And Just Like That, She Walked Out of Our Lives Forever

The following article contains MAJOR SPOILERS for all episodes of Battlestar Galactica up to and including the series finale.

Galactica arrived only a few months after Firefly was canceled, at a time when it seemed like great science fiction was not long for this universe. I'm still amazed that the same network heads who are (even now) commissioning yet another Stargate spinoff were able to greenlight a show like Battlestar Galactica... not only to take a risk on re-imagining a classic cult favorite, but to allow its developers to push past the boundaries of the genre and create something dark and ambitious and completely new.

Against the odds, here we are, and it's all over now. As Ron Moore said in his blog on friday, "today there is a show called Battlestar Galactica and tomorrow there was." But even with as much as I loved Galactica, I'm still a little surprised by the emotions it's drudging to the surface. When I first saw Danny Boyle's film Sunshine, I became overwhelmed with fear and wonder at the thought of the magnificent size of space, and how we are all only momentary spikes of laughter, love, and tears -- hurtling through the infinite blackness on this rock that's been called the lucky planet. That each of us has so little time, and what we are able to accomplish with it, is a marvel like no other in the universe. And even if there's nothing else: no god, no angels, no heaven... if this is all there is, especially so, humanity's brief time in the world has purpose.

Galactica's 3-hour, epic finale has a similar message, despite its reliance on contrivances like angels and destiny (those are mere sidenotes). After years of running, trapped together like sardines, 38,000 men and women are able to make final land-fall, having reached journey's end at last. It's an uncharacteristically happy ending, too, rooted in finding joy and meaning in an existence that is far from certain and way too short. Lives have been lost in the struggle, as all lives will be lost eventually, but for now these few (these happy few) have found peace.

I'm waxing a little poetic, I know... it's difficult to remain objective when you're facing down such grandiose ideas and emotions, trying to tame them as you work through your grief. And that's what is on display here: grief. Amazingly, Moore & Co. have cemented these characters that we love into reality -- I suffer their loss deeply, much more so than I expected. I feel as connected to them now as I do to the far future Eloi of H.G. Wells' The Time Machine. Indeed, these two are closely related -- living clean and free without the trappings of science and technology. There's something awfully romantic about that, sort of a head nod to the inevitability of death; or, if you like, a sneer at the inherent futility of life (depending on your personal philosophy).

The point is we gotta find our happiness where we can, and the survivors of the Colonial Fleet have done that -- I have no interest in arguing the finer points of the plot; frankly, as far as I'm concerned, if you didn't get this episode you never liked the series. I don't find the convenience of God and Angels to be a cop-out, and I think it's entirely reasonable that the colonials would desire to leave their technology behind and start fresh. This isn't a show that was ever about a plot that had to advance from point to point in linear fashion. Much like Deadwood or The Wire, Battlestar Galactica was about characters making decisions, and acting in the best way they know; the deus ex machina is an afterthought, a way to give meaning to the things we (and the characters) don't understand.

Shit happens, and maybe none of it means a damn thing, but for a period of time we've got a chance to be in love, to grow up, to make decisions, to breathe in and out and in again. Whatever your politics, or your religion, or your gods-damned views on popular culture, we can all agree that merely being alive is a rare gift. Of the thousands of millions of stars out there, it's quite likely we're all alone out here in the dark, pushing ever onward into an uncertain future. And the only real, verifiable constant is that each of us touches the rest in a continuous line down through history, unbroken and glistening. Call it DNA, call it destiny, call it late for dinner, it doesn't matter. What does matter is, as Laura Roslin says with her final breath, "there's so much life..."