Looking back, we consider the television offerings of the recent year, a handful of shows stand out not for their brilliance, but for their notable failures. From awkward sequels to bafflingly poor documentaries, here are the productions that had us scratching our heads or just reaching for the remote.
How to start with this divisive follow-up? Burdened with dreadful scripts, painful character development (justice for Miranda!), and a paltry 71 seconds of fan-favourite Samantha, the series fought to justify its existence. For a moment, as the third series began, it seemed as if it had finally found its groove. Then came an installment all about Seemaâs natural deodorant. Little surprise the creator declared this would be the final season. It concluded on a low point; the lingering shot of Mirandaâs loo flooded with poo was simply too symbolic. Still, viewers undeniably found joy picking apart every single âwtf?â moment. And as Carrie â a single woman once more â danced around her sprawling townhouse to Barry White, who didnât let out a small sob?
âCan Kim Kardashian act? The answer is a resounding no.â
But that was practically the least of this drama's issues. The recipient of a exceedingly uncommon no-star review, it was hard to know where to begin listing the problems. The hilariously leaden dialogue? The mind-numbing veneration of wealth and materialism? The almost deliberate parade of cliches? Acting so poor they felt borderline spiteful? Suffice it to say âall of the aboveâ and forget about this show again. However, a second season has been commissioned, so weâre likely going to have to.
Given the restraining orders, domestic violence allegations and fatherly failures, itâs reasonable to say Charlie Sheen has been a troubled figure. Not that youâd truly have known it from this three-part docuseries which smirked its way at Sheenâs various bouts of self-destructive excess while failing to tell us anything we didnât already know. Rather, it felt as if this volatile personality was being indulged, so any pity this series might induce should be saved for the people who have had to suffer close contact with this charismatic but flippant egotist.
Naturally we knew it was ridiculous from the outset: a thriller about a AI 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 barely cared when his character died, and the other ultimately slicing Charlie with an axe ⌠in super slow-motion. That's what you call admitting defeat.
Shady characters meeting in deserted boxing gyms? The Prodigyâs Firestarter blaring in club scenes? The late 90s called and demands its crime drama back.
Actually, that is unfair on the crime shows of the late 90s. Many seem a little dated now, but at least they didnât endure the embarrassment of having to indulge unconvincing dialects. But there were plenty of other issues. Primarily that it was just profoundly boring; a dispute over drug-selling territory between various London rogues which felt a bit basic.
Given the degree to which she provokes the ire of the nationâs performatively angry commentators, itâs temptingly tempting to applaud the Duchess of Sussexâs various forays into quaint homemaking as intentional provocations. But then you view them and are forced to admit that in this case, they may have a point. Itâs like watching a lifestyle catalogue come to life; a poster for evening drinks with ideas of grandeur; a parade of sleeping dogs, humming beehives, sentimental sayings and pointless crafting âtipsâ youâll not remember instantly. All supported by vast, mostly undeserved wealth. Ugh.
There are clearly interesting things to be said about both Victoria Beckham and her journey with vocation, identity, self-worth. But for some reason, this documentary series opted not to explore them. Rather, the experience was like reading a marketing catalogue. She obviously has every right to resent what she describes as her âmiserable cowâ image. But unfortunately, she failed to do herself any helps with this guarded non-event of a series.
It should have been the next big hit â except even more extravagant, with a glamorous star playing dead and a well-known personality overseeing her estate. What more could you want? As players competed, there was plenty of backstabbing and squabbling. But the rules quickly became bewildering: itâs 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 trying way too hard to emulate something far greater than it.
How do you follow a show that captured a generation? The pressure was immense for this starry romantic comedy about Jessica, a hopeful New Yorker who lands in London with a broken heart. The star seized the opportunity by the horns and was joyous to watch, reveling in Austen levels of romantic notions. But it was all very slick and, paradoxically, was not enough. Plus, the abundance of celebrity cameos involved felt icky.
Not good enough to be âpatchyâ.
Given the smart recruitment of gifted emerging comics, expectations were high. But sadly, most of it didnât land. A recurring sketch was a one-note joke milked to a dry pulp but repeated in every episode. One star seemed too willing to slip into a well-known ranting mode. The writing room sketches, in contrast, simply provoked the idea that they should probably have stayed in there a bit longer.
This dramatisation of the story of Amanda Knox was executive produced by Amanda Knox and pretty much solely presented the viewpoint of Amanda Knox. So, while there undoubtedly is an interesting drama to be made about the horrific 2007 murder, this was not it. The subject matter needed to be treated with care. Rather, the series struggled painfully to find the right voice, lumbering from oddly breezy, slightly stylised farce to ultimately, real-life horror. Complex? Arguably. A complete mess? Very much so.
We admire the lead actor ⌠but did we buy him playing the most brilliant maths genius in history, a man so intelligent heâs on the verge of a breakthrough that could destabilise society? No! This globe-trotting thriller about government agencies targeting â and killing off â intellectuals frankly got more absurd by the second. Formulaic nonsense.
This hagiography followed the online personality notorious for sexual exploits as she undertook her most extreme feat yet. What on earth would motivate her? What we wanted was far greater interrogation 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 haul her son out of the queue. What we got was disturbing imagery and absolutely no interrogation of her infamy whatsoever. It's staggering to consider, the filmmaker has a teenage daughter too.