Dan Fienberg

Just because nobody could or should feel this is a definitive King Lear detracts only somewhat from the undeniable joy that comes from even two hours of watching Anthony Hopkins gnash his teeth, wail and go gloriously mad opposite one of the best supporting casts imaginable.

I can nod enthusiastically with Tom Arnold's non-stop indignation, but if his new show was meant to educate me or amuse me, it failed.

There's a deeper cultural dig that Warriors of Liberty City could be doing, one on display in America to Me, talking in more depth about economic opportunities, the traps of race-based assumptions, community-police relations, a biased criminal justice system and more. Maybe and hopefully the pairing of this often very good show with that often great show will cause viewers wooed by the football hook of Warriors of Liberty City to also watch its Starz partner, or vice vers

I call the premiere of American Horror Story: Apocalypse "silly," but that's hardly the worst thing in the world. The fast-moving pre-credit sequence, directed by Bradley Buecker against a deceptively sunny Los Angeles backdrop, was packed with malevolent chuckles.

The series builds well after its stop-and-start beginning. It reminds you that before House of Cards went off the rails with soap opera high jinks and Kevin Spacey hamminess, it was a promising show about the personal cost of power. Think of The First similarly, rather than as Mars Trek, and you could be intrigued.

The show is smart about the connective tissue of memory and how places or sensory experiences can serve as time machines, making a lie of any suggestion that it's easy to move forward after tragedy. ... This already feels like a show of some worth, even if it requires accepting yet another stream of TV into what is a roaring river.

The generalities are in place for a workable comedy. It's the specifics that are often hacky and generally unfunny, yet they're frequently rewarded by what feels like a surplus of audience approval, which always ends up being one of the elements that make multicam haters cringe.

[Rob Lowe as director] generates a few moments of eerie suspense, and one or two silly-scary scenes produce the right combination of gasps and laughter. He also gets a sturdy, believably perplexed performance from his leading man. Even better is Grace.

An extremely watchable stalker drama. ... The breathless pacing of You is what could well make it a juicy guilty pleasure for many viewers, but it falls short of the kind of thoughtfulness that could have made it special.

Young Elena and Lila dominate the series' first two hours so completely that none of the other characters in their orbit really stand out, which also means none of them stand out as fake or distracting. ... The series' first two hours mark an extraordinarily promising beginning.

DeMonaco's conceptual interest in this world kept me watching over the three episodes sent to critics even as the execution made me fatigued.

Unjustifiably bloated, superficially obsessed with torture and the trappings of manly swagger and boasting enough story in the two episodes sent to critics to fill a full season of a more contemplative show, Mayans MC finds the brand slightly invigorated by a new cultural context, but fails utterly to replicate or even emulate much of what Sons of Anarchy actually did best.

By the second or third episodes I realized I was actually trying to figure out the case, which was never the case with the dick-drawing and the desire to bring the last few episodes became much more about getting answers than just simple amusement. In fact, I barely laughed at all in the season's homestretch, proving that while American Vandal may function as a parody/satire of Serial and The Staircase and The Jinx, it's just as capable of being a moody Encyclopedia Brown for the new millennium.

The pacing is sometimes teasingly effective and sometimes just infuriatingly slow, but I respect its gateway oddness, like The Innocents is preparing a Netflix juvenile demographic for the more substantive, patience-intensive oddness of something like a Sens8 down the road.

Some of those character-centric scenes stand out because, unlike the first season with its vehicular homicide opening and instantly established stakes of Brady's next target, the second season struggles initially to find propulsive momentum. The new cast regulars, especially Huston's Felix, are bland and the efforts to bring in favorite characters, including Breeda Wool's Lou, sometimes feel strained. There's still a lot to be interested in with Mr. Mercedes, assuming you can figure out if you have access to Audience Network.

The Jack Ryan name will cut through the clutter and polished production values and the solid Krasinski should help viewers choose this Oreo, even if it's only sometimes appreciably better than the store-brand sandwich cookie.

The second season of Ozark, however, is a 10-episode slog of grinding narrative gears, ominous pronouncements about consequences, affectless violence and a monochromatic aesthetic that left me giggling at its miserable pretensions.

A flat, lackluster dud given a full season to prove very conclusively that being a great reality TV personality isn't the same as being an actor.

Disenchantment raises questions about feminism and history-bending gender roles that it's barely prepared to engage with. Then again, it's only been seven episodes, and perhaps all of the undercooked elements will coalesce into another Groening favorite as opposed to the light corset-and-pantaloon-festooned amusement it is thus far.

[Bill Pullman as Detective Harry Ambrose is] not a great performance, but with its introductory quirks somewhat reduced, it's a sturdy and inquisitive one, allowing the new figures in the story to attract his attention and that of the viewers. Paul is comparably meant to be more solid than exciting. ... Coon is perfectly enigmatic, not quite the season's villain and yet utterly unsettling.

A so-so character-driven legal drama with just enough on its mind to carry my interest across the four episodes sent to critics.

The story that propels the 13 episodes is more focused and on a smaller scale than what was attempted last year, which isn't entirely unwelcome. But it's not always clear which big issues and ideas the writers set out to address in the new season. As it stands, Orange Is the New Black remains a show so full of rich characters, ripping dialogue and great performances that I can focus on those things and not the characters or storylines that don't work.

The series isn't always focused or consistent, but it's got ample strangeness and droll laughs, and every once in a while it packs an unexpected emotional punch.

Quinto is curious, eager, unexpectedly intense and amusingly easy to please, setting the tone for a show that makes for a fun and easy watch, and one that doesn't set its ambitions very high.

Shame is the missing ingredient in Cohen's Who Is America? and, unfortunately, it's not an ingredient that proves merely incidental. It's the difference between shocking and not shocking, between hilarious and simply fleetingly funny.

The failure to get hooked in the story was becoming particularly frustrating by the fourth episode, which at least pushes the series forward by the end. Generally, the show isn't at all scary, nor is it all that suspenseful, and I can't quite put my finger even on the exact genre it's working in.

Misfits & Monsters is a predictably hit-and-miss mixture of amusingly bizarre, strangely inspired and interestingly misfired with a lot of potential to grow and evolve.

The show doesn't pretend teens today are growing up without full awareness of what reality TV looks like, and America to Me doesn't pretend not to be reality TV in its own way. It's reality TV in the best sense of the term, and I suspect that America to Me will end up being one of the year's best shows of any kind.