Looking back, we consider the TV offerings of the recent year, a selection of shows emerge not for their excellence, but for their notable shortcomings. From cringe-inducing sequels to confusingly poor documentaries, here are the productions that had us scratching our heads or just reaching for the remote.
Where to begin with this love/hate spin-off? Plagued with woeful writing, painful arcs (justice for Miranda!), and a paltry 71 seconds of fan-favourite Samantha, the series struggled to find its footing. Briefly, as the third series began, it seemed as if it had at last found its groove. Then arrived an episode all about Seemaâs natural deodorant. No wonder the showrunner declared this would be the last season. It concluded on a bum note; the lingering shot of Mirandaâs loo full of poo was just way too on-the-nose. Yet, fans certainly had a hoot picking apart every single âwhat on earth?â episode. And as Carrie â a single woman once more â danced around her palatial townhouse to Barry White, who didnât release a small sob?
âCan Kim Kardashian act? Of course she canât.â
But that was almost the smallest of this drama's issues. The recipient of a exceedingly uncommon zero star assessment, it was difficult to know where to start listing the problems. The laughably leaden dialogue? The mind-numbing glorification of affluence and materialism? The seemingly wilful procession of cliches? Performances so poor they felt borderline malicious? Suffice it to say âeach and every oneâ and never speak of this show again. However, a second season has been ordered, so weâre likely going to have to.
Considering the restraining orders, abuse claims and parental shortcomings, itâs reasonable to say Charlie Sheen has been a troubled figure. Not youâd really have known it from this multi-part documentary which chuckled along at Sheenâs various bouts of self-destructive hedonism while failing to tell us anything we didnât already know. Instead, it felt as if this loose cannon was being indulged, so any pity this series might induce should be saved for the people who have had to endure close contact with this charming but dismissive narcissist.
Of course we knew it was ridiculous from the outset: a drama about a AI known as Charlie Big Potatoes that could either save the world â or annihilate all of humanity. We stuck with it out of sheer love for its leads ⊠but by the end, it felt like even they had stopped bothering. One barely reacted when his character died, and the other ended up slicing Charlie with an axe ⊠in super slow-motion. Talk about giving up the ghost.
Shady figures meeting in deserted boxing gyms? A certain band's Firestarter blaring in club scenes? The late 90s called and demands its crime drama back.
Actually, that is harsh on the crime shows of the late 90s. Many seem a little dated now, but at least they didnât endure the ignominy of having to accommodate unconvincing dialects. But there were many other issues. Mainly that it was just really boring; a dispute over narcotics territory between various cockney picaresques which seemed a bit basic.
Considering the degree to which she provokes the ire of the nationâs ostentatiously angry commentators, itâs temptingly easy to applaud the Duchess of Sussexâs televised forays into quaint lifestyle as deliberate provocations. But then you view them and are forced to admit that in this case, they might have a point. Itâs like watching a homeware catalogue come to life; a meme for evening drinks with delusions of grandeur; a parade of snoozing dogs, buzzing beehives, Hallmark sayings and forgettable crafting âtipsâ youâll not remember instantly. All underpinned by vast, mostly undeserved wealth. Ugh.
There are obviously fascinating things to be discussed about both Victoria Beckham and her struggles with vocation, self-image, self-acceptance. But for whatever reason, this three-part series chose not to explore them. Rather, the viewing was akin to consuming a sales brochure. She clearly has every right to bridle at what she describes as her âmiserable cowâ image. But unfortunately, she failed to do herself any favours with this cagey non-event of a series.
It should have been the next big hit â except even more extravagant, with a glamorous star as a deceased benefactor and a well-known personality managing her inheritance. What more could you ask for? As contestants competed, there was plenty of backstabbing and arguing. But the rules quickly became bewildering: itâs even now too complicated to explain what exactly was happening. Even more regrettably, we only saw brief appearances of the star via prerecorded videos. The show ended up smelling of a programme that was straining desperately to emulate something far greater than it.
How do you succeed a show that captured a generation? The pressure was enormous for this glitzy romcom about Jessica, a hopeful New Yorker who arrives in London with a broken heart. The star took her biggest role by the horns and was joyous to watch, reveling in Austen levels of romantic notions. But it was all very glossy and, ironically, was not enough. Plus, the sheer amount of celebrity friends involved felt icky.
Not good enough to be âunevenâ.
Given the shrewd recruitment of gifted emerging comics, expectations were high. But unhappily, most of it didnât land. A recurring sketch was a one-note joke stretched to a dry pulp but repeated in every episode. One star seemed too willing 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 dramatisation of the story of Amanda Knox was overseen by Amanda Knox and pretty much solely presented the perspective of Amanda Knox. So, while there probably is an compelling drama to be made about the horrific 2007 murder, this isnât it. The subject matter needed to be treated with care. Rather, the series laboured awkwardly to find the right voice, lumbering from strangely breezy, somewhat stylised farce to inevitably, real-life horror. Twisted? Arguably. A complete mess? Absolutely.
We love the lead actor ⊠but did we believe him playing the most brilliant maths genius in history, a man so intelligent heâs on the verge of a breakthrough that could ruin society? No! This international thriller about secret services spying on â and eliminating â academics honestly got more absurd by the second. Silliness-by-numbers.
This hagiography followed the content creator notorious for sexual exploits as she undertook her most extreme challenge 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 spoken to the now-famous mum who appeared to drag her son away from the queue. What we got was disturbing imagery and absolutely no critical analysis of her infamy whatsoever. And to think, the filmmaker has a young daughter too.
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