All this feels dutiful and rote - the CliffsNotes version.

A sweet, gentle, good-natured trifle that is (nonetheless) surprisingly airless and only rarely funny, if that.

This wanna-be's as dumb as dirt, and, as a consequence, even makes Hollywood seem more toxic than it probably is.

Call Girl is a dreary London day. A pass.

The pilot was so uneven that the whole affair nearly veers into "Reefer Madness" territory--the kind of over-the-top cautionary fable that subverts honorable intentions through hysteria or cliche. Despite its pedigree, Teenager doesn't appear to have ever stepped inside a high school, either.

There's no reason to pile on here, but this show needed many more months of gestation before getting thrown to the wolves.

Private Practice is hugely disappointing, and in so many ways that a mere review can't even begin to do all the problems injustice.

Knight Rider is a disaster, a remake so deliriously and delectably bad that you have to watch just to tell your grandchildren that you were there.

Sit Down is raw, vulgar and blithely offensive, with so many triple and quadruple entendres for so many sexual acts, I lost count.

Gary is a throwback to a time when laugh tracks were provided by evidently demented studio audiences; when one-liners were stoked with double entendres about sexual functions; when sitcoms had a beat, pace and predictability so primitive that they engaged only the reptilian part of our brains. To some viewers, this may be comfort food. To others: Hell.

As the woebegone divorcee with an antic streak and a full-blown need to get down, Cox is not believable.

We get some slightly bent soccer moms and dads debriefed by an impossibly cheery, cheesy, chummy game-show host. Showtime must have thought there would be great humor and irony in the mundane exchanges recorded here. But it miscalculated. Badly.

As awful as $#*! My Dad Says is, you almost detect an ember of promise here. Maybe it's Shatner--whom we will always love, no matter what--or maybe it's an illusion. But CBS needs to blow some life into that ember before it's too late. Maybe it already is.

It's lackadaisical, weary, bland and off-center.

The appealing cast valiantly tries to hack its way through the dense underbrush of jokes about frats and testicles and cannabis. But the harder they hack, the hackier it all becomes. Before long, the jungle has won. The show, and viewer, have lost.

Unfortunately, they've settled on far-too-easy and facile answers for the most part.

Leaden, dull, flat, tone deaf. Any reason to go on? Sure. This replaces another ex-"Friends" vehicle (Courteney Cox's "Cougar Town," which returns mid-April) that launched with both left feet, then dramatically improved. With all the on-screen talent here, this ex-"Friends" star could eventually shine, too.

Unadulterated rubbish, and exactly what fans expect. Bravo, Starz.

When you start doodling on the Internet instead of watching the show you are supposed to review, then either you, or the show, has a problem. I'm going with the latter.

What's missing here, besides laughs? Chemistry.

Yup, pretty awful.

Yeah, Brooklyn 11223 is awful, and awful not because it's inauthentic--it isn't necessarily to those being portrayed here--but because it's hugely phony.

it's a clanking, clattering collection of collagenous clinkers--of dialogue so inept, of acting performances so preposterous, of plot points so cliched that the only question worth posing is why someone of Weaver's stature would be caught anywhere near a turkey like this.

Grim, sad, painful.

Snooki & JWoww reeks of the end-times--the end-times for "Jersey Shore."

Dim, dumb, dull, daffy and dippy, Discovery should know better.

Part Dr. Jekyll, part Mr. Hyde and all dumb.

With Tools, there is no discernible style, or point of view, or voice, or humor that ever rises to the level of originality.