“I come not to praise BSG, but to bury it.”

Well, it’s over. And I have lots to say as a requiem. Unfortunately, I am swamped for the next two days with legitimate writing work. And really, I think I am still a bit too grief stricken to write yet. I will soon, however, as I think there are some key lessons about bad storytelling, and the problems of sustaining excellence in television in general, that we can pick off the carcass of this once great series.

I’m opening a thread here for anybody to comment on the “Emperor’s clothes” journey that has been Battlestar Galactica, Season Four, and particularly the last episode, Daybreak, Pt I and II.

Feel free to just write that you are heartbroken too. There is, as Emily Dickinson notes, a certain comfort in knowing you are not alone in your discomfiture.

More as soon as I can defend the time expenditure…

Noah - The Emperor's New Movie
Because That Puerile, Stupid Song is Really a Poison
"Nothing Left to Say of Me" - Flannery O'Connor's, "A Prayer Journal"
The Rest of the Review: Flannery O'Connor's "A Prayer Journal"