Rather than waiting for a future payoff, Fringe is cashing in with every episode, showing us the escalating war between worlds-and with likeable characters and compelling cases to boot. Ironically, it's by branching out in two different directions that the show has become, more than ever, the centerpiece of a hypercompetitive Thursday night lineup.

Treme gives you the best, then, of dramas and documentaries: a moving snapshot of a city, and its flesh-and-blood people, in transition.

It's arresting and criminally entertaining.

As the tactics of these two characters [Marcus Crassus and Spartacus] grow all but indistinguishable, it becomes clear why this final season is labeled War of the Damned, and all but guarantees that while their fighting will lead to a bitter end, it will lead viewers to the most savory of conclusions.

Thanks to the exciting new chemistry on the show, Human Target can now find complications within the ensemble, and not just within each week's set piece.

Lights Out isn't a knockout, but it's got enough grit and sweat to keep viewers on their toes.

Strike Back isn't brilliant television, but it's plenty entertaining, and by fitting the action of 24 with the grit of The Unit (and the nudity of Cinemax), it fills a .22 caliber hole in American television.

When it gets past such clunkiness, Homeland is eerily effective.

The Newsroom is a message-driven delight--at least for liberals--that's bogged down by uninteresting characters.

While the show's certainly grown more tightly plotted in the last several seasons, especially after cutting the number of episodes down to 10 and reducing (often via murder) the number of secondary characters, Damages is still suffering from some seemingly needless bloat.

When it's at the top of its game, Dexter brings True Blood to mind, subverting conventions of horror and violence to mock the various accoutrements of "normal" suburban life. With stepchildren Astor (Christina Robinson) and Cody (Preston Bailey) relegated to their grandparents' house, and with an Irish maid, Sonya (Maria Doyle Kennedy), caring for Harrison, the show loses some of its charm.

For all the talk about the expense of recreating the boardwalk for the show, Atlantic City isn't a character the way it could or should be; most of the action takes place in back alleys and hotel rooms.

It'll take every ounce of writer/creator Joe Weisberg's strength to keep this from seeming like a watered-down Homeland, or, worse, a film idea stretched across 13 hours.

The result is both good and bad: On the one hand, Weeds feels fresh again. On the other, the writers still don't know what sort of show they're making, and the supporting cast keeps getting shoehorned into new roles.

The chilling threat of Miracle Day involves a power strong enough to "force people into life," and one can only hope that in future installments, Davies and company are smart enough to realize that they shouldn't try to force square actors into circular plots.

So while the one-liners are sub-CSI: Miami ("Time to upgrade," quips Becca as she overrides a security system; "Oh, no," she monotones upon discovering a corpse), the cinematography and fight choreography serve to at least temporarily keep both the audience and cast breathless.

Apart from a few dry, ashy chuckles conjured up by memories of what Rescue Me once was, this final season is about as useful as a lighter in a vacuum: Forget fresh air, there's no air left on which to cast a spark.

There isn't a single interesting person in CBS's dud-on-arrival Person of Interest; at best, there's only a single interesting idea.

Nikita is just another bland spy drama, an excuse to put women in skimpy outfits--Alias without a heart, Chuck without the sense of humor, and Covert Affairs without the good casting.