Cylon Antagonizers vs. Slick Advertisers: A Case Study

Like the rest of Battlestar Galactica’s impassioned fans, I was more than a little disappointed that Emmy this year failed to even acknowledge this critically-acclaimed show on its final flight path. A sci-fi program that has managed to almost single-handedly infuse some mainstream dignity into an otherwise easily lampooned genre surely deserved to be recognized during its descent toward a series finale. Granted, Battlestar is in the midst of one of those confounding mid-season hiatus things, so maybe the back half of the final season (which will air in early ’09) might yet be eligible for some Emmy accolades…(hey, I did say “maybe.” I didn’t necessarily say it with a straight face.)

It’s no secret that science-fiction has historically struggled to compete against more “mainstream” fodder in formal popularity contests like the Emmys. Not that William Shatner in a leotard battling Tribbles didn’t make for entertaining viewing, but man, some moments are nigh impossible for a genre to live down. Worse, when two lone categories — namely, “Drama” and “Comedy” – are meant to encompass virtually every ilk of entertainment within the televised universe, robots and space jockeys invariably find themselves going toe-to-toe with more “serious” contenders, like paramedics who save small children from burning buildings and doctors who heal small children who’ve been burned in buildings, and lawyers who prosecute the criminals who set fire to buildings with small children in them. Drama is a somber business best left to grown-ups who have better things to do than wear spacesuits, after all.

So what sort of serious and suitably mature fodder is considered worthy of Emmy’s fickle fancy? Behold Mad Men, which stands swathed in nominations this season like a swank tailor-made suit circa 1961. Yes, the show is incredibly well-written and well-acted. It’s just that…so is Battlestar.

Is the anti-sci fi bias that pervasive? If you hold them up side-by-side and subject these two examples to an unwavering and merciless scrutiny, it actually becomes a bit more apparent why Battlestar may have failed to trump a competitor as sophisticated as Mad Men. In some cases, the differences are almost imperceptible, but consider the following:

Pick Your Poison

On Mad Men, they swill manly drinks, god-dammit! Like whiskey and gin, and giant martinis with Vargas-styled secretaries swimming around in them. You know –- sexy drinks!

On the good ship Galactica, they drink rationed water. Okay, Colonel Tigh did have a flask filled with something a bit stronger tucked in an inside pocket of his flight suit for a while there, but those furtive sips weren’t “sexy,” per se, so much as a desperate salve applied to a decaying alcoholic’s tortured soul. For Pete’s sake, that doesn’t exactly photograph well.

What to Wear to a Moral Dilemma

On Mad Men, there are slick, tailored suits and smoking jackets for the menfolk, and pillbox hats and gloves, Jackie O. suits, off-the-shoulder evening frocks, and silk stockings with garters for the ladies. Sexy clothes!

Tricia Helfer’s smokin’ wisps of wardrobe notwithstanding, the crew on Battlestar are mostly otherwise adorned in those perennial sci-fi staples: the utilitarian military jumpsuit and all the shapeless variations thereof, available in a dizzying array of color choices — from muted beige to a very tasteful and understated navy. It’s not the crew’s fault, though…the Cylons blew up all the viable planets that housed important natural resources, like the Armani Exchange and Versace boutiques.

This leaves the BSG peeps at a bit of a disadvantage when pondering what to wear to a moral dilemma. Compare and contrast, if you will:

• Early in the Battlestar saga, President Laura Roslin (sporting an unassuming suit and Supercuts coiffure befitting a once-lower-level bureaucrat unexpectedly thrust into the spotlight) must struggle with the rather weighty decision of having to destroy a few civilian ships — which appear to have been infiltrated by enemy spies — for the sake of saving the rest of the fleet — which happens to contain what’s left of all of humanity.
• In Mad Men, Don Draper (lounging jauntily at a bar in a dapper, pinstripe number) must struggle with whether to have extramarital sex yet again with that free-spirited chick from the art department, or order out via the hot waitress at his favorite Chinese take-out spot — both of whom wear lacy underthings.

If clothes indeed make the man, it’s no wonder the employees of Sterling Cooper are having significantly more fun wrestling with their consciences…and each other.

Smoke Or Be Smoked

On Mad Men, they smoke cigarettes, which everyone knows makes you look sexier.

On Battlestar Galactica, they smoke Cylons, and Cylons smoke humans. Alas, war isn’t sexy. Funny enough, in recent years, the U.S. armed forces appear to have turned to advertising agencies to help them churn out all those TV commercials that spotlight recruitment efforts: “Get your college money here! Hot young co-eds hang out at college! You might get to have sex with them!” You can’t blame the military for trying to jazz things up a bit, even though most people still stubbornly cling to the belief that dying in battle might be noble, but it’s definitely not sexy.

But I digress…..

Mode of Transportation

On Mad Men, they drive shiny Studebakers, sparkling Buicks, and sumptuous Cadillacs. Sexy cars!

Battlestar merely offers up the ubiquitous “ragtag” fleet of space junk. They fly stuff like ragtag war ships, ragtag civilian cruisers, and ragtag fighter jets. Fighter jets can be sexy, if you polish them up a bit and have Tom Cruise or Val Kilmer fly them, or play bare-chested volleyball near them, or have sex on top of them while claiming the need — the need for speed. Sadly, it appears that the earnest folk of Battlestar were too distracted with commenting on social issues to bother to apply a little spit-shine to their vehicles. No wonder Emmy refused to reward this sort of lackluster attention to detail.

Assume the Position

One would assume that a person opts to wear sexy clothes and drink sexy drinks and drive sexy cars so that other people will want to have sex with them. It seems to work, at least on Mad Men. Furthermore, it’s not just run-of-the-mill, once-a-week-on-Friday-night martial sex going on — though there’s some of that too. Mostly, it’s trysts in motels! And on desks! And in shiny cars! Wheeeeeeee! It’s sexy sex!!

On Battlestar (again, Tricia Helfer’s scenes notwithstanding), there’s a lot of despondent, wartime, propagating-the-human-race-because-it’s-on-the-verge-of-extinction sex going on, with a few “Oh GOD, we’re all gonna DIE!” quickies thrown in for good measure.

But why marginalize Tricia Helfer’s sex scenes anyway? She’s a sex robot! Battlestar has a bona fide sex robot! Does it get any sexier than that? Or did her pillow talk (which admittedly involved a lot of depressing blather about how the human race is a breed of self-serving, greedy bastards, and isn’t worth saving) put too much of a damper on the proceedings?

Ultimately, it stands to reason: if sex sells (it does) and if advertisers are in the business of persuading you to buy what they’re selling (they are), then sexy advertisers are the most potent adversaries imaginable in the race for Emmy glory.

You have to wonder if those poor suckers aboard Battlestar Galactica ever had a fighting chance.