I just finished watching all of Battlestar Galactica on Netflix last Sunday night. As soon as our subscription to Netflix through our PS3 was set up (the awesomest thing, BTW!), and we found it, we started watching. We began with the Pegasus episodes, as Ben had missed those in the first go-round, and was still hankering to watch them. That broke the levees, because I hadn’t seen the original mini-series. So that was next. And then it was three hours a night, almost every night, for the past two-and-a-half weeks. And I was sobbing like a baby at the end – again.
It also brought me back to the anger, however idiotic, at the complete rejection of this series by people who hand out rewards for quality entertainment. Even though I can cry at the at the remotest hint raw emotion (I blame the two children I bore because I wasn’t this way before them) this is a powerful show.
The narrow vision of those who judge and hand out rewards is prominently on display, because this show was never recognized in any category. The acting is superb, the effects awesome, and the sci-fi element of the premise enhances the drama. Even though this is a “space” epic, the “epic” part of this categorization is more important.
I became enamored of the series starting, it think, with the second half of the second season. And just before the third season started SciFi (now the stupid SyFy channel) had a BSG-athon the entire week before the first episode of the third season. And since Ben and I hadn’t seen them, we immediately turned into zombies for a week. There were rock-paper-scissor tournaments to determine who would drop off and pick up Isaac at daycare, and hankies had to be within reach to wipe away the glaze of drool that accumulated on our chins. Towards the end of the week, we were setting the alarm for 5:00 a.m. so we wouldn’t miss the beginning of the following day. (Having DirectTV in a time zone other than EST meant we had to get up early) This time around, I was so grateful that I could watch as much, or as little, as I wanted. And there were a few episodes that I had missed, like “Razor” about a woman who lost her humanity. And I watched them all, from start to finish, each night until last Sunday.
The only way the Emmys can rectify their egregious error- and since Buffy the Vampire Slayer got a nomination, it is an egregious error - would be to create a new award category. Sorry We Fucked Up probably wouldn’t work, but something that conveys the sentiment.
Battlestar Galactica is a powerhouse show. I was completely invested in the lives of the people of the Twelve Colonies, and felt a sense of loss when it came to an end. That is storytelling at it’s best, and it deserved recognition.
