For such a vast and important story, Torchwood: Miracle Day feels strangely confined and artificial. Here's hoping for more by Episode 4.

Inexorably transfixing, whether you're taking names or taking notes.

A well-rounded, nicely mature comedy.

Hoggers is more down-market than Beers' crab fishermen and ice road truckers.

Which isn't to say Duck Dynasty isn't entertaining. It's just more of the same.

Hardly a treasure, but a lively island of adventure.

It does well what standard sitcoms do.

Bible Challenge tries to cover all bases in America's complicated Christian field.

No, it's not exactly "House." But it isn't like any other show, either, with its mad mix of moral dilemmas, medical crises, family ties, double-life-living and, y'know, rubouts 'n' stuff.

The Save Me pilot saves itself artistically. But debuting in a summertime double dose makes series salvation improbable.

Smart. [23 Aug 1998, p.D10]

It's a romp and a half.

It's one tasty piece of lunacy.

The writing is pointed, the direction tight. But what really makes it work is Tori herself, light, bright and vulnerably likable.

The best thing about "Free Ride" is the lack of pressure to be about something. Trusting its talented cast to embody their own truths, it ambles and weaves, leaving space for the characters, even folks briefly bumped into, to nail a specific attitude or situation.

Like many Lifetime productions, this one is designed to make you stand up and take action on a hot-button issue. Unlike many, it's got the dramatic chops to keep you on your feet applauding.

Watch the first few minutes of "The Class" in its CBS sitcom debut tonight, and you may not believe me when I say this, but here goes. I think they might have something here.

There's enough human drama here to keep us occupied without having the walls fall down, too.

Good actors can get away with glib, and Woods is one of the best, persuasive enough to have you spotting freshness in the familiar and wisdom in cliches.

The emotional reality is so true here that not only do they get away with an assortment of gags about condoms, massage parlors and other juvenile fixations, but they make them resonate endearingly.

Don't believe the critics who tell you "Hidden Palms" stinks after they watched only the first episode.... This is a seriously involving serious show. A show about something.

There's warmth and wit there, along with not a little magic.

A pretty nifty, if completely insane, suspense/conspiracy/ chase/road adventure.

The show moves more like a ready-for-prime-time comedy than a kiddie toon. Think "The Simpsons" with soul.

Ultimately, viewers just have to work a lot harder to fathom John from Cincinnati than Tony from Jersey.

The intimate moments have a gutsy realness, and the central characterizations are bedrock enough to sell us through the stereotypes.

What Canterbury has powerfully going for it, besides the magnetic/vulnerable Margulies, is a cast surrounding her with equal strength, from principled second Ben Shenkman to Terry Kinney as their sneaky prosecutorial adversary, plus an array of effective guest stars from the rich East Coast acting pool.

It's daring, disconcerting and/or enlightening.

Disney's HSM2 delivers precisely what's required. And America is all ears.

Sad thing is, I'm a geek girl myself, who'd be happy to love this mad mix of technology, action and "humor" if it were, you know, actually funny more often than just cheaply offensive. Less pander, more wit, please.

Thurgood feels more "important" than dramatic. Part of it is Stevens' then-I-did-this structure, more focused on biographical bullet points than the flesh-and-blood human behind them. And part of it is Fishburne, who despite coiled power--his Ike Turner in "What's Love Got to Do With It" was Oscar-nominated--resonates here as a cool character rather than a fiery one.

If it wasn't a docucomedy, it would just be dull.

The angel on my shoulder says H8R is a piece of slime, bringing out the worst in everyone involved. But the devil on my other shoulder says this show is the logical outcome of our culture's celeb-obsession, and everyone involved gets precisely what they deserve. Which is soooo fun to watch.

The feel is more documentary than "reality" show, which some viewers will appreciate and others won't.

CBS' sustained level of series craftsmanship is certainly admirable--their dramas all look sharp and function smoothly--but that doesn't go so far when even a sweeping period piece in a distinct locale with superior stars seems to roll off the same assembly line.

Malibu Country is nothing great. But its studio-shot sitcom style sure suits Reba.

The pilot is so busy establishing its new world, performances are afterthought generic. But Defiance gets more distinctive, and dramatic, through its next two hour episodes.

[The episodes are] smarter than you might expect but not quite as clever as they work at being. Like the family unit it portrays, this dark/lighthearted drama tries to have everything at once and struggles under the far-reaching effort.

Quinn radiates enough sincerity to make us keep reading this uneven book, just to see how it shapes up.

We haven't had a good dishy time-waster in awhile. Maybe this is it.

This isn't "Friends," after all. At its hour length, "Related" asks us to take the Sorelli saga somewhat more seriously. Yet it provides sitcom incidents that can't stand the significance test.

The wit can get a little heavyhanded sometimes - yes, it's another series with voiceover narration (can anybody say "Sex and the City"?) - but its heart, and head, are in the right place.

This Fox series is smartly written and acted, and it's even evocatively filmed in New York locations that lend it a gritty city flavor. But.... Less persuasively entwined is a heavy-handed romance whodunit.

"Flight of the Conchords" isn't brilliant, but it isn't awful, either, just familiar, with two likable stars who seem to be channeling the deadpan dry wit of an old Beatles movie.

If only the delicacy of these two character actors [Alfred Molina and Michael Keaton], were matched by that of The Company's central figures and the production's overall arc.

Its rambling storytelling starts to reveal distinct shape in these people, their relationships and the show's quirky comic perspective [in the second episode].

The target viewer wouldn't watch all this predictable--I mean, impulsive--bickering and button-pushing while thinking: I wonder why all the paintings and posters on the walls in the background are blurred out? And then think: Geez, why am I even wondering about that? The audience for Joan Knows Best? will be loving Joan's visits to three plastic surgeons Tuesday, not fretting.

Roseanne's Nuts isn't awful. It just is. There's "nut" much happening.

So pleased with itself, it doesn't seem concerned about pleasing us.

de Cadenet's interesting. Her talk show is much less so.

Families can watch this together nightly. The pace isn't exactly taxing. And it's summer.

Its hasty pace frequently muddles precisely who's who where, when or why. Even the zippy sex scenes play like another gratuitous burst of firepower.

If only it were more interesting.

While The Neighbors sketches something genuinely creative--and truly weird--its comedy doesn't really come together.

"Drive" is less the sort of textured character study we've come to expect than an action-packed joy ride. That's not to say you won't wanna hop in. But it's hardly a journey you've gotta take.

Pathos may make for a more positive reality TV experience than a parade of lying, backstabbing and physical torture. But the basic appeal remains pathetic. Perhaps in more ways than one.

"The Tudors" could actually use a touch of the over-the-top wildness that undermined the substance of HBO's "Rome." If we could blend the two together somehow, we might have a kickily effective history mash-up.

The stories may hardly be innovative... but their very familiarity becomes comforting.

To steal from the old beer slogan, (this show) looks great, (but it's) less filling (than it intends).

ABC's new computer animated Shrek half-hour seems to disqualify itself from the timeless category almost immediately by insisting on being "hip" (which means anti-hip), usually at the expense of feeling real.

While it's nice to see a show that isn't cops/docs/lawyers, it'd be nicer if the show was better.

Though American tastes are mocked here, too, laughing at your own group doesn't necessarily excuse laughing at others.

This show lurches along, all its sitcom puzzle pieces laid out without being assembled into even a Hollywood picture of life.

Despite Salomon's efforts at visually stylish filmmaking, Justice for Natalee Holloway never puts any real meat on the bones of the much-hyped saga.

I did catch enough of "Hart of Dixie" to tell it's formula absurdity for the "princess" demographic of magical thinkers who now imagine being lifesaving doctors as well as rescued royals.

Nothing is left unspoken in dialogue as blandly obvious as "I am the only other person who knows" and "She had a lot of secrets."

Surface fashion styling can't cloak the underlying framework of yet another CBS procedural.

Lehman is good, most everything's OK, but nothing is especially fresh or compelling.

Greetings From Tucson tries the high-wire act of both avoiding and exploiting Mexican-American stereotypes, and falls flat on its back in the desert sand next to the tire swing and the El Camino. [20 Sept 2002]

The pilot's accumulation of cute - oh, for the straightforward simplicity of bowling alley lawyer "Ed" - feels overbearing long before Kelley's courtroom summation turns societal sermon.

Bob's Burgers might be meatier if it gave us some reason to watch these characters. The title isn't the only thing that feels generic.

There's no "here" here.

This canned stew is further flavored with too-snappy comebacks, too-slick repartee and too-clever contrivances. Making it bearable are cast members who do somehow manage to seem like people next door.

The pilot serves up flashy ooh-ah instead of anything tangible to wrap our arms around.

So much of tonight's series pilot feels so glib and rings so false, it's hard to believe this soapy saga comes from the quality-not-quantity production team of Tom Fontana and Julie Martin.

The first hour manages to feel both mechanical and manipulative, without feeling truly exciting or even grounded anyplace.

Tonight's "Skating" debut glides onto the air in a weird sort of middle zone, not quite cheesy enough to skewer, yet too much a cheese-product to take seriously.

There's greatness begging to be grasped here, and nobody has a handle on it.

The women's friendship radiates authentic undertones, beneath all the gooed-up personal drivel, although it's way too convenient how they always show up simultaneously at the same crime scenes.

There's nothing to relate to here, just to observe from afar, and only Tambor's as-always deft comic distraction gives us anything worth glancing at.

Alex O'Loughlin is bogged down by trite dialogue, half-hearted support, perfunctory exposition, and better-to-look-good-than-make-sense production priorities.

There's just too much shtick and not enough personality, especially when the stars' previous hits found their funny in relatable human behavior.

Someone must believe the allure of "CSI" lies in its "look" - Cold Case also offers time-tripping flashbacks blending the past incident into present time - along with the behavioral "cool" of its central character. But even when William Petersen plays reserved, his "CSI" cop seems to be seething at his core. That suppressed fire makes him worth watching. Morris is barely an ember.

There's certainly comedy to be found in these basic situations, but not in "Lucky Louie's" confounding approach or stilted presentation.

Despite the storylines' incessant emotional and psychological delvings, the result is an inert if not annoying muddle among unpleasantly profane people whose prospective salvation isn't worth wading toward.

Too many moments feel false, overblown or contrived.

A second-rate knockoff of what's not quite a first-rate fabrication itself.

Eli Stone is fated to flounder.

Carpoolers is like a flimsy "Saturday Night Live" skit pounded home and running on beyond endurance. Actors sputter their lines, dither and whimper like some 1950s sitcom.

This show is slickly packaged and unchallengingly trite in its slavish reality-show construction.

Some amusing bits, but for every one of those, there are 10 misfires.

The characters couldn't be more bland, and atmospheric Texas settings are ill-used.

Russian Dolls is so busily edited--is any shot longer than 3 seconds?--that there's no flavor of anything.

TBS' entry only lacks "Sex and the City's" craft in writing, characterizations, plot, production and wit.

Nothing to see here. Move on.

The only thing deep in tonight's Firefly premiere, though, is the well of cliches into which Whedon dips for what passes for plot and exposition. [20 Sept 2002, p.B02]

Any smart girl would also wish for humor at a higher level than slapstick broccoli on the eyeball or a 12-year- old boy drooling, "You're kinda easy on the peepers." [20 Sept 2002]

There's perverse fun to be had in watching "3 lbs." Count the groans as you spot yet another trite piece of formula.