Murdered innocents, a gory sword fight in slow motion and dry, witty, dialogue. Yes, it's all here, but what's missing is ... excitement.

The first half is tautly produced, before there's a dramatic--and dramatically dull--downshift that'll get you ready for beddy-bye.

The pilot is, in fact, baffling, and needlessly so.

Cho has long been an acquired taste, and - while her fans will luxuriate in these 22 minutes--few newbies will acquire that tonight.

Purefoy brings some raffish charm to the role, but these days, who wants to embrace raffish philandering philanthropists--particularly ones so defiantly dim.

The thing looks stylish, has a nice cast, is well written, and Bratt--scruffy, unkempt, a little more than off-center here--has the requisite intensity for the role. But it also is jarringly slick and borderline seamy; maybe that's just part of the fast world Banks and his cohorts find themselves in, but the tone ultimately robs the show--or at least the pilot--of heart and passion.

Problem here is that Beers is yoking his specialty with something that is not his forte--reality competition. The result often feels forced and frivolous.

Neither great, nor horrible, nor propitious nor preposterous. It was just a start, and in the late-night TV game, sometimes that's good enough.

Accidentally feels like a show that's nearly been focus-grouped into oblivion--with lines, beats and a cultural resonance that's so familiar you can almost see the baseball bat of predictability descending upon your head. So be it. Elfman's fine, as usual. This could be worse.

V has its fun moments, but mostly this is pure bunkum, or 1980s-era TV with a thin 2009 veneer.

Mildly amusing, though take out some of the harsh language and you've got more of a Disney Channel or TeenNick series than a memorable Fox one.

Creator Shonda Rhimes promised deeper, sharper medical stories this season to tether this show to the ground, and tonight Private Practice delivers those - even if the so-called "moral gray" area of each feels contrived.

I'm punchy after an hour-and-change of lame chases, inane dialogue, ludicrous plot twists and absurdist acting techniques. But by the end of this, I pretty much had a crush on Piper Perabo and Anne Dudek (who plays her sister), so I guess it was worthwhile after all.

That's a lot of pressure, even for Iron Jay, and maybe why Night One felt like a work in progress--terribly rough in spots, not bad in others.

Family is a trifle--part comic book, part kids' show--that is perfectly pleasant but without edge, bite or dramatic heft. With Chiklis aboard, it's like witnessing a concert pianist execute an elaborate version of "Chopsticks."

"Undercovers" is so content to lapse into genre conventions, that it feels complacent and banal. Worse, Kodjoe and Mbatha-Raw have such minimal chemistry that they seem to be shadowboxing most of the time.

Outlaw isn't bad as much as bogus. The whole faulty premise creaks and groans under the weight of a now-you-see-it-now-you-don't shell game, as key plot points zip by, then are quickly tucked back under their shell in the vain hope you won't remember them, or maybe take them at face value.

Body of Proof feels like a show that has nearly been nibbled to death by network ducks. You can almost see the TV executive Post-it notes on the screen.

Though Saget is amiable and likable here, the ratio of good quips to groaners is still only about one-to-four.

Some brief memorable performances, particularly Cusack as a tippling housewife. Otherwise, an inexplicable misfire.

Coin of the realm - pun intended - for TV games is familiarity, but that hardly confers an urgency to watch this one.

Skins is a bit clunky and even dated at times. Nor does it feel all that grounded in the real world, where it badly wants to be.

Matt Olmstead and Nick Santora are two solid guys who know how to make good TV and Lombardozzi and Alonzo are superior actors. But there are only flashes of promise here.

My heart tells me that any show that revolves around an honest-to-goodness native of Commack deserves an A+. My head tells me this one deserves a C.

Linney is a fine actress, but her material here doesn't match her talents.

Over these 52 minutes, she hits 50 states, so of necessity the pace is brisk and to the point. You don't really get to know anybody, but a sea of faces from the Mideast to the Far East tell her of their hopes and dreams in short, sharp sound bites.

"Suburgatory" falls flat--a flatness that will be accentuated by the smart suburban comedies that bookend it.

BFF is not bad--classify this as another Young Urban New York-based sitcom--but it's not great, either, or certainly not smart enough, or different enough, or flat-out funny enough to deserve anything other than the bleak future that now appears preordained.