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

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

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

It's daring, disconcerting and/or enlightening.

Gossip Girl actually isn't bad by the standards of the medium--with "The Hills" pretty much being the standard--and it's even surprisingly competent.

The pilot still is often clever and engaging, but confusing too.

Lewis is such a commanding presence that Sarah Shahi is rendered little more than an accessory as Dani. There's nothing going on between the partners at the outset, but this is subject to change.

This handsome, moodily shot movie liberates the play from the confines of the tiny apartment with almost too many scenes on the bus, in a bar and, most chilling, in the back room of a beauty shop where the neighborhood abortionist boils forceps.

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.

A breath of cold, bracing and - bless it - fresh air. Eisner's fable is dark, almost impenetrably so, though skillfully rendered. Best of all, nothing here has ever been performed on reality TV, the best I can tell.

In the world of reality shows, this well-produced series is better than most. Betwixt and between all the emotional upheavals and drama, Coffey, only slightly witchy, dishes out sound advice.

Smart. [23 Aug 1998, p.D10]

Series star Treat Williams ("Hair," "Prince of the City") is such a fine actor, with so much natural gravity, that he can transcend all but the hokiest writing. And as the opener develops, the writing actually starts to meet him halfway. [16 Sept 2002, p.B18]

I would say give them a chance. What else are you going to do for a half-hour after "Frasier"? [2 Oct 2001, p.B27]

Garcia is a major-league cutie and sunny on-screen presence without being cloying. But enough with the filthy-rich-kid dramedies!

Hilarious implausibility, overheated dialogue and enough soap to do several loads of laundry are part of its appeal.

Tonight's premiere may seem like ridiculous twaddle, and it may feel like a major downer (and kinda sloooow), too, but maybe that's just Bruckheimer playing with our heads. In fact, Hour deserves a second look (next week is definitely better).

Interesting detours, and a worthy show--but at times just a smidgen too self-righteous and melodramatic.

I do know something about TV shows, and this one works best when Anne Slowey is on camera (which is not nearly enough) and the program focuses on clothing - that great, exasperating, endlessly complicated art form known as "fashion."

Michael is a clinically interesting personality type who is profoundly unempathetic, until such times as he is very empathetic. The wonderful creative trick of The Office is knowing exactly the right moment to humanize Michael.

Unfortunately, one show's a classic, the other a near knockoff. Nevertheless, Poehler's still got plenty of appeal here.

The pilot is flawed (most pilots are), not particularly funny and even--bizarrely--deploys two bland jokes from the "Weeds" premiere at 10 (did the writers trade notes?). But Falco is good, proving that she can transcend Carmela Soprano.

There's so much to like here. Now, all P&R has to do is become consistently likable.

I laughed. Not often, or perhaps not often enough, but there was also enough McFarlane-esque gross-out sophomoric tomfoolery to keep even me reasonably entertained for a half-hour. Plus, good ol' likable Cleveland works well as a leading man.

The Narrative knot is further jumbled by all the head games Two plays on him and everyone else. Six is on shifting sand, and so, too, will you be.

Watch for any length of time and you may--as I did--have the eerie if not unpleasant feeling that you've been teleported to a decent network cop show from the 1970s.

As a quirky cross between Reynolds' Gator McKlusky and John Cazale's Fredo Corleone, Whitford pretty much hijacks the show. He's fun to watch, even if the show will knock your IQ down a few points.

Hot in Cleveland is a by-the-numbers sitcom with a couple of laughs, an inoffensive premise and four seasoned actresses who make the material much better than it is.

A by-the-book cop show without much bite or heft. But it's got Memphis and Lee.

It's summer, expectations are low, and you could do a lot worse than this genial, softhearted import.

It's all vaguely familiar and spirited enough to look like shiny summer fare. Just don't scratch the surface.

Mostly this show belongs to Harmon, once a key member of the "Law & Order" ensemble. She's likable and intriguing. That salvages an otherwise average cop show.

Rubicon unfolds at a languid pace, dispensing information at the rate a not-quite-broken kitchen faucet dispenses drops. You want it to speed up. You want some urgency. You want a few more thrills in this thriller. At least this average TV viewer does.

Let's say Lone Star has its work cut out for it, and so does Wolk. His portrayal is too nice--too romantic, too good-hearted, too bland--to make Allen interesting, or at least convincing.

Forgive the pun, but this brass needs polishing. The Green/Burgess team is one of TV's best and we hope they'll make this show as sharp and compelling as it should be.

The Tenth Inning is dutiful, sober and thoughtful. No spitballs are thrown. No banned substances have been added to bloat it up to obscene, grotesque proportions. What is missing in at least tonight's installment is surprise, or the pleasant shock of learning something brand new or unexpected.

The show is scattered, slight and abominably self-promotional. But Michaels is so full of abundant - and infectious - good cheer that you tend to overlook these many faults. Fans will eat it up.

So far, so good. No late night talk show has ever been canceled after one edition--not even Chevy's--while first albeit abbreviated impressions of Conan are promising.

You can't help realizing that just by the act of taping a reality show, the Bruces--all nine of them--are already employed in a job, albeit a temporary one.

You see no skepticism in Beyond. No analysis. No thinking. Just a lot of truly scary people yelling at very young kids.

A not-unpleasing comedy that takes time and commitment to grow on you. How long? I started to like it three or four episodes in. Seems like an awfully long time, no?

Competent spinoff, but the formula tends to wear like a straitjacket on Whitaker.

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.

The performance tends to be monochromatic, and in the end, so is Mildred Pierce. What's especially enjoyable here are the minor performances--especially Pearce as the louche Monty--and the many almost imperceptibly small details, right down to the crockery in a restaurant.

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.

This three-parter often lacks finesse and sophistication. The story is rushed or clumsily told, and the tone discordant....Watch for Atkins only. She's brilliant.

Gleeks will engage; hard to imagine who else will.

Tatum seems genuine and almost desperate to forget the past; Ryan affects the pose that he couldn't care less. Over this is draped a weird "only-in-Hollywood" vibe--and a particularly sad one, too.

Skies needs more horror. Less talk. More dramatic tension. Less (ummm) talk. More crazy, wild shootouts with the despicable aliens, who don't seem particularly bright, by the way. Less (all together now) talk.

Placid and often incomprehensibly bland, Combat Hospital still has flashes of intelligence. Definitely worth a second look.

Middling start, but we've stuck with Rescue Me this long, and no point in bailing now.

The cameos often are amusing, and so is Kudrow, but someone at Showtime evidently forgot to ask whether a one-joke webisode can or should be expanded into a one-joke TV series. This one feels like a strrrretch.

It's an exhaustive and exhausting film, but Garbus finds nothing that will change minds or reverse conclusions. The tragic void remains.

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.

A not-bad formula gothic that'll rise or fall on the Dekker/Robertson chemistry; I'm betting on the former.

If you love Zooey Deschanel, this one's for you. If not, a pass.

Like opening a time capsule. The boys remain the same. At least their snark has been updated for contemporary targets.

Familiar doesn't mean bad, and there's some likable charm here.

Everything fans loved about the first season--which improved dramatically over its course, by the way--is here. Everyone is not. McIntyre is good, but he's not Whitfield, either.

Way too obscure for the average viewer, Comic Book Men is strictly for Smith groupies, and there are probably enough of those to keep this six-parter afloat over its short run.

Pauly is still Pauly--but he's a more grown-up version who cares about his friends, ailing dad and career.

Clear away the soap bubbles, and you'll find ... more soap bubbles. But you won't be bored.

Stellar production, famous leads. What's missing? Heart.

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

Where is this headed? Who knows? But it's heading there slowly. Nevertheless, the cast--Common, Meaney, Heyerdahl and Mount--is good, while the Old West still feels especially beautiful and perilous.

Not terrible--really--but not yet remotely the winner NBC so badly needs either.

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.

Kaling's good (and always is), but the pilot is just not all that funny.

Maybe just crazy enough to be engaging in the early going. It's the long run that looks questionable.

At least Emily proves she's got the chops to cast a shadow of her own.

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

Mann and HBO deserve much credit for profiling these extraordinary people. It's just too bad the execution tends to be a little long-winded or not nearly as expansive as it should be.

Not great, not terrible--just your standard-issue TV movie about a well-known historic event.

Been here/seen this--a lot--but familiarity could work in favor of Deception.

Mostly boilerplate teen soap that lacks the (umm) zest of "Sex and the City"--a good thing, in case you're wondering.

Above-average newcomer with a great actor in the leading role and frosty grace notes throughout.

Ambitious and intermittently entertaining, Zero Hour--and its celebrated lead--don't quite hit all their marks. But at least the mystery's a hoot.

Sure, it's a glossy, well-produced infomercial filled with powerful live performances, but it feels designed to make us want to buy more Beyoncé stuff.

We know how this ends (he becomes commish) but there's little evidence suggesting how or why that happens, and even less reason why we should care. Meanwhile, the best stuff in Golden Boy is the little stuff--sharp, brittle dialogue, nice performances and a street cred that's a cut above average.

The acting is solid all around--just not entirely convincing.

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.

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.

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

Some of Mamet's dialogue is certifiably awful and some certifiably brilliant, and the dichotomy is breathtaking.

[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.

"Brotherhood" is sharply written... Nevertheless, a heavy air of predictability hangs over "Brotherhood," which has a tendency to confirm viewer expectations instead of challenging them.

A reasonably competent soap.

A harmless and mostly fun little sitcom.

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.

"Lost Room" is a shaggy dog story that gets shaggier with every scene. It's a tale as tall as the Empire State Building that threatens to topple in the merest breeze but - miraculously - never does.

A relentlessly grim and deeply depressing viewing experience.

"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.

Cane" is not a bad show, and it's sporadically a good one. Merely, great expectations have not been met.

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.

A watchable and skillfully made telefilm (Jay Roach of "Austin Powers" fame directed) that is, nonetheless, marred by a melodramatic reliance on Good vs. Evil, and guess which side is which?

ABC hasn't provided much in advance to watch--smart network!--but there were some clips for Wipeout, and they were (seriously) hilarious.

You get the sense that the filmmakers' vision and Wright's are never quite in sync--or perhaps are in sync too perfectly.

A pleasant but routine sitcom that uses that decade of significant social change as a hook...The Wonder Years handles its period details - clothing, hairstyles - well. The look of the '60s is rendered with an authentic, evocative feel. Like virtually every sitcom, it has its banal moments, and here and there the gags fizzle. [30 Jan 1988, p.11]

Carell's Scott may emerge as one of those characters viewers dearly love to hate, but the guess here is that he's too over the top - much more so than Gervais' character was - to be appreciated in doses this large. He'd be more effective as a secondary character - think Danny DeVito's immortally despicable Louie DePalma in "Taxi." [24 Mar 2005, p.B33]

The show juggled a lot of storylines last night, maybe too many, but the vibe feels right. "90210" is not a disaster, and the CW can now officially let out a deep ... sigh ... of relief.

It's pretty much impossible to describe The Beast without getting tangled in the underbrush of potboiler cliche....The good news, in fact, the wonderful news, is that Swayze really is good.

If you thought the "Real Housewives" of New York City, Atlanta and Orange County were outrageous, you haven't seen anything yet.

In a word, The Listener is boring. Or, if you prefer alliteration, listless.

Yes, cliches about wealth and privilege abound and are confirmed, or perhaps further embedded....But NYC Prep is so eager to establish a kinship with "Gossip Girl" that it's forgotten to tell much of a story.

Honestly, it's a complete oddball with some charm and a few good lines.

Finding original humor in this tired old horse of a format may not only be difficult, but close to impossible.

It's a Pre-Cambrian specimen that crept out of the primordial ooze of TV past, with a rhythm so profoundly familiar that if you happened to fall asleep during the first few minutes and woke up for the last, you'd be able to mentally reconstruct the entire program from scratch.

Neither offensive nor particularly funny, it's merely another average, laugh-track-addled sitcom. The four leads are fine; they just need better material.

This isn't only "Frasier," recast as a standard family sitcom. It's "Green Acres."

The cast has major potential, but Life Unexpected still needs to find an original and compelling voice.

After Spartacus blows most of its special-effects budget on the pilot, it settles into a not-bad sword-and-sandal genre series, a la "Xena" or "Hercules."

Oh, sure, they can pierce necks and drink blood: Big deal! Any ol' vampire can do that. With a limited repertoire of vampire moves, the Radcliffs shoulda moved to Bon Temps instead of the Gates to learn some new tricks.

Sarah Palin's Alaska is part-travelogue, part-"Todd and Sarah Plus Eight," part-slick political infomercial, and part Mark Burnett hokum - and oddly fascinating for all those reasons.

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.

As a family, they are particularly eager to convey a sense of normalcy, but Sister Wives still doesn't have much interest in exploring the religious underpinnings or larger ethical questions of this anything-but-normal lifestyle. You're left without a solid clue why the Browns--all five of them--have gone to this much trouble.

Nice looking, but not nearly enough action.

Most of the material flatlines even before it begins, while never rising to the level of the HBO series to which it pays homage.

Sure, it all looks and sounds achingly familiar and blandly dumb, and maybe some of it is. But check the brain at the door. You could do much worse.

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

It's inert, lackluster and a trifle old-fashioned. Even the action scenes feel geriatric. It's also vaguely silly--a big reason the venerable good twin/evil twin gambit is better suited to comedy than drama.

A rare HBO misfire--but I do hope Amy finds peace.

There's a smoldering ember of promise here, mainly in the cast, even if the pilot tended to smother it.

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

Sure, there are some fun moments. Sure Brosnan looks mah-velous. He always does. But a little less plodding plot and a lot more action, please.

Too brittle and full of bile to cleanly hit the target.

In spots, it's been turned into an antic Saturday morning cartoon. A shame.

The River still has a quirkily eccentric charm. It's just so deliciously odd.

Not so much scandalous as scandalously dull.

Nice locales (Paris! Rome!), a couple of decent action sequences... but otherwise a tepid potboiler over-seasoned with too many spy tropes and a plot with too many gaping holes.

The show ambles along without getting viewers to particularly care about Alex or Pete. Without that requisite electricity, they're hollow, or just sad.

Nothing remotely lurid in either show [7 Days of Sex and The Conversation With Amanda de Cadenet].

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

Violent and dull.

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

Not great comedy, but hopefully the beginning of long overdue recovery process for a talented, troubled actor.

Perception is both clever and ridiculous.

If only it were more interesting.

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.

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

Still sweet and sad, but often dour and slow, too.

It's all weirdly engrossing.

The Following is a bummer of significant proportions. Not that it's bad--it's not--but it's bleak, sordid, blood-spattered and creepy (though not necessarily always "creepy" in a good way, like "The Walking Dead").

Hannibal isn't quite the sum of its admittedly evocative parts. The story is often strained, or like that poor synth operator, overextended; the shocks tend to be operatic--oversold as opposed to a deft sudden jolt to emotional solar plexus.

Falco--as always--remains one of TV's bright shining lights, but her Nurse Jackie suddenly feels like a work in progress.

A messy newcomer with a "Twilight" saga vibe and "Twin Peaks" DNA.

There is at least one troubling aspect to "Wishes" - an abundance of product placements within the show itself, which begs the question: Does salvation come with a price tag?

Cynical, randy, derivative and as wearily familiar as a cup of cheap joe, "Freddie" is also expertly cast, acted, written and directed.

While "Men" may have the nutritional equivalent of stick gum, there's some genuine charm here along with a surprisingly seasoned and talented cast.

"Teachers" isn't half-bad.

If Cecil B. DeMille's 1956 film was the Barnum & Bailey Big Tent version of the story of Exodus, this is the snippy little art house version - smarter (perhaps), a lot more accurate (perhaps) and indisputably duller.

There's a wonderful cast here... There's even an intriguing core idea... But the show also feels phony from beginning to end.

To love "Smith" is to love an ice cube. There may be a cold beauty to the craftsmanship of this enterprise, but there's a pinched, frostbitten heart at the center of it as well.

The good news is that "Brothers & Sisters" isn't even remotely a disaster. The bad news is that it isn't even remotely a success either.

"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.

"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.

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.

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.

Swingtown can't decide whether the '70s were transformative or deformative; there's a distinct ironic edge, applied mostly through the use of music.... But that edge isn't nearly sharp or funny enough (unlike "Weeds"), which tends to muddle the point of view.

I think I comprise a third type--a wary Weeds fan who's happy it's back but hardly ecstatic.

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

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.

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

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.

It's still the Meredere (or Deremere) show, and Cristina's right. It's just ... so ... over.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"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.

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

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

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."

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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."

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.

"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.

The New Normal needs to take a deep breath, get off the soapbox and get funny fast. The right elements--talented cast and showrunner--are already in place.

There's an almost overwhelming been-there-seen-that feel to the pilot, which doesn't really offer any suggestion of "well, you haven't seen this."

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

We've been down this road before and all the signposts of Underemployed look the same.

Asylum has some good special effects, just not much of a story to hang them on.

The narratives here lack subtlety, historic context or--strangely enough--even drama.

Banshee is baloney, but viewed as pure camp, there are some good action sequences and amusing moments.

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]