I’ve written before of my love for George R.R. Martin’s epic A Song of Ice and Fire fantasy series. And two exciting things lie on the horizon for the series. First, Martin is aiming to have the fifth book in the series—A Dance With Dragons—finished and in the hands of readers by year’s end. And second, HBO is moving forward with their adaptation of the series’ first book, A Game of Thrones.

HBO has just announced that Tom McCarthy (The Station Agent, The Visitor) will be directing, and Peter Dinklage will be playing Tyrion Lannister. Now casting Dinklage as Tyrion is an obvious choice in my book. But I’m a little surprised by the choice of McCarthy.

I never would’ve pegged him as a director of dark, violent, adult-oriented fantasy. But one of the book’s greatest strengths is its complex, deeply written characters, and McCarthy has proven more than capable of dealing with such characters in his films. (Seriously, if you haven’t seen The Station Agent, rent it this weekend.)

Renae and I just discovered How I Met Your Mother. Yeah, I know we’re a few seasons late to the series, but between Netflix and Blockbuster, we’re making up for lost time as quickly as we can.

There are many things to love about the show, but as of right now, I’d say my three favorite things are:

1. The show’s willingness to go to all sorts of absurd lengths for laughs, such as this full-length music video for Robin Sparkles (one of the character’s Canadian pop-star alter ego), or the long-term gags and inside references that span seasons.
2. The absurd humor, pop culture references, and whatnot, don’t ever seem to get in the way of some surprisingly deep and engaging relationships, especially for a sit-com.
3. The show features some familiar faces from some of our favorite shows of yore, such as Freaks and Geeks, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Angel.

Oh, and don’t forget the robot.

Renae and I were in Japan when “Daybreak, Part II”—the final two hours of Battlestar Galactica—aired, but thank God for DVRs. Once we returned, still reeling from jet lag and a one-year-old who wouldn’t go to sleep until 4am, we hunkered down on the couch in our PJs to wrap up one of our favorite TV shows in recent memory.

We had deliberately avoided any spoilers, though it was inevitable that we’d hear some rumblings in the blogosphere about the finale, and to our dismay, most of them were negative. Seems a lot of folks really hated the finale. We, on the other hand, found it a fairly satisfying way to wrap up the Galactica’s long, hard journey. But rather than bore you with some long, in-depth analysis—which has already been done a million other places, and besides, I’m like a month late with this as it is—here’s a list of what we liked and didn’t like about the finale.

Note: I’m going to try and avoid spoilers as much as possible, in the odd chance that some of you haven’t seen the finale, but it has been a month, so I’m not going to be too careful. Consider yourself warned.

First, what we liked:

• While I certainly love my sci-fi cerebral and philosophical, I also like watching spaceships getting blowed up real good, and the first hour was full of great combat and action. And I enjoyed how the characters’ evolution was reflected in their roles in the climactic battle.
• The conclusion to Anders’ arc, which struck me as a very fitting end. And bonus points for the musical ode to the original series in Anders’ final scenes.
• Tory having to deal with the wages of her sins.
• Baltar coming full circle. His tearful breakdown at returning to, and being satisfied with, his roots was perhaps my favorite scene in the finale, and is certainly one of my favorite scenes in the entire series.
• The flash-forward at the very end, which in hindsight, didn’t bug me nearly as much as I thought it would, and which also provided some final and interesting commentary on human nature.
• The revelation of who Lee Adama appointed President of the Twelve Colonies made me chuckle, if only because I liked that particular character so much.
• Laura Roslin’s final words to Dr. Cottle was the finale’s finest bit of dialog.

And what we didn’t care for so much:

• For a series that delved so deeply into ambiguity, that reveled in the grit and grime so much, the ending did feel a little too neat and tidy. As odd as this sounds, I found myself wishing there’d been a little cloud to the silver lining that made up so much of the finale—it would’ve felt a little truer to the overall spirit of the series, I think.
• On a related note, I wish the finale had had more tragedy. But maybe that’s my melancholy side shining through—and I can’t really begrudge the creators wanting to give the characters some relief after all of the hell that they’d gone through.
• While I enjoyed the conclusions to several characters’ stories, there were other conclusions that left me going “Huh, that’s it?” The most obvious example would be Starbuck, whose conclusion was pretty shallow. At the risk of sounding hypocritical, this was a case where I didn’t want more ambiguity, but rather, something a little more concrete.
• I was also disappointed by Cavil’s final actions and his character’s conclusion. It seemed a little incongruous with what we’d learned of and heard from him in previous episodes, particularly his vehement hatred of humans, the “Final Five” Cylons, and God.
• As much as I enjoyed the series’ incorporation and exploration of religion, Baltar’s final speech about the nature of God was lame, lame, lame.
• I really wish that less time had been spent in flashbacks—a good deal of which felt superfluous, providing unnecessary revelations about the characters—and more time had been spent blowing up spaceships, weaving in a little more tragedy, and/or raising just a few more questions other than “What happened to Starbuck?”.
• I’m also a little disappointed that my prediction that Adama would go out in a blaze of glory by taking the Galactica on a suicide run into the Cylon hordes didn’t come true.

Perhaps, in a few years, we’ll sit down and watch the entire series on DVD in one fell swoop. It’ll be interesting then to see if/how the finale really wraps things up. But until then, I’m perfectly content with saying that Battlestar Galactica went out on a decent note.

When the re-imagined version of Battlestar Galactica was first announced, one of its most famous and vocal opponents was Richard Hatch, who had played Captain Apollo in the original Battlestar Galactica series. Hatch had campaigned for a sequel to the original series entitled The Second Coming, even going so far as to produce a trailer that he showed at various sci-fi conventions in an attempt to drum up support for the project.

Eventually, though, Hatch came around to support the reimagined version, and even accepted a role in the new series, playing a political revolutionary and terrorist named Tom Zarek. It was an interesting turn of events, and Hatch’s involvement not only provided a tangible connection to the past, but also paved the way for some the new series’ more interesting plotlines.

However, not all of the Battlestar Galactica alumni have been so gracious and accommodating, as it were. Dirk Benedict, aka the original Starbuck, wrote a pretty scathing indictment of the new series back in 2004 which was re-posted at Big Hollywood in January of this year (and was also re-posted on his official website in 2006).

Witness the “re-imagined” “Battlestar Galactica,” bleak, miserable, despairing, angry and confused. Which is to say, it reflects in microcosm the complete change in the politics and morality of today’s world, as opposed to the world of yesterday. The world of Lorne Greene (Adama), Fred Astaire (Starbuck’s Poppa) and Dirk Benedict (Starbuck). I would guess Lorne is glad he’s in that Big Bonanza in the sky and well out of it. Starbuck, alas, has not been so lucky. He’s not been left to pass quietly into that trivial world of cancelled TV characters.

“Re-imagining”, they call it. “Un-imagining” is more accurate. To take what once was and twist it into what never was intended. So that a television show based on hope, spiritual faith and family is un-imagined and regurgitated as a show of despair, sexual violence and family dysfunction. To better reflect the times of ambiguous morality in which we live, one would assume. A show in which the aliens (Cylons) are justified in their desire to destroy human civilization, one would assume. Indeed, let us not say who the good guys are and who the bad are. That is being “judgmental,” taking sides, and that kind of (simplistic) thinking went out with Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan and Kathryn Hepburn and John Wayne and, well, the original “Battlestar Galactica.”

In the bleak and miserable “re-imagined” world of “Battlestar Galactica,” things are never that simple. Maybe the Cylons are not evil and alien but in fact enlightened and evolved? Let us not judge them so harshly. Maybe it is they who deserve to live and Adama and his human ilk who deserve to die? And what a way to go! For the re-imagined terrorists (Cylons) are not mechanical robots void of soul, of sexuality, but rather humanoid six foot tall former lingerie models who f**k you to death… In the spirit of such soft-core, sci-fi porn I think a more re-imaginative title would have been “F**cked by A Cylon.” (Apologies to “Touched by an Angel.”)

And what lies behind Benedict’s critique? What is so amiss about the new series? In a word, “feminism”.

One thing is certain. In the new un-imagined, re-imagined world of “Battlestar Galactica” everything is female driven. The male characters, from Adama on down, are confused, weak and wracked with indecision, while the female characters are decisive, bold, angry as hell, puffing cigars (gasp!) and not about to take it any more.

Now, Benedict’s column isn’t entirely off-point. In its last third or so, he levels some equally scathing critiques at the “business as usual” attitude that permeates much of film and TV. Or as he puts it:

...movies and television shows are not made to enlighten or even entertain, but simply to make money. They will tell you it is (still) about story and character, but all it is really about is efficiency. About the Formula. Because Harvard Business School Technocrats run Hollywood and what Technocrats know is what must be removed from all business is Risk. And I tell you, life, real life, is all about risk. I tell you that without risk you have no creativity, no art.

I couldn’t agree more, but seriously, criticizing the movie and television industries for being cultural, intellectual, and spiritual wastelands is the critical equivalent of shooting fish in a barrel. Everyone knows it, but that’s not the sad thing. The sad thing is that few folks are trying to change it, are trying to present an alternative.

And in my opinion, some of those folks include those behind the new Battlestar Galactica series. As might be obvious by now—if you’ve spent any time reading Opus in the last year or so, that is—where Benedict finds a TV show that is “bleak, miserable, despairing, angry and confused”, I find something that is risky, enlightening, and challenging.

Now, at one time, I would’ve agreed with Benedict wholeheartedly. I hated the reimagined version when I first saw it and was instantly put off by all of the negativity and bleakess. It was only after my wife saw the mini-series and liked it that I gave it a second chance.

Seeing as how it appears that Benedict’s article is substantially the same now as it was several years ago, I can only assume that Benedict’s assessment of the new series has remained unchanged throughout the years. Which adds to the sense that most of Benedict’s comments stem, not from any critical evaluation of the show, but rather, from a case of nostalgia for the “good ‘ol days” (back “when men were men, women were women and sometimes a cigar was just a good smoke”, as he puts it). Which creates a rather myopic view of a show that is far more complex than he seems willing to give it credit for.

When he complains that the new series’ male characters, such as Adama, are weak and confused (i.e., unmanly), I wonder what he’d think had he seen the evolution and development of the character. True, the new Adama is no Lorne Greene, but I can think of few characters in recent television history who display as much integrity and honor as Adama.

And then there’s Helo, who has been consistently noble throughout the series, whether defending the fleet or fighting against the hatred and discrimination shown his Cylon wife. Let’s not forget Anders, who fights hard to save his marriage, even as he struggles with the darker, more unsuspected sides of his character. And don’t get me started on Tigh, who started out the series as a mean drunk (and was fairly close to Benedict’s criticisms), but has become progressively more interesting, complex, and even admirable within the last few episodes.

As for the new series’ female characters, I find Benedict’s criticism rather lacking there as well. Laura Roslin has certainly had her defining moments as President of the fleet, but she’s also displayed horrible lapses in judgment and been party to criminal deeds and terrible abuses of justice. Not surprisingly, Benedict has an especial amount of vitriol for the new Starbuck, who is—horror of horrors!—a cigar-chomping lady rather than a cigar-chomping dude. Sure, the new Starbuck may be angry as hell and a helluva smoker, but she’s hardly presented as a heroic figure. She’s among the the most confused, indecisive, and pitiable characters on the show, and her anger and boldness are merely masks behind which she hides the doubt and fear at the heart of her character.

I’ve found that one of the new series’ greatest strength is the extent to which it portrays its characters as flawed—even the Cylons. Indeed, no show on television seems as intent on revealing and investigating—and to be sure, at times revelling in—the brokenness and fallenness of its characters.

Benedict hates this moral ambiguity and wants to be able to call the good guys “good” and the bad guys “bad”. And there’s certainly an appeal to that. We all want obvious, clearcut heroes that we can admire and be inspired by, and we want clearcut villains so we know who to fight—we want to see things in black and white. But the truth is that the world we live in is, in fact, a morally complex place, and that’s only become more obvious within recent years. We live in a broken and fallen world, and nothing is as broken and fallen as humanity. And to that extent, Battlestar Galactica is as honest and truthful as any show I’ve seen.

Battlestar Galactica is undoubtedly bleak, and at times, the writers do seem to take a sadistic pleasure in heaping as much misfortune on the characters as possible. But let’s not forget that it’s a show in which the central premise is that the whole of humanity has been reduced to a ragtag fleet of 50,000 survivors drifting through the galaxy trying to find a new home while being pursued by machines bent on their annihilation. If that’s not bleak, if that’s not a cause for despair, then I don’t know what is—and I daresay that the new series is far truer to the setting than the original series. But I won’t go so far as to say that it is hopeless or nihilistic—and neither does it display any falsehoods about the nature of humanity, both the good and the bad.

One scene in particular stands out in my mind. In the episode “Crossroads, Part II”, the final episode of season 3, Dr. Baltar is on trial for treason, having been charged with assisting in the destruction of humanity. Through various events, Lee Adama—Adama’s son—is now serving as one of Baltar’s defense attornies. Called to the stand, Lee gives an impassioned speech in which he directly confronts the broken situation in which humanity’s remnant’s find themselves and realizes that only one thing can save them.

Lee contends that it is only through forgiveness—by showing grace and mercy to even the worst of offenders—that humanity can be saved, can be redeemed. For, as he explains with great detail, mentioning one great transgression committed by himself and others after another, everyone is guilty.

In his criticism, Benedict complains that the new Battlestar Galactica is no longer a show “based on hope, spiritual faith and family”, but rather “a show of despair, sexual violence and family dysfunction”. But in that moment with Lee Adama, and other smaller ones like it, I see threads of hope within the new Battlestar Galactica. But it is not a false and easy hope; it is not a hope rooted in a glossed over, halcyonic vision of the world and human nature (or a nostalgia for the “good ol’ days”).

It is hope that remains, even when confronted by the worst in us, and strengthened by the realization that we need eachother to survive, that the only things that will truly see us through are grace and forgiveness. And while there is certainly plenty of despair, sexual violence, and family dysfunction within the new series, such things are never presented as laudatory and praiseworthy, but rather as the trials and tribulations of survival, and hopefully, something to overcome when Galactica finally arrives at her destination—wherever that may be.

Heroes... it’s not you, it’s me. No, wait a minute… it is you.

Your first season was great, with interesting characters, the right balance of humor, drama, and action—everything you need for a good TV show. Some people might’ve accused you of cribbing a little too much from Watchmen, but hey, if you’re going to crib, it may as well be from the best. Your second season was a little rockier, what with all writers’ strike and all, but you did the best with what you had, and you still came out ahead in my book.

But what happened to you in season three? Your characters started going things that were, well, uncharacteristic at best, and completely idiotic at worst. Your attempts to interject drama and tension floundered again and again. The conspiracies and double-crosses became more preposterous, with each episode digging itself a little deeper into the hole. There were glimmers here and there of that old Heroes spark, but you seemed intent on squashing it again and again.

But I think the final straw came during the Super Bowl, and your ridiculous commercials? A Heroes-themed musical number? The Heroes characters tackling (npi) football legends on the gridiron? If you can’t even take yourself seriously, especially considering just how far you’ve fallen (if your ratings are any indication), then why should I?

Some people might argue that, because you’re a show about people with superpowers like flight, time travel, and mind-reading, I should cut you some slack, suspend my disbelief, and so on when you start getting ridiculous. But I’d argue the exact opposite. If you’re going to use superpowers and other fantastical stuff, the restrictions and expectations should be higher, not lower. There must be rules, there must be consistency. You can’t just throw everything against the wall to see what sticks, which seemed to have been the approach so far in the third season. While this is true of any fiction, it must be even truer of fantastical fiction—otherwise you’re left with nonsense.

And so here we are, the start of the new episode. I got about fifteen seconds in before realizing that I just don’t care anymore. I don’t care about Peter and Nathan’s relationship. I don’t care about Claire and her daddy issues. I don’t care about Hiro and Ando. I don’t care about the Company, or whatever other organizations are making power plays. I don’t care about Mohinder’s ethical and moral crises anymore. In the past, I kept holding out, waiting for that original spark. But frankly, it’s too late and I want to do other things with my time… like watch that episode of Dogs 101 that I recorded earlier tonight.

I’ve been continually mulling over the events of “Sometimes A Great Notion”, the first of the final Battlestar Galactica episodes, since Friday night. Honestly, I don’t know how I feel about some of the episode’s revelations even as I find myself floored by the intensity and audacity of other revelations. Providing some interesting background and context for my musings has been this extensive—and spoiler-filled—article by Maureen Ryan, which includes an interview with series producer Ron Moore as well as some essays and thoughts from the episode’s writers and director.

There are some really great “behind the scenes” tidbits throughout the piece, including: Ingmar Bergman’s influence on the episode; how an actor’s ad-libbing added a whole new depth to their scenes; how budgetary constraints were overcome in the most creative ways; and how the writers’ strike and fears of cancellation impacted the episode… for the better.

As mentioned earlier, the article is full of spoilers—and I encrypted the article’s URL because even that contained potential spoilers—so consider yourself warned. I did, however, want to include this quote from one of the episode’s writers that explains much of what makes Battlestar Galactica so good:

We wanted to take the time to examine what happens to people when their dreams are shattered, when everything they held as true turns out to be an illusion. After a blow like that, how do you pick yourself up from the floor and go on? Are you able to pick yourself up at all?

This is perhaps the most universal theme you can explore… For those of us here on Earth, the dream could be… the house you saved all your life for but now can no longer afford to make payments on. The career you fantasized about since high school, went to college to prepare for, finally landed and loved, then lost when your company downsized. The woman or man you met who seemed to be everything you ever wanted to find in a lover, who betrayed your trust or left you or died. The flood waters that swept your entire neighborhood away. The war in a far away land that took your son or daughter or husband or wife. The spot on an X-ray that now wants to eat you alive.

Or, to put it another way, no show makes despair so consistently compelling as Battlestar Galactica. Which, odd as it seems, is actually a very good thing.

Renae and I don’t really follow the television season all that closely. However, we were definitely excited about the new season of Heroes. We came to show a little late, but quickly caught up via Netflix, and in the process, developed a new TV addiction. Superhero stories are a dime a dozen these days, but Heroes took the novel approach of exploring the more mundane side of superpowers—how suddenly finding out that you could bend the space-time continuum, or fly, or walk through walls might affect your normal, everyday life, your relationships, your job, and your family even as you’re trying to save the world.

It wove in such time-honored clichés as secret societies and conspiracies, fate and destiny, sacrifice, and the necessity of allowing evil to be done in order to achieve good—clichés that never really go out of style. And it did so while containing a certain sense of whimsy and fun. Which is not to say that Heroes was a whimsical series, by any stretch of the imagination. There was plenty of darkness and disturbing content, but the series never forgot its comic book origins, and primarily through the character of Hiro Nakamura, it managed a certain levity that was certainly crucial to the series’ success.

You’ll notice, though, that I’ve been speaking in the past tense. I realize we’re only five episodes into Heroes’ third season, but so far, it’s been pretty disappointing. While the series was never lacking in ambition or epic scope, the two-hour season premiere reached ridiculous heights, cramming in plotline after plotline and revelation after revelation on a pace so relentless, it would have The Dark Knight calling time-out. And it’s never really settled down since. Indeed, it’s so exhausting, I feel like I’ve seen twice as many episodes as I actually have.

Of course, one of joys of watching Heroes was trying to follow the myriad conspiracies and mysteries, trying to make sense of them and eventually, just sitting back and enjoying the reveals. But this time out, it just feels like the writers have completely lost track of where things are going. As a result, the series continually spirals out of control—and no, time travel isn’t a convenient way to explain everything away. Like magic, there has to be rules, but it seems as if the rulebook has been tossed aside and instead, a page or two has been cribbed from Lost‘s writers’ manual circa Season 2. Worst of all, this is being done at the expense of Heroes’ two greatest strengths: its characters and that aforementioned sense of fun that was always lurking in the background.

So far, there have been several times in each episode where Renae and I look at eachother, and ask “Why on Earth did he/she do that?”, unable to fathom yet another twist in a previously beloved character. IGN’s Robert Canning put it well in his review of the season premier:

...one major problem I have with this premiere is that some of the choices made by major characters are a bit hard to swallow. Hiro and Mohinder in particular have frustrating starts to this new volume. These two characters have been through many major life altering events, yet their actions in “The Second Coming” do not seem to reflect anything they would have learned from their past experiences. Hiro’s choices are especially annoying. Though he has seen many horrors, even the death of his father, he still acts like an exuberant schoolboy… except when a serious Hiro is needed to advance the plot.

That’s exactly right, and unfortunately, it hasn’t improved yet. Mohinder’s character arc is so antithetical to what we’ve seen and know of the character so far, it’s utterly ridiculous. And I simply can’t understand the writers’ desire to turn Hiro into a bad-ass—to quote the most recent episode (may contain spoilers)—thereby shedding any familiar traces of the nebbish-yet-beloved time traveller. Put simply, I miss the old Hiro, oftentimes the series’ one source of light and innocence—the one who struggled to understand and use his powers with a sense of hope, destiny, and even joy.

But “joy” is in short supply these days. It should be expected that things get darker this time around, what with the season’s “Villains” theme and all. But do things need to get this dark? It almost feels like there’s an unspoken competition with shows like Fringe to see how gory or disturbing things can get. (Though, in Heroes’ defense, it’s nowhere near as execrable as J.J. Abrams’ latest.) And it doesn’t add to the show’s intensity one bit, it just gets irritating after awhile.

I suppose I should give the writers the benefit of the doubt, seeing as how they produced two solid seasons of entertainment (even Season Two, as truncated as it was, still had some of that old Heroes magic). And the final events in the most recent episode give me some hope that we might start seeing some resolution, some amount of pay-off for all of the muddling about.

But so far, as each episode spins off the tracks with yet another preposterous twist, or another time travel quandary, or the continued short-shrifting of well-established (and promising) characters, my expectations get a little lower and I find myself wondering if there’s anything else worth watching in the timeslot—or if I should just curl up with a couple of good comic books instead.

My first viewing of Spaceballs was when I was about 15 or so, and it was a seminal experience. Although I’d seen Blazing Saddles before (albeit in a censored, safe for network television version), I was too young to understand Mel Brooks’  trademark parodying. But Spaceballs was something else; as soon as I saw that opening spaceship crawl, I was in stitches, and from there, I was completely in. Both I and my friends, in fact; Spaceballs has the dubious honor of being the first movie that my friends and I would quote back and forth with eachother.

To this day, lines like ...evil will always triumph because good is dumb and Say goodbye to your two best friends, and I’m not talking about the ones in the Winnebago! can still make me crack up (much to my wife’s chagrin).

All that being said, there was really never any point for a sequel, be it Spaceballs 2: The Search For More Money or Spaceballs 3: The Search For Spaceballs 2. These days, the market of pop culture riffing and parodying is pretty much saturated, thanks to shows such as Family Guy and Robot Chicken. But, that didn’t stop Mel Brooks from going ahead with a sequel, though in animated form.

I caught some of the animated series earlier today (it’s playing on G4), and describing it as underwhelming is generous. It’s pretty much what you’d expect—pop culture riffing in the same vein as the aforementioned Family Guy and Robot Chicken. However, it’s nowhere near as clever, funny, or edgy (phallic spaceships and jiggling cartoon breasts notwithstanding).

The two episodes that I saw riffed on Lord of the Rings and the Grand Theft Auto games: not exactly the most original of targets, and targets that have been parodied much better elsewhere. If anything, the animated series makes Mel Brooks—arguably one of the original masters of parody and farce—look like little more than a rip-off or Johnny-come-lately. And the less said about the animation, the better: it looks like it was done by Drawn Together‘s third-string team and makes Family Guy look like Miyazaki.

Frankly, give me Robot Chicken‘s Star Wars episode any day of the week.