Quote of the Day

"The Republicans created the Tea Party. They rebelled. They devolved. And they have a plan."

-- Oliver Willis via Twitter

Mal Adjusted

For those who missed it or, heaven forbid, weren't aware it was happening in the first place -- ABC's Castle got a visit from a very special guest last night (sort of).

TV Overmind: Firefly's Mal Reynolds Returns/10.27.09

Between that and the release of Battlestar Galactica: The Plan today, I'm so getting my geek on right now.

The Beginning of the End

It's common knowledge around these parts that I kneel at the altar of Battlestar Galactica. Because of this, I admit to being skeptical when I first heard that a prequel series, Caprica, was in the works, and that it would focus on the years leading up to the Cylon rebellion and the eventual fall of man.

From the beginning, Ronald Moore and David Eick pitched it as a family drama that just happens to be set on another planet. I wasn't sure what to make of this idea and I can't say that I was particularly excited about the whole thing -- until I finally sat down and watched the two-hour movie that acts as the show's pilot a couple of months ago.

It's astonishingly good. Better in some ways even than Battlestar. The damn thing is honestly some of the best two hours of "television" (and I qualify that because the DVD version I watched included nudity and violence not shown on TV) I've seen in a very long time. It's must-see viewing for any fan of BSG.

Now comes the series, which will initially be marketed through screenings at various national film festivals and via an already controversial ad campaign. Granted, it's only being called controversial because when a sneak peek at the campaign was posted on iO9, some of the commenters went freaking ballistic.

What they're concerned about is an ad featuring Zoe -- the rebellious teenage girl whose mind and spirit become the very soul of the Cylon race -- assuming an "Eve" position and looking over her shoulder seductively while offering an apple. Granted on the show, Zoe is supposed to be a high school student (and the actress who plays her, Alessandra Torresani, is in reality 22), but at least one outraged commenter complains that "she looks like she's only eight years old!" Now let's be honest: Any sort of controversy is good for a show's ratings. But the question is, is this controversy justified?

In a week where we've seen the arrest of Roman Polanski on a child rape conviction and the removal of an infamous picture of a naked, 10-year-old Brooke Shields from a London museum, the debate over what constitutes the acceptable sexualization of youth -- and whether there even is such a thing -- is front and center in the public consciousness.

It's rare that I don't offer an opinion on a subject and just put it out there for open debate, but I'm doing it this time because I'm curious what the response will be.

So, is the Caprica ad catnip for pedophiles or this a lot of felgercarb? (Sorry, couldn't resist.)

The Final Sit Rep

Wow. Just wow.

Frakkin' excellent -- absolutely frakkin' superb -- and I can't believe it's over. Not that they'll read this, but I want to thank the cast and crew of Battlestar Galactica for five great years.

For one last time: So say we all.

Sit Rep

***Spoiler Alert***

So for the record, I loved the "choose your side" way of setting up the final battle (which, judging by the previews for next week's series finale, will be a doozy). It was such over-the-top drama, but it worked perfectly.

Also really liked the flashbacks. I'm not sure how much they added, but there was something sad and powerful about each of them and together they acted as a terrific reminder of how much you've cared about these characters for the last six years and how much the entire landscape of the show has changed since the miniseries. (I have no doubt that Lee and the bird will be especially important next week. Thoughts? Theories?)

Finally, what could be the most cryptic yet prophetic line from last night: Anders saying, "Find a Perfect World for the End of Kara Thrace."

What does it all mean? We'll find out next Friday night. See you all there.

Sit Rep

***Spoiler Alert***

Okay, so Starbuck's father was the mysterious and long-lost 13th Cylon, Daniel -- the artistic one Cavil and Ellen Tigh talked about two weeks ago (and if you couldn't figure out almost immediately that the piano player was Starbuck's father and that the drawing Hera made for Starbuck was a series of musical notes, turn in your wings).

That's Starbuck's connection to the Cylons (and her destiny): She's the original human/Cylon hybrid.

All in all -- between the kick-ass Boomer plotline and Katie Sackhoff's wonderfully nuanced performance -- an exceptional episode.

Anybody got any other theories about what we witnessed?

Sit Rep

So I finally got around to watching last week's Battlestar Galactica.

Wow.

Well, at least no one can accuse them of not making good on the promise that "You Will Know the Truth."

Thoughts? Theories?

Sit Rep

So the 5th Cylon is revealed, a really heartbreaking end for one beloved character, and Starbuck has a funeral for herself.

Thoughts?

Theories?

Frak Yeah!

Battlestar Galactica returns tonight.

That is all.

Gayta

In case you haven't heard, the new Battlestar Galactica webisode series Face of the Enemy began yesterday.

There will be ten internet-only episodes, leading up to the start of the final BSG season on January 16th.

The storyline of the miniseries involves an entirely new trauma for the already-suffering Lieutenant Gaeta: he's stranded on a lost Raptor along with two pilots, a mechanic and two versions of Sharon Agathon/Valerii.

It's started off in fine fashion by revealing at least one secret that's been speculated on for quite a while.

Apparently Galactica comes equipped with plenty of closets.

Sci-Fi.com: "Battlestar Galactica: Face of the Enemy" Webisode #1/12.12.08

Joe the Punter

At the beginning of the third season of Battlestar Galactica, most of what remains of the human population has been forced into an uneasy communal relationship with the Cylons after their surprise invasion of New Caprica. "Communal relationship," however, is a gross euphemism, as the reality is that the humans are little more than slaves to their Cylon overlords: they're under vigilant watch and forced to live in constant fear; they're subtly and sometimes not-so-subtly threatened with overwhelming force should they conspire against the military state; they're tortured in prison camps if they get out of line.

During this period of subjugation, a few humans -- either through rank opportunism or simply a resignation to the inevitability of the situation -- choose to cooperate with the Cylons and the puppet government they've created. They serve in office, join the secret police which is tasked with hunting down and "dealing with" insurgents among the population, and work in administrative positions.*

After the humans are freed in a daring rescue and are finally back with the fleet, those who collaborated with the Cylons on New Caprica are systematically hunted down by a secret tribunal, "tried" and, if convicted, executed. This sentence is carried out by putting them into a launch tube and firing them out of the air lock into space.**

Why do I bring this up?

Because Joe Lieberman is now talking to anyone who will listen about how much "respect" he's always had for Barack Obama.

No doubt sensing which way the political winds are blowing and hoping not to be rendered utterly irrelevant by them, the one-time Democratic vice presidential candidate turned full-time GOP attack dog seems to be trying to hedge his bet in the final days before America goes to the polls. For months Lieberman has played John McCain's sycophantic Renfield and led the charge against Barack Obama, accusing the Democrat of not putting "country first" and insinuating that he may be a Marxist. But now that the McCain campaign looks to be headed for an embarrassing defeat, Lieberman -- feckless little weasel that he is -- may be looking for a way back into the fold that he so categorically turned away from. It's one thing to think independently and put conscience above party; not only is this generally the correct way to behave -- it's the only way for anyone who considers him or herself to be intellectually honest. Lieberman didn't do that though -- not by a long shot. He used his position as someone who was nominally an insider within one political party to work toward the goals of another, basically taking on the role of double-agent. And what's worse, despite his claim of "respect" for Barack Obama, he helped mastermind a series of vicious attacks on the man he now fears may wind up being president and worked as hard as just about anyone to ensure his defeat.

So, what should become of Lieberman on November 5th if Obama wins the presidency?

Three words: Suck space, Joe.***

*I realize that the profiteering confederate is pretty much an archetype by this point and that a stronger analogy would've been, say, those very real people who cooperated with despotic regimes during wartime, but I'm all about pop culture and happen to like Battlestar Galactica, so deal with it.

**I'll overlook the fact that, in the context of the show, the secret tribunal is supposed to be a nefarious entity -- a vigilante group which does more harm than good -- and that Gaius Baltar is eventually acquitted of collaborating with the Cylons. I can do this because it's my blog -- so once again, deal with it.

***No, of course I'm not suggesting that Joe Lieberman be shot into space. It's a metaphor. For sending him somewhere he'll never be heard from again. Like space.

The Centurion Candidates

The Nocturnal Circus

One of the by-products of sleeping an hour or two at a time (if you're lucky) each night is that your dreams come in the form of rapid-fire, hyper-vivid blasts on the walls of your brain.

At differing points last night, I was sure that I was playing drums for My Chemical Romance and, more memorably, naked in bed with Katee Sackhoff.

Maybe I could get used to this after all.

Serial Killer (Redux)

In the quest to fill some space during a period in my life where I'm sleeping literally two, maybe three hours a night tops (if I'm lucky), I'm dredging up this piece from August of last year -- one that was cross-posted over at Pajiba. It provides a little insight into the man behind Sci-Fi's craptastic reimagining of Flash Gordon. Incidentally, when you're done, I'd highly suggest checking out Daniel Carlson's recent paean to Season One of the infinitely better series reimagining on Sci-Fi: Battlestar Galactica. (Pajiba: "So Say We All" by Daniel Carlson/8.5.08)

When I first heard that Flash Gordon would be returning to television, I admit my interest was mildly piqued. Although never a die-hard fan of the original comic or serial -- both were well before my time -- I'll be the first to proudly proclaim my odd and unyielding devotion to the absolutely God-awful 1980 movie starring Sam J. Jones, Melody Anderson and, for reasons unknown to this day, a host of people who could actually act. In addition to being the single worst career move in Brian Blessed's lifetime -- as there's little doubt that he's since been forced to endure frequent and infuriating shouts of "DIVE!" from various live audiences while attempting to perform, say, Shakespeare's Richard III on the Haymarket stage in London -- the film is best remembered for its campy style, punctuated by a brilliantly absurd score from Queen.

I was curious as to whether the new series would take the traditional route or purposely party like it's 1980 and go completely over-the-top. Regardless, it had one thing going for it right off the bat -- it was being given a run on cable's Sci-Fi network, which, despite having successfully exhausted the entire "O-Saurus" genre, had carved out a certain place in my heart by bringing the whip-smart reimagining of Battlestar Galactica to television.

So, yesterday, I downloaded the pilot episode of the new Flash Gordon free on iTunes, settled in with a bag of Bugles and a depth-charge-sized cup of Crystal-Lite raspberry lemonade and watched from start-to-finish.

And?

It's just fucking terrible.

I'm not talking destined-for-kitschy-cult-classic-status terrible; I'm talking unwatchably bad.

The entire thing feels like an Ark II-esque Saturday-morning venture (and not in the good, old-serial sort of way); it looks like it was produced -- special effects and all -- by a junior high AV class; and the dialogue sounds as if it were written by Dawson of Dawson's Creek when he first got that Spielberg jones -- say, around age five.

The goddamned thing was free, and I still wanted my money back.

I found myself immediately demanding to know just who was responsible for such a painful atrocity, as I hadn't done much in the way of research before sitting down to watch, nor would I have been able to live with myself had I actually taken the time to delve too deeply into the parentage of Flash Gordon. That's when I realized that I had missed the opening credits entirely -- no doubt in the kitchen at the time, grabbing the aforementioned Bugles and Crystal-Lite.

So I skipped back to the beginning, careful not to subject myself to even a momentary second-viewing of the nonsense I'd just witnessed, and when I got there, you can imagine my surprise -- or complete lack thereof -- at what I found.

Robert Halmi Sr.

The Godfather of crap.

For the uninitiated, Robert Halmi Sr. was once known as the "King of the Mini-Series." He was the man responsible (read: to blame) for a huge swath of supposedly epic, Tolkein-on-the-cheap, TV sweeps extravaganzas -- beginning with Gulliver's Travels in 1996, starring (oh dear God) Ted Danson and Mary Steenburgen, eventually winding its way through an entire catalogue of fantasy titles like Merlin, The Odyssey, Alice in Wonderland, and The 10th Kingdom, and finally coming to a merciful end with 2002's Dinotopia. During Halmi's heyday, there wasn't a magical land of make-believe beyond his reach, as long as cut-rate CGI could support it.

Infinitely more entertaining though than Halmi's leviathan ten-hour televised elementary school pageants was Halmi himself. A diminutive, 80-something Hungarian immigrant with an obligatory streak of white hair -- his unpredictable temper and bitter disdain for the very TV executives who regularly and inexplicably agreed to fund his schlock was the stuff of legend. I've never actually seen an interview with Halmi, but knowing his demeanor all-too-well, I always picture his mannerisms being quite a bit like Patton Oswalt's impression of surly TV painter William Alexander.


I was still picking up a paycheck from NBC when Halmi's flame-out began -- when his magical fantasy world started to crumble, so to speak, and his banishment from network television seemed all-but-assured.

In 2000, after a series of projects which became known for their consistently escalating budgets and consistently diminishing returns in the way of ratings (as well as one, The Magical Legend of the Leprechauns, which became fodder for late-night comedians everywhere thanks to its rather un-PC portrayal of the Irish), NBC reacted with hesitation when presented with Halmi's opus: The 10th Kingdom. More than a few cracks had developed in the network's once mighty primetime schedule and the powers that be were weighing their sweeps choices more carefully than usual; Garth Ancier, the programming chief at the time, simply wasn't sure it was worth the risk involved in tying up five nights of valuable airtime with another of Angry Bob's whimsical epics.

His Solomon-like solution: Straddle it at the end of the book -- with the first episodes inside the sweeps period and the last ones safely outside. As expected, it bombed -- leading NBC's mini-series chief Lindy DeKoven to fall on her sword for signing the thing in the first place.

Halmi's response to all of this?

He went fucking ballistic.

He screamed to anyone who would listen about NBC's lack of vision and how no one at the network appreciated "imaginative fantasy" anymore, and he vowed to take his next project elsewhere -- leading to the compulsory public statement of remorse from NBC, followed immediately by the private Don't-Let-the-Door-Hit-You-In-the-Ass-On-the-Way-Out party.

That next project, by the way, was 2002's incomparably silly Dinotopia; the "elsewhere" was ABC.

The ratings were as you might expect.

In the space between Halmi's initial descent at NBC and his final crash-and-burn at ABC, he managed to piss-off every other network executive in the contiguous 48 -- at one point inundating CBS big gun Les Moonves with faxes designed to antagonize the living hell out of him after learning that Moonves had publicly insinuated that Halmi did little more than crank out bad special effects.

But time heals all wounds apparently, and Halmi has allowed himself -- and has been allowed -- back under the tent of one of the big networks, as Sci-Fi is owned by NBC Universal. Apparently and unfortunately however, one thing that hasn't changed is his almost preternatural knack for being able to get away with churning out ridiculous garbage -- as evidenced by the new Flash Gordon.

Like much of what Halmi has done in the past, his latest effort is an embarrassment to the network carrying it, and the presence of it makes it crystal clear just how much Sci-Fi is going to suffer when Battlestar wraps-up for good. If this is the kind of brand the network is set on advancing, and NBC is content with accepting, it's pretty much doomed to a consistent level of failure.

But hey, with Halmi on board, at least Sci-Fi can be assured that it'll never run out of badly produced dinosaur movies.

Coming soon: Carnotopia.

The Centurion Candidate

Over the past several months, I've written only occasionally about the current race for the White House. Sure, lately the number of pieces having to do with the upcoming presidential election have increased, and I haven't held back when it comes to criticizing the actions of some candidates while lauding those of others -- but Deus Ex Malcontent has yet to officially endorse any particular person.

Until now.

So, for the office of President of the United States, I'm getting behind a man with a lengthy military record.

A man who spent time in an enemy prison camp and was severely tortured, leaving him both physically and emotionally scarred.

A man who has serious anger management issues and is quick-tempered to the point of being slightly unhinged.

A man who's often confused about just who the enemy is, makes glaring misstatements, and sometimes can't seem to think clearly.

A man who once called for a long, drawn-out, win-at-all-costs war, even going so far as to contemptuously dismiss any political dissent.

A man who, despite his impressive title, doesn't have the full support and confidence of his peers.

A man who's had a contentious, volatile relationship with his wife, an aging bottle-blonde he blames for publicly humiliating him and against whom he's resorted to at least one unspeakable act that he now refuses to talk about.

A man who can't make a decision without first consulting his friend and superior, and who would likely attempt to continue the kind of rule that's been in place for the past several years, simply because he doesn't know anything else.

A bitter and angry old man with a practically non-existent head of thin white hair and a knack for contorting his face into a near-perpetual steely grimace.

So, who is this man?

Well, of course, he's...

Colonel Saul Tigh.

Why, who did you think I was talking about?


Vote Tigh in '08.

He has a plan.