Happy St. Patrick's Day (extremely belated)! As you may know, our very own Rosemary has the blood of the Irish heroes running through her veins, so we couldn't let a day like this pass by unnoticed. But in keeping with the wry Lightbox Heroes touch, we shied away from the top ten TV drunks. Here, we're focusing on the writers. Presenting: the top ten Most Betrayed Characters. These are the folks whose writers must have been completely smashed, because they done messed up with these guys.
Sylar, Heroes
Cat
In the first season of Heroes, Sylar was dark. Menacing. The kind of villain whose ignominy knows no bounds and makes the history books. The viewing public was left in his wake of terror, chests tightening at every appearance and callously tossed-off murder. His disturbingness thrilled us, and we couldn’t get enough (seriously. Even The Soup cashed in on his vile status, making one of my all-time favorite videos). But then, as all misguided plots, they stripped Sylar of his dignified irredeemability and tried to make him noble. Misunderstood. Worst of all, they tried to give him a soul. First they took away his power. They gave him a love interest. Then they set him on a path to redemption, where he actually saved people. As if. One of the most deliciously malicious creatures was neutered, forced into a heroic box that made him deadly dull.
Cat
In the first season of Heroes, Sylar was dark. Menacing. The kind of villain whose ignominy knows no bounds and makes the history books. The viewing public was left in his wake of terror, chests tightening at every appearance and callously tossed-off murder. His disturbingness thrilled us, and we couldn’t get enough (seriously. Even The Soup cashed in on his vile status, making one of my all-time favorite videos). But then, as all misguided plots, they stripped Sylar of his dignified irredeemability and tried to make him noble. Misunderstood. Worst of all, they tried to give him a soul. First they took away his power. They gave him a love interest. Then they set him on a path to redemption, where he actually saved people. As if. One of the most deliciously malicious creatures was neutered, forced into a heroic box that made him deadly dull.
Veronica, Veronica Mars
Rosemary
In the wake of the Veronica Mars movie, it is increasingly hard for me to remember why I bitterly flung the season three DVDs away from me in fury. And then I started watching again. Oh, the tragedy, made even more tragic by how slow Veronica's downfall was. Throughout season one, Veronica constantly proved that she was strong. I don't mean the lazy-writing strength of a girl who just "doesn't care" what anyone thinks. Veronica cares deeply about what happened to her, her old friends, the position she and her father are in, etc. She's angry. Her strength comes from seeing past her hurt and channeling it into a greater purpose--finding justice for her murdered best friend. However, once Veronica accomplishes this at the end of season one, the writers didn't know how to write her healing process. Instead, she regressed to old Veronica, caught up in social politics instead of circumventing them, being manipulated instead of striving for objectivity, and reacting emotionally instead of with her thick layer of self-preservation sarcasm. Season three saw Veronica shunning everything, from Logan to her old LeSabre. By the end, Veronica didn't even seem like Veronica. Thankfully, the movie fixed it all, and we can just pretend season three never happened. It joins the ranks of Alias season 5 and The West Wing post-Aaron-Sorkin.
Rosemary
In the wake of the Veronica Mars movie, it is increasingly hard for me to remember why I bitterly flung the season three DVDs away from me in fury. And then I started watching again. Oh, the tragedy, made even more tragic by how slow Veronica's downfall was. Throughout season one, Veronica constantly proved that she was strong. I don't mean the lazy-writing strength of a girl who just "doesn't care" what anyone thinks. Veronica cares deeply about what happened to her, her old friends, the position she and her father are in, etc. She's angry. Her strength comes from seeing past her hurt and channeling it into a greater purpose--finding justice for her murdered best friend. However, once Veronica accomplishes this at the end of season one, the writers didn't know how to write her healing process. Instead, she regressed to old Veronica, caught up in social politics instead of circumventing them, being manipulated instead of striving for objectivity, and reacting emotionally instead of with her thick layer of self-preservation sarcasm. Season three saw Veronica shunning everything, from Logan to her old LeSabre. By the end, Veronica didn't even seem like Veronica. Thankfully, the movie fixed it all, and we can just pretend season three never happened. It joins the ranks of Alias season 5 and The West Wing post-Aaron-Sorkin.
Luke Danes, The Gilmore Girls
Mary
This magnificent utilizer of the Flannel Effect was as brilliant a creation as Rory was a useless piece of blue-eyed cardboard. Luke was grumpy, opinionated, down-to-earth, and self-sufficient. He was the ying to Loralei's yang, and they made us wait an exquisitely long time for those two crazy kids to get together. But they did, and it was worth it. The mooning, the mixed signals, the sexually-frustrated fighting: it was all worth it. And then--whoops, Luke finds out he has a tween daughter. And his reaction? To completely shut Loralei out, and eventually dump her because he needs time to "deal" with this. Nevermind that he was essentially a surrogate father to Rory all these years, and respected Loralei's parenting skills above all else. Nevermind that he had torturously worked over years to even make a go at Loralei, the woman of his dreams. All of this gets completely thrown out the window, showing that Luke's daughter's appearance was a just a cheap trick to break them up. These types of betrayals, happening late in a well-established series that had previously so much consistency and care for their characters, is one of the worst types of betrayal. It leaves a sour feeling in our stomachs. Not because we're simple-minded machines that need everything to work out perfectly, but because we know the actions of these characters lack any truth to their own motivations and history.
Mary
This magnificent utilizer of the Flannel Effect was as brilliant a creation as Rory was a useless piece of blue-eyed cardboard. Luke was grumpy, opinionated, down-to-earth, and self-sufficient. He was the ying to Loralei's yang, and they made us wait an exquisitely long time for those two crazy kids to get together. But they did, and it was worth it. The mooning, the mixed signals, the sexually-frustrated fighting: it was all worth it. And then--whoops, Luke finds out he has a tween daughter. And his reaction? To completely shut Loralei out, and eventually dump her because he needs time to "deal" with this. Nevermind that he was essentially a surrogate father to Rory all these years, and respected Loralei's parenting skills above all else. Nevermind that he had torturously worked over years to even make a go at Loralei, the woman of his dreams. All of this gets completely thrown out the window, showing that Luke's daughter's appearance was a just a cheap trick to break them up. These types of betrayals, happening late in a well-established series that had previously so much consistency and care for their characters, is one of the worst types of betrayal. It leaves a sour feeling in our stomachs. Not because we're simple-minded machines that need everything to work out perfectly, but because we know the actions of these characters lack any truth to their own motivations and history.
Xander, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Cat
As we’ve discussed many times before, Buffy is an incredible series, particularly in using supernatural means to tell the most elemental of stories. But it's not always so successful. Sometimes, Buffy stakes you in the back. This is the case with Xander, who quickly morphed from stand-in for the every man in this wacky universe, to a one-note chump with a penchant for terrible jokes at inappropriate times. Xander was unbearable in the middle seasons, and every time his loud “woe is me” moaning entered an episode I took it as a cue to mentally switch off. The writers didn’t seem to care about him, so why should I? Seriously, every bad thing seemed to happen to Xander. Living in his parent’s basement, terrible job, isolation from friends (though who could blame them, as he amped up the worst parts of his personality). Xander was slightly redeemed in the final season, where he served as the human touchstone in a world of magic, but it doesn’t excuse the writers from inflicting two Xanders on us at one of the lowest points of his personality.
Cat
As we’ve discussed many times before, Buffy is an incredible series, particularly in using supernatural means to tell the most elemental of stories. But it's not always so successful. Sometimes, Buffy stakes you in the back. This is the case with Xander, who quickly morphed from stand-in for the every man in this wacky universe, to a one-note chump with a penchant for terrible jokes at inappropriate times. Xander was unbearable in the middle seasons, and every time his loud “woe is me” moaning entered an episode I took it as a cue to mentally switch off. The writers didn’t seem to care about him, so why should I? Seriously, every bad thing seemed to happen to Xander. Living in his parent’s basement, terrible job, isolation from friends (though who could blame them, as he amped up the worst parts of his personality). Xander was slightly redeemed in the final season, where he served as the human touchstone in a world of magic, but it doesn’t excuse the writers from inflicting two Xanders on us at one of the lowest points of his personality.
Andy Bernard, The Office
Rosemary
I recently began re-watching what I defined as "The 'Good' Office": seasons two and three. I was a big fan in my early 20s, though I became frustrated and abandoned the show. How wrong I was. I continued watching through season four . . . and five . . . and eight. Though the show had some bumps along the way, I found myself invested and loving it until the very end. Andy Bernard especially became a huge part of the show. I loved him. He had steady character growth, had individual friendships with every character, and when he and Erin fell in love, I was in love with their relationship. However, Andy quickly became selfish, inconsiderate, and a huge douche. He got promoted to Michael's vacant position and abruptly adopted the worst of Michael's flaws without the tempering of Michael's intentions. The change happened suddenly, blindsiding me with an avalanche of what-the-hell. And they didn't fix it. A show that managed to make Dwight Shrute the heart of the series couldn't spare an episode to redeem Andy. While I love the show to the last drop, I will never forgive or forget Andy's tragic downfall.
Rosemary
I recently began re-watching what I defined as "The 'Good' Office": seasons two and three. I was a big fan in my early 20s, though I became frustrated and abandoned the show. How wrong I was. I continued watching through season four . . . and five . . . and eight. Though the show had some bumps along the way, I found myself invested and loving it until the very end. Andy Bernard especially became a huge part of the show. I loved him. He had steady character growth, had individual friendships with every character, and when he and Erin fell in love, I was in love with their relationship. However, Andy quickly became selfish, inconsiderate, and a huge douche. He got promoted to Michael's vacant position and abruptly adopted the worst of Michael's flaws without the tempering of Michael's intentions. The change happened suddenly, blindsiding me with an avalanche of what-the-hell. And they didn't fix it. A show that managed to make Dwight Shrute the heart of the series couldn't spare an episode to redeem Andy. While I love the show to the last drop, I will never forgive or forget Andy's tragic downfall.
Britta Perry, Community
Mary
Meet Britta: she's the moral compass of Jeff and, by extension, the study group. In the best version of Dan Harmon reality, she herself is a bit of a hypocrite, much more comfortable with taking strong stances than fixing her own life, but we know above all that she is passionate about injustice and has a genuine need to help others. This version of Britta lasted about thirteen episodes. Then, apparently, having a complicated female presence who could be disciplined enough to see moral issues in others while still battling her own imperfections was considered "lame." Instead, we get Britta-2.0. She is profoundly stupid, reciting buzz words from different political issues without having any idea about what her complaints mean, other than they give her a feeling of entitlement. It isn't enough that finally in season 5 Dan Harmon inserted a trademark meta comment aimed at the season 4 show runners, that asking when Britta became the dumb blonde: you did this, Dan. You made Britta the worst, when she was crafted as Jeff's inspiration to be better. Shame on you.
Mary
Meet Britta: she's the moral compass of Jeff and, by extension, the study group. In the best version of Dan Harmon reality, she herself is a bit of a hypocrite, much more comfortable with taking strong stances than fixing her own life, but we know above all that she is passionate about injustice and has a genuine need to help others. This version of Britta lasted about thirteen episodes. Then, apparently, having a complicated female presence who could be disciplined enough to see moral issues in others while still battling her own imperfections was considered "lame." Instead, we get Britta-2.0. She is profoundly stupid, reciting buzz words from different political issues without having any idea about what her complaints mean, other than they give her a feeling of entitlement. It isn't enough that finally in season 5 Dan Harmon inserted a trademark meta comment aimed at the season 4 show runners, that asking when Britta became the dumb blonde: you did this, Dan. You made Britta the worst, when she was crafted as Jeff's inspiration to be better. Shame on you.
Martha, Doctor Who
Cat
When Martha first appeared in the Who-verse, she seemed perfect. In the hospital episode, Martha appeared to have it all--she was a doctor herself, saving lives in her own right. She had gumption, taking the initiative to trust her intuition and act under her own prerogative, not the Doctor’s. She stood up for herself, and didn’t seem afraid to make her own assertions. But then it all fell apart. As soon as Martha became the Doctor’s companion, she was relegated to one role—the schmoopy-eyed hero worshiper. She was blatantly in love with the Doctor, and made no attempts to hide her devotion. All of her own skills were terminated under the power of her crush, and Martha bowed down to the Doctor's every whit and whim, losing her own personality in the meantime. Even in the end, where she realizes how hopeless her case is and leaves the Doctor, she still ends up with a second-rate Doctor replacement. Mickey. She winds up with Mickey, figuring that if she can’t have the Doctor, then Rose’s cast-off is the next best thing. Go back to the hospital, Martha. Be your own person.
Cat
When Martha first appeared in the Who-verse, she seemed perfect. In the hospital episode, Martha appeared to have it all--she was a doctor herself, saving lives in her own right. She had gumption, taking the initiative to trust her intuition and act under her own prerogative, not the Doctor’s. She stood up for herself, and didn’t seem afraid to make her own assertions. But then it all fell apart. As soon as Martha became the Doctor’s companion, she was relegated to one role—the schmoopy-eyed hero worshiper. She was blatantly in love with the Doctor, and made no attempts to hide her devotion. All of her own skills were terminated under the power of her crush, and Martha bowed down to the Doctor's every whit and whim, losing her own personality in the meantime. Even in the end, where she realizes how hopeless her case is and leaves the Doctor, she still ends up with a second-rate Doctor replacement. Mickey. She winds up with Mickey, figuring that if she can’t have the Doctor, then Rose’s cast-off is the next best thing. Go back to the hospital, Martha. Be your own person.
Paul Ballard, Dollhouse
Rosemary
Come, children, and let me tell you a story about an honest man who believe the whispers and fragments of rumors about an evil organization that stripped away people's identities for profit. This honest cop did whatever he could to find the truth, the only solid clue in his quest a missing girl named Caroline. And he found her. And then he joined the evil organization in the name of helping everyone but he let himself get used and manipulated and really didn't have a clue what the **** he was doing, so he ended up with a bullet in his head and WHAT THE HELL WERE THEY THINKING?! Ballard, who started out at the moral compass of the show, became a lackey; first of the Dollhouse and then of Echo's plan (which she never really deigned to share with him). Paul was a great foil for the far-reaching complications of the Dollhouse, but season two shifted him onto their side too early. While the development of the Rossum Corporation did fracture the seemingly unbreakable Dollhouse team (Adele, Topher, Boyd) and an alliance ultimately was inevitable, the rushed writing of Ballard's character gutted what could have been one of the most interesting moral struggles in the Whedon-verse.
Rosemary
Come, children, and let me tell you a story about an honest man who believe the whispers and fragments of rumors about an evil organization that stripped away people's identities for profit. This honest cop did whatever he could to find the truth, the only solid clue in his quest a missing girl named Caroline. And he found her. And then he joined the evil organization in the name of helping everyone but he let himself get used and manipulated and really didn't have a clue what the **** he was doing, so he ended up with a bullet in his head and WHAT THE HELL WERE THEY THINKING?! Ballard, who started out at the moral compass of the show, became a lackey; first of the Dollhouse and then of Echo's plan (which she never really deigned to share with him). Paul was a great foil for the far-reaching complications of the Dollhouse, but season two shifted him onto their side too early. While the development of the Rossum Corporation did fracture the seemingly unbreakable Dollhouse team (Adele, Topher, Boyd) and an alliance ultimately was inevitable, the rushed writing of Ballard's character gutted what could have been one of the most interesting moral struggles in the Whedon-verse.
Temperance "Bones" Brennan, Bones
Mary
Bones is really similar to Britta in the type of writer betrayal that occurs in her character. If you go back and watch early seasons, you see an incredibly bright woman who, while perfectly aware of most social norms, has dismissed the need to adhere to them because they lack scientific necessity. She is a fascinating woman who has devoted herself to a truly methodical approach to the human condition, carefully examining and rejecting detritus from the "but-that's-how-it's-done" social reasoning. Yes, she is also very behind on pop culture references, but shows not one bit of embarrassment or concern when she states flatly, "I don't know what that means." Unfortunately, the writers started to take shortcuts in later seasons, and this I-don't-know turns into a I-can't-know. Instead of continuing to write Bones as a very purposeful, thoughtful character, Bones becomes more and more broken, a victim of what is now an inability to recognize or respond to social behaviors. It's a horrible betrayal, and seems to be done so that Bones needs Booth on a fundamental level, that she starts to appear incomplete and even incompetent without the all-heart-street-smarts of Booth. Instead of writing a much more complex, challenging exchange between two characters with such different world views, Booth is shown to be better and something valuable that Bones needs before she can be complete as a person. It's all so demeaning, I want to stab the writers with a handy femur bone.
Mary
Bones is really similar to Britta in the type of writer betrayal that occurs in her character. If you go back and watch early seasons, you see an incredibly bright woman who, while perfectly aware of most social norms, has dismissed the need to adhere to them because they lack scientific necessity. She is a fascinating woman who has devoted herself to a truly methodical approach to the human condition, carefully examining and rejecting detritus from the "but-that's-how-it's-done" social reasoning. Yes, she is also very behind on pop culture references, but shows not one bit of embarrassment or concern when she states flatly, "I don't know what that means." Unfortunately, the writers started to take shortcuts in later seasons, and this I-don't-know turns into a I-can't-know. Instead of continuing to write Bones as a very purposeful, thoughtful character, Bones becomes more and more broken, a victim of what is now an inability to recognize or respond to social behaviors. It's a horrible betrayal, and seems to be done so that Bones needs Booth on a fundamental level, that she starts to appear incomplete and even incompetent without the all-heart-street-smarts of Booth. Instead of writing a much more complex, challenging exchange between two characters with such different world views, Booth is shown to be better and something valuable that Bones needs before she can be complete as a person. It's all so demeaning, I want to stab the writers with a handy femur bone.
The Caesar of Betrayal:
Glee. Yes, the entire show.
Cat: Fox made a shrewd marketing decision when they first rolled out Glee. They released the pilot on Hulu in the early summer of 2009, months before the actual season would air. This allowed potential viewers to stew and simmer in anticipation all summer long, hopefully to descend on that second episode like ravenous vultures. I hate to admit, but I was totally one of those vultures. I adored the first episode, and even wrote eries an impassioned love letter to the s . It didn't appear to take itself too seriously. It captured the lovely angst and heartbreak of being an outsider during that worst of times, high school. And it was funny. Sweet mercy, the quick banter and asides! Glee sparkled. And then it winked out, imploding in its own awesomeness. The show became a bloated monster, abandoning that sweet relatability and world-building of the first episode in favor of thin plots, thinner characterization (I will never forgive it for taking a sweet jock like Finn and making him a butt-of-the-joke airhead), and executing a fully-fledged nosedive into the waters of absurd over-exaggeration. There are no classes but choir! We can afford backing bands at a moment’s notice! Look at those costumes! Why build out character motives, when we can have a teen pregnancy, an affair, AND a student come out all in the same episode! BIGGER BIGGER BIGGER! And just like that, not with a whimper but with confetti cannons and jazz hands, Glee was dead.
Rosemary: As Cat pointed out above, FOX's marketing of Glee was genius. Their pilot was solid, and everyone who saw it saw something new--a Bryan Fuller-esque blend of surreal high school imagination and a very real social caste war. Glee was witty, original, and fresh. However, I watched with fading triumph as episode after episode, Glee sunk further into petty squabbles and calculating uses of hot-button social issues. Glee bought into it's own over-bloated sense of importance, and the writers quickly believed that their show was the mouthpiece of a generation. I am not exaggerating. In Glee's packed Hall H panel during San Diego Comic Con 2011, I witnessed Brad Falchuk (co-creator and writer) call Glee the most relevant TV show on air (cut me some slack; the Supernatural panel was right after), and follow up with a pious speech about the responsibility of being the mouthpiece of a generation. Is this mess of bitchiness and social soapbox thumping really the pinnacle of an entire generation? I work at a high school with several music programs, art programs, gaming clubs, and other extracurriculars for the athletically ungifted, and I say unto you NAY! Teenagers are still, shockingly, kids, and propagating hyper-sexualized behaviors and heavy-handed social issues doesn't encourage teenagers to be themselves and embrace their inner Broadway star--it encourages them to fit a very specific and very harsh mold in the name of liberation. If Glee would stop drinking their own Kool-Aid for a second, maybe the could use their "mouthpiece of a generation" to actually represent a generation.
Mary: I was first introduced to Glee in the most unlikely of setups: my best friend, Mr. Cool, Mr. On-Top-Of-The-Trends, Mr. I-Don't-Tolerate-Filler-Television, Mr. Gritty-Is-Better, approached me with a grin on his face so sincere and genuinely joyful--gleeful, perhaps?--that I was a little terrified for my life. The Glee pilot had just been posted on Hulu, and Luke sat me down to watch the episode, swearing up and down that he had never had a more satisfying experience with an hour of television. They had me at the first slurpee throw. We ended up watching that pilot at least ten times that summer, soulfully singing along with every song. As a product of show choirs, the honesty surrounding the awkwardness and delusions of grandeur made my soul-strings hum. This was going to be a musical Freaks and Geeks, a show that knew its subject matter and characters were fundamentally lame, and that that was ok: high school was lame, too. And then, fall came. I don't know when I stopped believin'; it must have been around the fifth or sixth episode when the shine from the pilot couldn't even survive as a memory anymore. It's not just that Glee is bad: I've forgiven many a worse show for that fundamental sin. It's that Glee put all of us through the most horrific case of entertainment bait-and-switch on the books. Someday I want to avenge myself on the creator's faces. Preferably with a grape slurpee. And punches.
Cat: Fox made a shrewd marketing decision when they first rolled out Glee. They released the pilot on Hulu in the early summer of 2009, months before the actual season would air. This allowed potential viewers to stew and simmer in anticipation all summer long, hopefully to descend on that second episode like ravenous vultures. I hate to admit, but I was totally one of those vultures. I adored the first episode, and even wrote eries an impassioned love letter to the s . It didn't appear to take itself too seriously. It captured the lovely angst and heartbreak of being an outsider during that worst of times, high school. And it was funny. Sweet mercy, the quick banter and asides! Glee sparkled. And then it winked out, imploding in its own awesomeness. The show became a bloated monster, abandoning that sweet relatability and world-building of the first episode in favor of thin plots, thinner characterization (I will never forgive it for taking a sweet jock like Finn and making him a butt-of-the-joke airhead), and executing a fully-fledged nosedive into the waters of absurd over-exaggeration. There are no classes but choir! We can afford backing bands at a moment’s notice! Look at those costumes! Why build out character motives, when we can have a teen pregnancy, an affair, AND a student come out all in the same episode! BIGGER BIGGER BIGGER! And just like that, not with a whimper but with confetti cannons and jazz hands, Glee was dead.
Rosemary: As Cat pointed out above, FOX's marketing of Glee was genius. Their pilot was solid, and everyone who saw it saw something new--a Bryan Fuller-esque blend of surreal high school imagination and a very real social caste war. Glee was witty, original, and fresh. However, I watched with fading triumph as episode after episode, Glee sunk further into petty squabbles and calculating uses of hot-button social issues. Glee bought into it's own over-bloated sense of importance, and the writers quickly believed that their show was the mouthpiece of a generation. I am not exaggerating. In Glee's packed Hall H panel during San Diego Comic Con 2011, I witnessed Brad Falchuk (co-creator and writer) call Glee the most relevant TV show on air (cut me some slack; the Supernatural panel was right after), and follow up with a pious speech about the responsibility of being the mouthpiece of a generation. Is this mess of bitchiness and social soapbox thumping really the pinnacle of an entire generation? I work at a high school with several music programs, art programs, gaming clubs, and other extracurriculars for the athletically ungifted, and I say unto you NAY! Teenagers are still, shockingly, kids, and propagating hyper-sexualized behaviors and heavy-handed social issues doesn't encourage teenagers to be themselves and embrace their inner Broadway star--it encourages them to fit a very specific and very harsh mold in the name of liberation. If Glee would stop drinking their own Kool-Aid for a second, maybe the could use their "mouthpiece of a generation" to actually represent a generation.
Mary: I was first introduced to Glee in the most unlikely of setups: my best friend, Mr. Cool, Mr. On-Top-Of-The-Trends, Mr. I-Don't-Tolerate-Filler-Television, Mr. Gritty-Is-Better, approached me with a grin on his face so sincere and genuinely joyful--gleeful, perhaps?--that I was a little terrified for my life. The Glee pilot had just been posted on Hulu, and Luke sat me down to watch the episode, swearing up and down that he had never had a more satisfying experience with an hour of television. They had me at the first slurpee throw. We ended up watching that pilot at least ten times that summer, soulfully singing along with every song. As a product of show choirs, the honesty surrounding the awkwardness and delusions of grandeur made my soul-strings hum. This was going to be a musical Freaks and Geeks, a show that knew its subject matter and characters were fundamentally lame, and that that was ok: high school was lame, too. And then, fall came. I don't know when I stopped believin'; it must have been around the fifth or sixth episode when the shine from the pilot couldn't even survive as a memory anymore. It's not just that Glee is bad: I've forgiven many a worse show for that fundamental sin. It's that Glee put all of us through the most horrific case of entertainment bait-and-switch on the books. Someday I want to avenge myself on the creator's faces. Preferably with a grape slurpee. And punches.