Daybreak
It’s over.
For over five years now, I have journeyed along with these weary survivors and their foes. I have admired them, I have wanted to smack them, I have offered words of encouragement and oaths of damnation, I have loved them and been terribly disappointed in them, I have celebrated with them and grieved with them, hoped and feared along with them. They have been real to me. They have mattered to me. They have, in a sense, been friends to me.
And now their journey is over.
In its final hour, Battlestar Galactica was not really a science fiction story but a work of poetry. And deeply moving poetry, at that. Though I loved this series, the one thing about it that I always disagreed with was its persistent thread of religious mysticism. I still disagree with it. But I admit that Ron Moore and his crew used it well, as one lyrical voice in a larger symphony. I also disagree with the ultimate choice made by the surviving humans at the end - or, more specifically, I flatly do not believe that they would make such a choice - but I recognize that it was the only one that could lead the series to its very final scene. And, more importantly, the smaller choices made by individual characters were what really had the most powerful emotional impact for me, as each of them faced life or death on their own terms. The image that still burns brightest in my mind as of this writing is the last shot we see of Admiral William Adama.
I spent that entire final hour in tears. The last time a series end had that effect on me was the end of Babylon 5, over a decade ago. I am in tears as I write this now.
And it’s okay. What Moore and company gave us, above us all else, was the truth about each and every one of these characters from their own lips, unflinchingly. And that’s the most important thing he could have done.
No, I don’t agree with the supernatural angle. And I never will. But… I don’t feel that I have to. Since Battlestar Galactica is a work of fiction, its showrunner has the luxury of weaving whatever colors he chooses into its tapestry, and I as a viewer and fan can still love and admire everything else about it. And I do. BSG was uneven at times, even maddening in a couple of places, but overall it was thoughtful, evocative, and challenging in a way that television seldom is. At its best it was exquisite in ways that television never has been before.
More importantly, it has raised the bar for both television in general and televised science fiction in particular. There have been a few truly great series in the genre - the aforementioned Babylon 5, Stargate: SG-1, much of Star Trek, the re-launched (and even some of the original) Doctor Who. This is not to say that we won’t find ourselves wading through crap in the future - it does find a market, after all - but I won’t be surprised to find that the good stuff is just a little bit better than we usually expect.
For now, we can let these people, human and Cylon, have their own future.
Here’s hoping for ours.
So say we all.
For over five years now, I have journeyed along with these weary survivors and their foes. I have admired them, I have wanted to smack them, I have offered words of encouragement and oaths of damnation, I have loved them and been terribly disappointed in them, I have celebrated with them and grieved with them, hoped and feared along with them. They have been real to me. They have mattered to me. They have, in a sense, been friends to me.
And now their journey is over.
In its final hour, Battlestar Galactica was not really a science fiction story but a work of poetry. And deeply moving poetry, at that. Though I loved this series, the one thing about it that I always disagreed with was its persistent thread of religious mysticism. I still disagree with it. But I admit that Ron Moore and his crew used it well, as one lyrical voice in a larger symphony. I also disagree with the ultimate choice made by the surviving humans at the end - or, more specifically, I flatly do not believe that they would make such a choice - but I recognize that it was the only one that could lead the series to its very final scene. And, more importantly, the smaller choices made by individual characters were what really had the most powerful emotional impact for me, as each of them faced life or death on their own terms. The image that still burns brightest in my mind as of this writing is the last shot we see of Admiral William Adama.
I spent that entire final hour in tears. The last time a series end had that effect on me was the end of Babylon 5, over a decade ago. I am in tears as I write this now.
And it’s okay. What Moore and company gave us, above us all else, was the truth about each and every one of these characters from their own lips, unflinchingly. And that’s the most important thing he could have done.
No, I don’t agree with the supernatural angle. And I never will. But… I don’t feel that I have to. Since Battlestar Galactica is a work of fiction, its showrunner has the luxury of weaving whatever colors he chooses into its tapestry, and I as a viewer and fan can still love and admire everything else about it. And I do. BSG was uneven at times, even maddening in a couple of places, but overall it was thoughtful, evocative, and challenging in a way that television seldom is. At its best it was exquisite in ways that television never has been before.
More importantly, it has raised the bar for both television in general and televised science fiction in particular. There have been a few truly great series in the genre - the aforementioned Babylon 5, Stargate: SG-1, much of Star Trek, the re-launched (and even some of the original) Doctor Who. This is not to say that we won’t find ourselves wading through crap in the future - it does find a market, after all - but I won’t be surprised to find that the good stuff is just a little bit better than we usually expect.
For now, we can let these people, human and Cylon, have their own future.
Here’s hoping for ours.
So say we all.