There is no secret about the absolute screaming suckitude of this season's Battlestar Galactica. So far two of the episodes (including the most recent one) have been okay -- like, "almost but not quite in the realm of where I got used to the show being"-okay. But the majority have been irritating snooze-fests, and even the good ones are crapped up with things like far too-long-lasting close-ups of Lieutenant Gaeta's lips as he sings far too loudly, and long. It's not the existence of the element (in this case the singing), it's the ham-handed presentation that's getting on my nerves.
Take Gaius Baltar... please. Take him right off the show and leave him at the bottom of a waste basket somewhere. Nothing against James Callis -- back when they gave him good lines and a decent plot, he was one of the best parts of the show. But now he's a garish attempt at a Jesus reference, so clumsily and obviously portrayed that your eyes roll involuntarily. It's hard to watch a show with your irises focused on your cerebellum, but it's just such a relief to see something resembling brains.
I extend my pity to every actor on the show: after years of service they've all been handed shit for a script, and they're doing the best they can, I'm sure. But you can't make a turd fly, even if you put an experienced pilot on the job.
Truth be told, BSG didn't fall apart this season; it fell apart last season. The shows started developing long lagging periods of inaction, and conversations that were just a little too "this is the time when we recap the plot to the audience whose attention is clearly fading"-moments. Even the actions scenes are being interrupted to give us longing emotional glances at the characters' faces. Ugh. It's a space drama not a painting. Make the bitch move!
Which brings me to my question: why am I still watching Battlestar Galactica? If I'd checked out at the end of season 2, I would have nothing but fond memories and kick-ass DVDs. Instead I've got this long twisting irritating sloppy-sappy stupid half-organized mess between me and those memories. I have absolutely no faith at all in my storyteller: I expect him to screw me over, take me for granted, fail to come through, and leave me hanging, and bored. Why do I keep watching? Why? Why?
Is it because I care about who the last Cylon is? Not really. So much of the last two seasons' plots have seemed half-assed in their design that whomever the last Cylon turns out to be, it will seem a random choice, not an inevitable truth. Is it because I want to see them reach Earth? Maybe a little: I'm curious when they get to Earth will it be the days of ancient Greece, the modern age, the future? But aside from that, meh. That leg's been pulled so long and without effect that it's lost all feeling. Is it because I care about the characters and want to see what will happen to them, whether they live or die, etc.? Not really. The crappy plot lines have long since destroyed my ability to suspend disbelief, and I so pity the actors for being put through such humiliating paces that I can hardly see them as Kara Thrace, or Saul Tigh, or Galen Tyrol -- I see this, and this, and this.
So why am I still watching Battlestar Galactica? I don't know. I guess it's just the Earth thing. Feh. I'm being made the fool.