“This is my mission for the summer!” I joked with the guy in the video store as I walked out with 4 more DVDs of Battlestar Galactica. I’d already watched 4 or 8 of them, and July had just begun. Battlestar Galactica, the new series (in distinction from the classic one), began its 4 seasons in December, 2003 and ended its run in March, 2009. This past June one of my best friends recommended it. Her husband and 2 kids had started watching and were hooked, and she’d also become an addict. Clearly, I had too!
Except . . . its extreme darkness deeply disturbed me. I knew that in the midst of the first episodes of the first season. I’d consumed them with an addict’s passion, which is uncontrollable, which may make passion the wrong word, for I think that passion can be controlled, whereas addiction runs away with us. In my home the Battlestar DVDs insinuated themselves into me from their shelf below the TV, like grisly sirens. I wanted their demanding grip, more than just about anything else, and I did give in to watching one after another video–hours of psychological grimness, political expediencies, and physical punishment. Well into the second season, I asked why I was punishing myself, and I gave up the “mission,” because, while I didn’t know exactly how the series was affecting me, I felt its deep penetration, and I knew that the “entertainment” was sickening me.
Like me, my sister is a fan of good science fiction (and not so good! We both loved the Stargate SG1 series, enjoyed its thorough dorkiness), so I mentioned to her that Battlestar Galactica had fascinated me, but that I had to stop watching it. Her reaction had been the same! Ahhh, sisters! She did suggest entering into the series again in the third season, as she had. I did. Same results as before. And even writing this recollection . . . an anxiety, tepid but real, has filled my chest.
Off I go . . . to clear my body and mind, to feel the pleasure of that clarity.