Inappropriate Content: A Metaphor

I had a good weekend. Stayed up until eight in the morning watching the Sci-Fi Channel miniseries Battlestar Galactica and the first episode of the regular T.V. show, and also eating ice cream. Spent half hour in the sushi section of a grocery store talking with a British woman who grew up in India and now works for a international NGO, and a geeky historian from Georgetown who also went to an British private school, who were both incredible geeks and horrible intellectuals, much smarter than me—it was awesome. (Even if I spent half the time thinking, “woah, I live in a city where the grocery store has a whole section devoted to sushi now!”)

But the important thing is that sci-fi stuff.

Now I haven't seen the new Galactica before. In fact, I haven't been watching much sci-fi at all recently. It's almost impossible to get the TV's in the dorm switched over from BET to the Sci-Fi channel, and usually just not worth the effort. In any case, Battlestar Galactica is what is sounds like: a remake of the 1970's show. I have never seen the original. I remember reading an article in some obscure magazine that drew on the odd comparisons between the orginial Galactica and Mormon doctrine, which seems a plausible enough idea, as Mormons are, by and large, huge sci-fi buffs. If you have seen the orginial show, don't worry, because absolutely nothing in the remake will remind you of the seventies, except for the fact that Edward James Olmos has shaved his moustach.

But there's more to Battlestar Galactica then getting those kids from the 1957 classic 12 Angry Men to do a TV show. (Not that it's a bad idea—Olmos and Mary McDonnell are the best actors on the show.) There is an underlying current to Galactica that makes Dr. Strangelove look optimistic. In fact, while we're on the nuclear war analogies, you should know that about halfway through the four hour miniseries, they kill a seven-year-old girl in the exact same way as the Barry Goldwater daisy-ad. I'm not kidding. You know this ship with a bunch of people on it is going to be destroyed, and you cut to a small girl on the ship, playing with her dolly, and you slowly zoom in, and you fade to white...

They kill a little girl. They kill a lot of people. Mary McDonnell is keeping track of the number of human beings who exist in the entire univerise on a white board. Mary McDonnell, by the way, is a woman who was 43rd in line to become President of the Colonies when the apocalypse came down the pipe. At left she is being sworn in after those 43 the people are killed, along with, as I may have mentioned, the rest of humanity. Time and time again, they are forced to leave people behind, to leave people to die, to leave...it is not a nice show.

Glen Oliver at IGN was disappointed:

It shuns the most precious conceit in its own basic story...indeed, the most precious commodity anywhere: Hope. This doesn't make for a show that is evocative, atmospheric, or emotionally challenging. This simply creates for a relentlessly unpleasant viewing experience.

There is hostility, doubt, and anger – but not towards ideas that matter. The humans focus it on each other – where is affection, respect, and cohesion in a time of apocalyptic crisis? There is spoken remorse, but where are the tears? The good ship Galactica rarely embodies heroism, decency, or any quality that makes humanity exceptional – only dysfunction, distrust, and antagonism are evident. And if this is the measure of the human race, why...exactly...are we worth saving?

That's a good question, and one the characters on Galactica wind up asking themselves. Unlike virtually every other science fiction show since Roddenberry created the genera, they don't find satisfactory answers. It's a bold choice, and one that has alienated a lot of traditional sci-fi geeks like Glen. Galactica has a lot of viewers who aren't traditionally sci-fi watchers.

Something else Galactica does is create a show about old people. The heart of the show is Olmos and McDonnell; the other wondeful character is Michael Hogan's exec, Tigh.

I just realized that I have spent an hour and a half writing about a T.V. show, and I show no signs of stopping anytime soon. Yipes. That's sad.