It just isn't funny.

I just wanted everyone, including Jones, to rise up as one and throw the cameras and the whole Anchorwoman concept out of the newsroom and back to whatever airport strip bar provided its genesis.

We don't feel anything because nothing is revealed about Moody except that he is depressed, profane and a writer. (We don't even know whether he is a good writer--all sorts of bad writers get upset about how their movies are made too.) And that, I'm afraid, is not enough.

Lipstick Jungle wrongheadedly wants to have it both ways--to celebrate and explore the lives and loves of women at the top through protagonists who don't have the drive or the depth to make it there.

Watching "Tabatha's Salon Takeover," which is unrated, you can't help but wonder if there shouldn't be a "whip it" show for "whip it" shows--in which an expert would review the tapes and offer advice on how to turn a bad situation around. They could start with this one.

Canterbury's Law is a Frankenstein's monster of a dozen cop/law shows, a pale, lurching version of the flawed and fascinating women who are taking back television like so many modern Cagneys and Laceys.

I'm sure the writers have big plans to examine the hilarious pitfalls everyone encounters after Wolf goes to jail and Cheryl institutes a new "no crime" rule but it's not just difficult to care about what happens next, it's difficult to imagine caring.

There's nothing wrong with a show about lovable losers, but they have to be, you know, lovable. Here, the men seem to be products of their writers' contempt; they're such babies that even their profanity doesn't rise from the potty.

Like so many reboots, The Firm is a waste of precious resources, especially its cast.

Take "Lost," mash it up with "The Prisoner," throw in a little "Saw," over-season with badly written and poorly delivered dialogue, glaze with horror-film lighting, dream-scene camerawork and elevators like you haven't seen since "The Shining," and you've got "Persons Unknown."

The show is pretty darn terrible, derivative and tired, co-starring a monkey (never, ever a good sign) and chockablock with characters we have seen too many times before.

To say Valentine, which premieres at 8 p.m. Sunday, is terrible does not do justice to either the show or the word "terrible."

As a for-profit visual arts experience, Hemlock Grove is terrible in ways that mock the meaning of the word "terrible," with clunky acting, tra-la-la transitions and at least one monster that walks like a bad Frankenstein and appears to be wearing the very same wig/hat we used.

Rogue is pretty terrible, a moody, broody jumble of clichéd characters, pregnant pauses and sex scenes that border on the pornographic.

The Playboy Club is nothing but a tarted-up mob drama; the bunnies may be used as the marketing and milieu but the main narrative is about the men, and no one seems aware of the irony.

If Couric was the best and brightest candidate to replace Oprah, things are not looking good, America.

Fox should send TNT the super fancy bouquet because, once again, "House" never looked so good.

So here it is, a two-part A&E miniseries that manages, despite a cast culled from some of the best shows on TV, to be both overwrought and dull, a veritable Frankenfilm of sci-fi thrillers, built of debris from sources including "Outbreak," "Sphere," "The Omega Man," "The Birds," "The China Syndrome" and, oh, yes, "The Andromeda Strain."

If Mental sounds a lot like "House" or "The Mentalist" or whatever other foreign-born-actor-playing-a-haunted-man drama you can think of, well, it is. Only nowhere near as good.

Poorly conceived, badly written and indifferently acted, The Deep End is a jumble of terrible ideas from start to finish.

Zero Hour, while initially tantalizing (priests, Nazis, Anthony Edwards, an unholy birth, a secret map--I'm in! I'm in!), is more than a little disappointing (flat-footed dialogue, absurd plot machinations, cardboard main characters, ludicrous historical leaps--I'm out! I'm out!).

The show is neither funny nor illuminating. Indeed, if you aren't a bordering-on-psychotically-obsessive Saget fan, there's not much to see except some very nice scenery.

It's just the sheer bone-idle laziness of the writing, which is a dumbed-way-down "Modern Family" crossed with watered-way-down "Two and a Half Men."

Though it is mildly interesting to watch the reality monster consume its own tail for a few minutes, I'd frankly rather spend an hour blotting my lip gloss.

He gets off a few good lines, but even the fan-based studio audience wasn't much impressed, providing an ocean of silence where the laughter should be, which made the television viewing experience actually uncomfortable at times.

The Storm is almost but not quite bad enough to be fun. Although Treat Williams is clearly having a great time, those of us in the audience are left feeling damp and more than a bit moldy.

Feldman has created a quartet of rich guys so insufferable, self-centered and whiny that they make the men of feminist masterwork "The Golden Notebook," or even "The Nanny Diaries," look positively heroic.

It is such an utterly cynical experiment, troublesome on so many levels (there are children involved, watching adults cry because their friends have "banished" them) and no matter how often people say "it's just a game," even without a big chunk of change on the line, family competitions are rarely bloodless.