No, it wasn’t the record-breaking-rated, universally-loved show it is now seen as, almost ten years after it ended. No, it wasn’t unconditionally loved and cherished by its network–until the awards and critical acclaim came in, and the showrunners announced that the fourth season would be its last. From its beginnings 40 years ago as an often ill-fated attempt to bring the visual and spiritual power of Star Wars to ABC primetime screens every week, to its let’s-kill-every-rule-Star-Trek-ever-had-and-hold-up-a-mirror 21st century Sci-Fi (now SyFy) Channel revival during the post-911/WaronTerror years, Battlestar Galactica was almost always an acquired taste, a pleasant, almost-mainstream discovery. But how powerful the concoction! Altman and Gross, who interview as many cast and crew members that a human mind can absorb on a given page, take us step by step through the mythology as it developed, the last three words being key; perhaps the biggest shock of the book–practically its thru line–is how much of the new version was editorially done on the fly, and how its showrunners, Ronald D. Moore and the series’ often-unsung hero, David Eick, trusted its writers to fly Galactica–a complex series about race/identity and its connection to current politics, ancient Earth history and world religion–to a powerful, albeit controversial to many, end. What a great way for Altman and Gross to end a trilogy (four books, technically) of fan-favorites–StarTrek, then Buffy/Angel, and now BSG. These kind of books, especially with its oral history formats, take the rabid deep into the rabbit(-ears) whole, allowing the reader to see into the experience, and stay there. For a BSG fan, this is essential, since the series presented much but purposely answered little.
Not a cold breeze in sight, and thoughtful films about American identity appear anyway. Yesterday’s cinema trip was for Spike’s latest and to finally see “Crazy Rich Asians” in an actual theater, offline. Spike, like this writer, is older, and “BlacKkKlansman” reflects not only his age, but his restraint. The former “Black nationalist with a camera,” teamed with “Get Out”‘s Jordan Peele in cooperation with white filmmakers, tells a story of late-1970s desegregation as Black-Jewish buddy-cop flick. He tries to keep his now-graying African-medallion audience by using a watered-down version of his normal racial tensions and contrasts, and finally, pun intended, has found a great use of his now-famous dolly. Tone-wise, Spike is now grown-folks-smooth-jazz; he’s learned to hold back. It’s fascinating, though, that his American desegregation triumph, billed as a based-on, isn’t accurate. So its value has to be hotly debated.
“Asians” is a novel, so it can stretch fantasy to fit its truths. Its victory is variety; finally, some context to the nerdy young male and hiphop-styled young woman (although there are questions about the latter). A story of intra-racial (at least, from Western eyes) class divisions disguised as a love story. The movie asks internally and externally: how alike, or not alike, are one group of people, or similar individuals, and what barriers are legitimate?