Nearly two decades after the original Battlestar Galactica (2004–2009) redefined sci-fi television, Razor (2025) slices back into the mythos with sharp intensity, gritty nostalgia, and a deeper philosophical core. Directed by Michael Rymer and headlined by the return of Katee Sackhoff as Kara “Starbuck” Thrace, this film isn't just a prequel or sequel—it's a reckoning.
Set in a fractured timeline that straddles the days after Starbuck’s mysterious resurrection in Season 4 and a classified black ops mission from the early Cylon War, Razor (2025) is framed through recovered flight logs and trauma interviews aboard a derelict Battlestar. When Starbuck is called to debrief the past of the long-lost Battlestar Cerberus, a ship whose existence was wiped from Colonial records, she discovers secrets not just about the war—but about herself.
The narrative splits between two time periods:
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Present: Starbuck navigates psychological ghosts and volatile crew members on a scavenger mission to find Cerberus.
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Past: Commander Kendra Shaw (played via digital recreation and flashback by Stephanie Jacobsen) leads a morally grey campaign during the early stages of the First Cylon War—executing decisions that challenge the very definition of humanity.
What emerges is a film about legacy, ethics in war, and the illusion of free will. Cylons aren't the only ones who question their programming—so do the soldiers who follow orders that demand the death of innocents for a future that may never come.
Katee Sackhoff’s return is triumphant. Aged, hardened, and introspective, her Starbuck isn’t the firebrand of the early seasons—she’s a woman both haunted and enlightened. Her chemistry with new cast additions, including T’Nia Miller as a calculating Admiral Rennix and Paul Dano as a genius but ethically dubious engineer, elevates the film beyond nostalgia into something raw and current.
The cinematography is suitably bleak and brutal. Dogfights explode in silent fury across the stars. The ship interiors feel claustrophobic and rusted—echoes of broken promises and dying empires.
If there's any weakness, it lies in the complexity of its narrative structure. Jumping between timelines can disorient some viewers, and the philosophical questions occasionally overshadow emotional payoff. But for longtime fans, this is exactly what Battlestar Galactica has always done best: pose difficult questions in the guise of sci-fi spectacle.
