs on the verge of a discovery that could destabilise society? No! This globe-trotting thriller about government agencies spying on â and eliminating â academics frankly got more farcical by the second. Formulaic nonsense.
This uncritical portrait followed the content creator renowned for explicit escapades as she undertook her most extreme feat yet. What on earth would motivate her? What we craved was far greater examination of her actual psyche, plus those of the men in the line. They could at least have interviewed the legendary mum who showed up to haul her son out of the queue. What we got was disturbing shots and zero interrogation of her notoriety whatsoever. And to think, the documentary-maker has a teenage daughter too.
Lena Hofmann ist eine erfahrene Journalistin mit Schwerpunkt auf Schweizer Politik und gesellschaftlichen Entwicklungen.