Reasons I Dislike "Battlestar Galactica": Part Two

Disingenuous use of sex as a selling tool

Especially early on in the series, it seemed as though sexual activity was included in the goings-on at an exploitative rate. There were younger characters throughout the show gallivanting around in their skivvies (or less) sexing each other up. It was rare to say the least for that sex to be necessary for what was actually going on.

Now, I most certainly did just write an entry about how I preferred Paradise to Blue Lagoon because I think Phoebe Cates circa 1982 is much more attractive than Brooke Shields circa 1980. I do think there's a large difference between the two films and "Battlestar Galactica" though. To just about anyone watching those two films, there is little argument as to what the viewer is actually watching them for. These films are selling sex. There is really very little reason that these movies exist past the sexual nature of the two Adam-and-Eve-scenario films.

"Battlestar Galactica" is an entirely different beast. It would not be much of a stretch of the imagination to label the BSG demographic as undersexed. I'm sure there is a much higher percentage of virgin BSG fans than there would be of, say, any show not on Sci-Fi. Sure, that is a speculative statement, but I have a feeling that it is not far off. That being said, the sex in BSG reeks of manipulation.

If this show didn't have so many glaring deficiencies to me, maybe this wouldn't bother me. However, the extraneous sexing up of the show seems like it is simply a tool that was used to draw in the return viewing of the un(der)sexed sci-fi nerd.

Hell, there's an entire character designed just to get the fanboys from six to midnight whenever the show is dragging. If there's a lag in the action, what do they do? Oh, yeah, let's just throw the robot-chick out there in a revealing red dress. If nothing has happened for more than an episode, what do we get? Semi-nude Tricia Helfer rubbing up on none other than a world-renowned scientist. Of course. Scientists get all the hot models--er, robots.

Call me disillusioned, but this strikes me as shameless pandering to the hunger-stricken libido of the virginal fanbase, who--at least on some base level--think to themselves, "Maybe, just maybe, I'll see a nipple this week."

If I wanted to have something shamelessly dry-humping me in the hopes of me opening up my wallet, I'd go to a strip club. At least everything is honest there.