As we reflect on the TV landscape of the past year, a selection of series stand out not for their brilliance, but for their spectacular shortcomings. Ranging from cringe-inducing spin-offs to bafflingly bad documentaries, here are the productions that left us utterly bewildered or just reaching for the remote.
Where to begin with this divisive follow-up? Burdened with woeful scripts, cringe-inducing arcs (justice for Miranda!), and a paltry 71 seconds of beloved Samantha, the series fought to justify its existence. Briefly, as the third season began, it seemed as if it had finally hit its stride. Then came an installment all about Seemaās natural deodorant. Little surprise the showrunner announced this would be the last series. It ended on a low point; the lingering shot of Mirandaās loo flooded with poo was just way too symbolic. Still, viewers undeniably had a hoot picking apart every single āwhat on earth?ā moment. And as Carrie ā a single woman once more ā twirled around her palatial townhouse to Barry White, who didnāt let out a little sob?
āIs Kim Kardashian an actress? The answer is a resounding no.ā
But that was practically the least of this drama's problems. The recipient of a very rare no-star review, it was difficult to know where to start enumerating the flaws. The hilariously leaden dialogue? The tedious veneration of affluence and materialism? The seemingly deliberate procession of tropes? Performances so poor they felt borderline spiteful? Letās just say āall of the aboveā and forget about this series again. Except, a second season has been commissioned, so weāre likely going to have to.
Given the legal troubles, domestic violence claims and fatherly shortcomings, itās reasonable to say Charlie Sheen has been a troubled figure. Not that youād really have known it from this three-part docuseries which chuckled along at Sheenās various episodes of self-destructive hedonism while failing to tell us anything we didnāt already know. Rather, it felt as if this volatile personality was being indulged, so any sympathy this series might evoke should be saved for the people who have had to endure close contact with this charismatic but dismissive narcissist.
Naturally we understood it was preposterous from the outset: a drama about a supercomputer known as Charlie Big Potatoes that could either save the world ā or destroy all of humanity. We persevered out of pure 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 ended up hacking Charlie with an axe ⦠in painfully slow-motion. Talk about giving up the ghost.
Shady figures convening 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 unfair on the crime shows of the late 90s. Many seem a little dated now, but at least they didnāt suffer the ignominy of having to indulge baffling dialects. But there were plenty of other problems. Primarily that it was just profoundly boring; a conflict over drug-selling territory between various London rogues which seemed rather simplistic.
Given the extent to which she provokes the ire of the nationās performatively angry commentators, itās almost easy to applaud the Duchess of Sussexās televised forays into twee homemaking as intentional provocations. But then you view them and are forced to admit that actually, they might have a point. Itās like watching a homeware catalogue animated; a meme for evening drinks with ideas of grandeur; a procession of sleeping dogs, buzzing beehives, sentimental sayings and pointless crafting āhacksā youāll forget instantly. All supported by immense, largely unearned wealth. Ugh.
There are obviously fascinating things to be discussed about both Victoria Beckham and her struggles with career, identity, self-worth. But for some reason, this documentary series chose not to say them. Rather, the experience was akin to consuming a sales brochure. She clearly has every right to bridle at what she describes as her āsternā image. But unfortunately, 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 ā except even more extravagant, with a famous star playing dead and a sharp-tongued personality overseeing her estate. What more could you want? As players competed, there was plenty of backstabbing and arguing. But the rules quickly became incomprehensible: itās even now too confusing to detail what precisely was happening. Even more regrettably, we only saw brief appearances 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 do you follow a show that defined a generation? The pressure was immense for this glitzy romcom about Jessica, a hopeful New Yorker who lands in London with a broken heart. The star seized the opportunity by the horns and was a delight to watch, embodying Jane Austen levels of romantic ideals. But it was all very glossy and, paradoxically, was insufficient. Plus, the abundance of celebrity friends involved felt icky.
Not good enough to be āunevenā.
Given the smart inclusion of talented emerging comics, hopes were high. But unhappily, most of it fell flat. A particular sketch was a one-note joke milked to a dry pulp but repeated in every episode. One star seemed too ready to slip into a familiar ranting mode. The behind-the-scenes sketches, in contrast, simply inspired the thought that they should probably have stayed in there a while longer.
This dramatisation of the story of Amanda Knox was executive produced by Amanda Knox and pretty much exclusively presented the perspective of Amanda Knox. So, while there undoubtedly is an compelling drama to be made about the horrific 2007 murder, this isnāt it. The material needed to be treated sensitively. Instead, the series laboured awkwardly to find the right voice, lurching from oddly jaunty, somewhat mannered farce to inevitably, real-life horror. Twisted? Perhaps. A total mess? Absolutely.
We love the lead actor ⦠but did we buy him playing the most brilliant maths genius since, a man so intelligent heās on the brink of a discovery that could destabilise society? Nope! This globe-trotting thriller about secret services spying on ā and killing off ā intellectuals honestly got more farcical by the second. Silliness-by-numbers.
This hagiography followed the online personality renowned for sexual escapades as she prepared for her biggest feat yet. What on earth would possess her? What we craved was far greater interrogation of her true psychology, plus those of the men in the line. They could at least have interviewed the now-famous mum who appeared to drag her son out of the queue. What we got was disturbing shots and absolutely no critical analysis of her notoriety whatsoever. And to think, the documentary-maker has a teenage daughter too.
Isla Mariner is a seasoned maritime journalist with over a decade of experience covering shipping, ports, and ocean conservation.