Arrow is sincere and energetic but visually undistinguished.

The series' bludgeoning aesthetic is silly, but it works. Much of History's programming aims to intrigue viewers who might never crack open a book, while assuring literate history buffs that the filmmakers know what they're talking about.

While it's emphatically not a great show, it is an overheated yet intriguing one, driven more by visuals than words--and if you don't mind that its gory action and soap-opera plots aren't yet matched by dialogue and performance, it's worth a look.

Nothing in this pilot promises how fascinating the show will ultimately become, and unfortunately, the show is more efficient than truly good. ... The first four episodes contain no aesthetically pleasing shots or sequences, just tedious coverage of talk and action, and too many of its 'shocking' moments are dependent on visual/aural shortcuts. ... Nevertheless, The Following fascinates, thanks to soulful lead performances by Bacon and Justified's Natalie Zea (as Carroll's ex-wife) and the nervy way it develops and sustains its central flourish.

The show’s greatest drawback, in fact, is Spade’s own influence: There are now a thousand TV comedians and a million Websites that toss off dismissive one-liners, so Spade’s snide voice is just one in a deafening din.

We don’t yet know if Thief will go anywhere surprising.

I like [the characters] all enough to hope they can float this so-far-leaky dirigible.

There is nothing in Dirt to look at or think about that we haven’t looked at and decided not to think about before.

[It] telegraphs its most important punch too early on, and the rest is loud music, strobe lights, nose candy, and debauched dancing.

The show seems to take forever to get anywhere.

K-Ville’s co–executive producers are both cop-show veterans--Jonathan Lisco of NYPD Blue and The District, Craig Silverstein of Bones and Standoff--who know how to yank our chains with close-ups, jump cuts, booster shots of adrenaline, and low-rent noir.

With the exceptions of a furious Denis Leary as Michael Whouley, chief political strategist of the Democratic National Committee, and an over-the-top Laura Dern as Katherine Harris, Florida’s hothouse secretary of State, a splendid cast mostly just sits around watching the bad news on television, dutiful to the letter of Danny Strong’s conscientious script yet insufficiently roused to righteous spirit even as, before their eyes, our republic gets banana’d.

Since Swingtown isn’t even peekaboo, much less dirty, I wish I could say that it’s played for laughs. But I don’t know what it’s played for.

Raising the Bar is professional television, but no more than that. Passion and purpose are among the missing.

In the end, it turns out that Homeland Security so desperately needs Olivia on their side of the freak wars that they show her their top-secret Mulder-Scully-esque X-files and recruit both Bishops as her own mercenary team of pattern pods. And I am the queen of the Nile.

And so far, so-so.

The original documentary may have been predatory, but it captured something powerful, the face of failed optimism, the many meanings of the word “spoiled.” Sometimes it’s better to let strange be strange.

It’s not impossible that the show might become, as it seems intended to be, a sitcom take on Susan Faludi’s Stiffed, a perverse fable about the way a man emasculated by the economy learns to strut. But to do that, it would have to have a grander, more empathic vision of the world around Ray. Right now, it just doesn’t go deep enough.

If there are rare moments in Boardwalk Empire that do pay off (the story of Jimmy's mother has some sick kick this season), it's hard to feel the stakes, beyond the catharsis of the show's bi-weekly throat slashings.

What's on the screen is a likable but dumb TV version of what the film scholar David Bordwell calls a "network narrative."

It's reasonably clever and well acted and has strong atmosphere and a few good scares, and the concept--a found-footage voyage into the Amazon to locate a mysteriously MIA scientist--is catchy. But the format of the show may prove a dealbreaker for me.

Despite very slight improvements, this series still seems deluded as to what it is and blind to what it could become.

NYC 22 isn't the best or worst show you'll ever see.

Hell on Wheels seems to be puttering around a circular track, with no straightway in sight.

Wilfred is much more pleasant and consistently enjoyable than Falling Skies, but that might be because the stakes are much lower.

It's not quite so bad that you lose all hope, some of the images and performances are memorable, and it's not inconceivable that future episodes could pique my interest again. But for now I'd put it in the "wait and see" column, without enthusiasm.

The Mob Doctor's pilot is stranded between quality cable nuance and broadcast network spoon-feeding.

With its stock supporting characters (Ali and Wyatt are attractive blanks) and its lame central contrivance, this is not a great pilot, but it's far from an awful one.