Ben Travers

lease. Stop it with the multiple timelines. Of late, TV has a tendency to overindulge the structural device, but “Class of ’09” has enough on its plate already to bother with silly gimmicks. Or it should.

“White House Plumbers” likely won’t go down as the definitive Watergate tale (though a voice in Episode 4 sure seems like a nod toward one classic film), and its tone may be too indefinite to attract average TV fans. (It’s a historical drama steeped in absurd humor, just as it’s a satire absent “Veep’s” laugh-a-minute leanings.) Still, each element is made with such obvious enthusiasm for the time, place, and central story that it’s hard not to admire how the five-hour oddity adds up.

“Citadel” isn’t exactly special. It’s a glossed-up action series with gadgets and twists and spectacle, but its conventional to its core.

With “Love and Death,” it’s clearer than ever that ground is wearing thin, and he [David E. Kelley] either needs to embrace the courtroom drama genre with renewed gusto, or try something totally different. There’s simply nothing worth seeing here.

“The Diplomat” makes a meal out of blending political parlance with office melodrama. It talks a big game — and backs it up.

“Mrs. Davis” earns your attention, and if it occasionally floods the zone with an abundance of imagination, a surfeit sure beats a deficit when it comes to new ideas in today’s TV. Even better, the limited series offers answers and closure.

It’s a show able to look beyond what happens and enjoy how it happens — whether that’s how it’s plotted, how it’s shot, or how it’s performed. “Barry” is hurtling toward an ever-narrowing conclusion, but it’s already so much deeper than a good guy/bad guy story. It’s more than a Hollywood satire, an antihero’s journey, or a morality play crossed with a comedy of errors. It’s “Barry,” and no matter how dark things get, I’ll miss it when it’s gone.

In Season 3, “Dave” is basking in the confidence earned from its exceptional prior entry, but it’s not resting on its laurels.

That’s the goal, at least, for Jesse Armstrong and his talented creative team: to be remembered among the best, to end strong, to find a goodbye as fitting as it is stirring. Based on the first four episodes — as well as the three preceding seasons — there’s no reason to think such a finale is out of reach. And after these initial ending hours, it’s also clear that “Succession” isn’t slowing down.

“Beef” remains eminently watchable (so long as your nerves can tolerate such needlessly risky behavior) and its riveting performances make the five-plus hours a worthy investment. The limited series may jump the shark in its back half, but in doing so, it also mimics the contradictory emotions tied to its core conflict.

Season 2 keeps moving forward… but the giddy buzz once driving “Yellowjackets” has been replaced by a snail’s pace. Through six episodes, Season 2 appears to be approaching aptly complex quandaries for its core cast members, but the path to their confrontation is padded in too much snow.

Seven episodes is maybe one more than we needed, and the finale runs out of steam. Episode 6, “Fallin Through the Cracks,” will certainly have its fans, though its loose construction needed further refinement to better justify such blunt (but effective!) choices. Still, with Fishback a riveting constant, well-deployed gallows humor, and more to the story than meets the eye, the buzz around “Swarm” is worth hearing out.

In 2023, the Oscars just had to save face. As the absent Tom Cruise once said — a bit preemptively, sure, but still true: “Mission accomplished.”

If the series wasn’t so brazenly reminiscent of better spy offerings — or if it showed a bit more pizzazz in playing off the old hits — its eight-episode first season could be a worthy investment.

As with any ensemble, some arcs are stronger than others, but Read balances episodes so even if the new focus isn’t perfectly polished, the core cast is there to keep things humming.

“I’m a Virgo” often feels like an elongated movie, intermittently chopped into episodic chunks. (With episodes hovering around the half-hour mark, its runtime should end up just over the three-hour mark.) It’s not subtle, which can be part of its charm, while still feeling redundant at times.

Through only two episodes, it’s hard to tell if “Lucky Hank” could use a bit more of “Saul’s” eagerness to gaze into the darkness, or if it’d be better off dialing up its softer side. The “everything and the kitchen sink” approach taken by co-showrunners Aaron Zelman and Paul Lieberstein leaves enough room to pivot toward what’s working as the season goes on, but also too many questions about an amorphous story that could be described any which way: Is it a dark comedy? A light drama? A mid-life crisis cringe-fest, or an inspirational everyman saga?

Hiccups in Season 3’s rollout don’t damper its spirit. ... And Ted, in all his glorious mess, holds it all together.

Season 2 is an elegant, arresting noir that’s hard to shake and sly enough to savor. Part of this adaptation’s appeal is how it balances the past and the present.

“Selective Outrage” felt like top-of-mind observations, uninterested in deeper scrutiny or even overall cohesiveness. ... Technically, you could argue his point of focus, his structure, and the very existence of his special shows he’s aware of the unprecedented attention he’s receiving. But you could just as easily argue that by not earning it, he’s just showing his ass.

“The Mandalorian” answered the main question tied to Seasons 1 and 2. Now, it needs to find a new way forward, and there’s a galaxy of paths available.

If all viewers had to deal with was a sham documentary structure, they could probably get over it, but “Daisy Jones and the Six” utterly bungles its star-crossed romance, as well. ... The music isn’t bad, though. Their biggest hits (mainly “Look at Us Now (Honeycomb”) may not be stone-cold classics, but they’re believable substitutes in a series where little else is convincing — or even tries to be.

Glimmers of wit surface intermittently, lending some hope to a lightweight original in need of more attitude, but the series hues too closely to its straight-laced star.

Season 3 extends or recreates arcs from the past, hoping that familiarity will breed a rose-colored fondness.

“Hello Tomorrow” may look inviting in its bizarre blend of iconography, but it’s frustratingly conventional at its core. For all Jack’s talk of dreams, he’s no Don Draper.

If you’re in need of a good cry, “Dear Edward’s” overcast vision of life will likely do the trick. But even with Britton leading the charge, I’m not sure her latest was meant for more than five episodes, let alone the 10 it got.

All this star power (with Lyonne leading the way) is enough to guarantee “Poker Face” will be, at least, an enjoyable diversion. But as the once-sharp dialogue dulls, the playful spirit fades, and the episodes overall regress to serviceable puzzle-solving, it’s hard to shake the feeling that “Poker Face” isn’t as good as it could’ve been.

Without Ford, “Shrinking” may have been unbearable, but with him, I ended up happily revisiting episodes just to enjoy the actor’s spark. Perhaps I’m alone in suffering compassion fatigue when it comes to Segel’s cartoonish sensitive types.