Looking back, we consider the television offerings of the past year, a handful of shows emerge not for their excellence, but for their spectacular shortcomings. From cringe-inducing spin-offs to confusingly poor documentaries, here are the productions that had us utterly bewildered or simply reaching for the remote.
Where to begin with this love/hate spin-off? Burdened with dreadful writing, cringe-inducing arcs (we demand better for Miranda!), and a mere 71 seconds of fan-favourite Samantha, the series struggled to find its footing. Briefly, as the final season began, it seemed as if it had at last hit its stride. Then arrived an episode all about Seemaâs natural deodorant. No wonder the showrunner announced this would be the last season. It concluded on a low point; the lingering shot of Mirandaâs loo full of poo was just way too on-the-nose. Yet, viewers certainly found joy dissecting every single âwtf?â moment. And as Carrie â a single woman once more â twirled 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 show's problems. The recipient of a exceedingly uncommon no-star review, it was hard to know where to begin listing the flaws. The laughably wooden writing? The tedious glorification of wealth and materialism? The almost deliberate procession of tropes? Acting so bad they felt almost malicious? Suffice it to say âeach and every oneâ and forget about this show again. Except, a second season has been ordered, so weâre likely going to have to.
Given the restraining orders, abuse claims and fatherly shortcomings, 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 episodes of self-destructive excess while struggling to tell us anything we didnât already know. Instead, it felt as if this volatile personality was being indulged, so any pity this series might evoke should be saved for the people who have had to suffer proximity with this charming but flippant egotist.
Naturally we understood it was ridiculous from the outset: a drama about a AI known as Charlie Big Potatoes that could either save the world â or destroy all of humanity. We persevered out of pure love for its stars ⌠but by the end, it felt like even they had given up trying. One barely cared when his character died, and the other ultimately slicing Charlie with an axe ⌠in painfully slow-motion. That's what you call giving up the ghost.
Dodgy figures meeting in empty boxing gyms? A certain band's Firestarter jackhammering away in club scenes? The late 90s called and demands its gangland drama back.
Actually, that is harsh on the crime shows of the late 90s. Many seem a bit old-fashioned now, but at least they didnât endure the ignominy of having to accommodate baffling accents. But there were plenty of other issues. Primarily that it was just profoundly dull; a conflict over narcotics territory between various London rogues which seemed 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 televised forays into quaint homemaking as intentional statements. But then you view them and are compelled to concede that actually, they might have a point. Itâs like watching a homeware catalogue animated; a poster for evening drinks with ideas of grandeur; a procession of snoozing dogs, buzzing beehives, sentimental platitudes and pointless crafting âhacksâ youâll forget instantly. All supported by immense, mostly unearned wealth. Ugh.
There are obviously fascinating things to be discussed about regarding Victoria Beckham and her journey with vocation, identity, self-acceptance. But for some reason, this three-part series chose not to say them. Rather, the viewing was akin to reading a sales brochure. She obviously has every right 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 cultural phenomenon â except even camper, with a famous star as a deceased benefactor and a well-known personality managing her inheritance. What more could you want? As contestants competed, there was plenty of betrayal and squabbling. But the rules quickly became bewildering: itâs still too confusing to detail what exactly was happening. Even more disappointingly, we only saw glimpses of the star via prerecorded videos. The series ended up smelling of a production that was trying way too hard to emulate something way beyond it.
How does one succeed a show that captured a generation? The pressure was immense 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, embodying Jane Austen levels of romantic ideals. But it was all very slick and, paradoxically, was insufficient. Plus, the sheer amount of famous cameos involved felt uncomfortable.
Not even good enough to be âunevenâ.
Given the shrewd inclusion of talented emerging comics, hopes were high. But sadly, most of it didnât land. A recurring sketch was a single joke milked to a dry pulp but repeated in every episode. One star seemed too ready to slip into a well-known irate mode. The behind-the-scenes sketches, meanwhile, simply inspired the thought that they should probably have remained in there a bit longer.
This dramatisation of the story of Amanda Knox was executive produced by Amanda Knox and pretty much solely showcased the viewpoint of Amanda Knox. So, while there undoubtedly is an interesting drama to be made about the horrific 2007 murder, this isnât it. The subject matter needed to be treated with care. Instead, the series struggled painfully to find the right voice, lumbering from strangely jaunty, somewhat mannered farce to inevitably, real-life horror. Complex? Perhaps. A complete mess? Very much so.
We love the lead actor ⌠but did we buy him playing the greatest maths genius in history, a man so smart heâs on the brink of a discovery that could destabilise society? No! This international thriller about secret services spying on â and eliminating â academics honestly got more farcical by the second. Silliness-by-numbers.
This uncritical portrait followed the online personality notorious for explicit escapades as she undertook her most extreme challenge yet. What on earth would possess her? What we craved was way more interrogation of her true psychology, 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 horrific shots and absolutely no interrogation of her infamy whatsoever. And to think, the filmmaker has a teenage daughter too.
Eleanor is a passionate writer and cultural enthusiast, sharing her experiences and discoveries from across the UK.