Suppose I cook you lobster ravioli as served at a Michelin-star restaurant. The filling is a perfect blend of lobster, salmon, egg white, basil, lemon zest, and seasoning. The poaching stock is expertly crafted from roasted lobster shell, carrots, celery, onions, tomato, and lemongrass, then deglazed with brandy, reduced, and strained till it’s perfect. Consider further that the pasta was made fresh by hand, and expertly stuffed, and served with lemon vinaigrette and tomato chutney, all prepared by an expert hand with fresh ingredients. It’s a perfect dish, one that has so many great things going on. It’s a balanced symphony of unique flavors interplaying perfectly.
Oh, except I used cheap, nasty, frozen lobster and it’s still raw. Oops. Are you still going to eat your ravioli anyway? No. It doesn’t matter how many great things are very much still actually happening, there’s no point in eating it now. It’s ruined. All of it.
Bad writing is the raw shellfish of media. It doesn’t matter how good everything else about the show is, because if it’s written badly, everything is ruined. It’s the one thing that can’t be forgiven and taints everything it touches at the source. Good intentions don’t make up for raw shellfish.
Well there goes 90% of the show, so no, you get the long version now.
We’re both standing in the middle of a soundstage (lit like a European discotheque), and you whisper-talk at me at a volume 0.01% louder than the score:
“I’d love to hear some of these examples of badwriting in the show! You can feel free to skip all of the overwrought metaphors.”
and I respond
“Well if I skip the ‘overwrought metaphors’, I seriously doubt I’ll have anything left to talk about!”
then you say something about how hard this is on you emotionally, I quietly affirm that I’m here for you, then you bitterly reject it, and then I pinch off a pithy-sounding bon mot that’s actually nonsense, and walk off, leaving you standing stock-still in the grip of Powerful Emotions. Then we repeat all of this six more times, taking breaks for vomit-inducing scenes where 15,000 suicidally depressed animators shove every single item in the effects library onto the screen.
But seriously, I know you’re just sea lioning. It’s not possible to ask that question in good faith. Imagine if I snottily asked you to give me an example of bad writing in 1994’s It’s Pat, you would tell me “uh, fucking everything, piss off” and you’d be right to.
I know, because there wasn’t a typo the first time I wrote it. You see, gotchas like that usually work better when I haven’t already used the term before in a comment that you previously responded to. Don’t worry though, this in no way affects my impression of your ability to pay attention to what passes in front of your eyeballs.
I do, however, take it as an admission that you had to resort to making fun of me to have something to say, just like how I already expect your next comment to be an attempt at affecting aloof detachment.
I was waiting also, and a little annoyed at the facetious replies. However, I’m going to make a (very cheap) attempt (that plagiarises heavily from the first hit on a search):
Invincible main character: Michael Burnham survives even the most extreme hardship, where anyone else would have died.
Perpetually high stakes: everything’s always life or death, in a somewhat escalating way where they don’t leave room to establish normal crew life. I would speculate the producers do this so as to avoid “boring” episodes - but such episodes do have significant value in fleshing out a rich and complete world.
Michael Burnham is everything: she’s always central to the core plot, everything is centred around her perspective.
Lack of professionalism: the characters are more emotive, sure, but their emotions often come before their careers as Starfleet professionals. Starfleet is supposed to be this ideal society, but the characters don’t really portray this. They’re more like modern day people living in a Starfleet world.
Inconsistent character development: many characters should have developed and progressed from the experiences we’ve witnessed them go through, but they still stick to some of their Flanderised tropes.
Incompetent crew: everyone’s clueless until the main character (Michael) tells them what the solution is.
Inconsistent technology: the show is set in the early days of Star Trek, yet is more flashy and modern looking than much of 90s Trek.
I would add that, while you could maybe apply some of the criticisms against Michael Burnham towards other captains and commanders in other series, the difference is that they were in commanding roles, and thus inherently central. It generally feels that Kirk, Picard, Sisko, Janeway, etc would divert attention away from themselves to their crew, as if to promote them, while Burnham always seems to be jumping into the limelight for herself.
There were a few points I skipped because I didn’t really agree with them, and some of the ones I included no doubt could be applied to other Trek shows, but I’d still say that Discovery has plenty of flaws worth highlighting. That doesn’t mean it’s a terrible show, but it’s far from the best example of Star Trek, in my opinion.
Suppose I cook you lobster ravioli as served at a Michelin-star restaurant. The filling is a perfect blend of lobster, salmon, egg white, basil, lemon zest, and seasoning. The poaching stock is expertly crafted from roasted lobster shell, carrots, celery, onions, tomato, and lemongrass, then deglazed with brandy, reduced, and strained till it’s perfect. Consider further that the pasta was made fresh by hand, and expertly stuffed, and served with lemon vinaigrette and tomato chutney, all prepared by an expert hand with fresh ingredients. It’s a perfect dish, one that has so many great things going on. It’s a balanced symphony of unique flavors interplaying perfectly.
Oh, except I used cheap, nasty, frozen lobster and it’s still raw. Oops. Are you still going to eat your ravioli anyway? No. It doesn’t matter how many great things are very much still actually happening, there’s no point in eating it now. It’s ruined. All of it.
Bad writing is the raw shellfish of media. It doesn’t matter how good everything else about the show is, because if it’s written badly, everything is ruined. It’s the one thing that can’t be forgiven and taints everything it touches at the source. Good intentions don’t make up for raw shellfish.
Could you give some examples of bad writing in the show? Feel free to skip the overwrought metaphor.
Well there goes 90% of the show, so no, you get the long version now.
We’re both standing in the middle of a soundstage (lit like a European discotheque), and you whisper-talk at me at a volume 0.01% louder than the score:
“I’d love to hear some of these examples of bad writing in the show! You can feel free to skip all of the overwrought metaphors.”
and I respond
“Well if I skip the ‘overwrought metaphors’, I seriously doubt I’ll have anything left to talk about!” then you say something about how hard this is on you emotionally, I quietly affirm that I’m here for you, then you bitterly reject it, and then I pinch off a pithy-sounding bon mot that’s actually nonsense, and walk off, leaving you standing stock-still in the grip of Powerful Emotions. Then we repeat all of this six more times, taking breaks for vomit-inducing scenes where 15,000 suicidally depressed animators shove every single item in the effects library onto the screen.
But seriously, I know you’re just sea lioning. It’s not possible to ask that question in good faith. Imagine if I snottily asked you to give me an example of bad writing in 1994’s It’s Pat, you would tell me “uh, fucking everything, piss off” and you’d be right to.
So that’s a “no?”
I believe I made it quite clear that I get to do the pithy bot mot that’s actually nonsense, stay in your lane.
The term is “bon mot.” Don’t worry though, this in no way affects my impression of your ability to judge what is or is not good writing.
I know, because there wasn’t a typo the first time I wrote it. You see, gotchas like that usually work better when I haven’t already used the term before in a comment that you previously responded to. Don’t worry though, this in no way affects my impression of your ability to pay attention to what passes in front of your eyeballs.
I do, however, take it as an admission that you had to resort to making fun of me to have something to say, just like how I already expect your next comment to be an attempt at affecting aloof detachment.
I’m actually still just waiting for you to give some examples of bad writing in Disco.
I was waiting also, and a little annoyed at the facetious replies. However, I’m going to make a (very cheap) attempt (that plagiarises heavily from the first hit on a search):
I would add that, while you could maybe apply some of the criticisms against Michael Burnham towards other captains and commanders in other series, the difference is that they were in commanding roles, and thus inherently central. It generally feels that Kirk, Picard, Sisko, Janeway, etc would divert attention away from themselves to their crew, as if to promote them, while Burnham always seems to be jumping into the limelight for herself.
There were a few points I skipped because I didn’t really agree with them, and some of the ones I included no doubt could be applied to other Trek shows, but I’d still say that Discovery has plenty of flaws worth highlighting. That doesn’t mean it’s a terrible show, but it’s far from the best example of Star Trek, in my opinion.
Again, I’m aware of how sealioning works. Will that be all…?