Kevin Fallon

What the early episodes of the season—we’ve seen four—mostly deliver is its version of that hug. It really is giving fans what they want, even if that means that the story arcs are frustratingly repetitive.

The idea of the new series is essentially to recreate every single dynamic of the original, just with new young actors playing new teen characters. It doesn’t work. .... The whole thing reeks of a crass ploy by Netflix to capitalize on nostalgia, while missing entirely what it was about That ’70s Show that made it good or worth revisiting in the first place.

A whiplash match of tonal ping pong that one human neck couldn’t possibly keep up without snapping. Carmichael, to his credit, never relented with his jokes throughout the night, even though the audience proved unfriendly to how provocative they were. ... The irritation in the room that [a skewering of the Globes] was happening gave off a noxious energy that the show couldn’t overcome, even as it churned out a series of meaningful moments.

It has all the trappings of everything terrible and unwatchable about the genre. Yet there’s something intangibly riveting about it. It’s all so random, yet the stakes really do feel legitimate.

There is more than meets the eye to the Chippendales. The same is true of the Hulu show.

There’s a sense this time around of, “Get to the good stuff!” The frustrating thing, I’m sure, is that there is no blame to be assigned to the series for that. The Crown is as engrossing (and endlessly watchable) as ever. The subject matter is the culprit. That said, the show does seem to be leaning into that obviousness in a way it never did before.

Maybe if Blockbuster leaned further into that meta self-awareness, there would be more about it to recommend. But the thing that makes it special, the connection to Blockbuster, is essentially ignored, resulting in a workplace comedy that isn’t particularly unique or memorable. Instead, there’s commentary about the differences between millennials and Gen Z that isn’t novel or clever.

This is the big show of the year. ... Nothing about this second season phones it in.

Among my favorite TV shows of the year so far. ... AMC’s Interview With the Vampire is lush and operatic. It is gross and disturbing, opening the dam for the sanguine river of blood to flow the way that a show like this should: so that it is as gorgeous as it is upsetting. There are provocative ideas about race and power dynamics filtered through the identity politics of bloodsuckers that, remarkably, work.

This was one of the worst Emmys telecasts in recent memory. ... Award shows are fun to watch, and, in spite of itself, this year’s ceremony made that case. ... It was almost as if handing out trophies was a chore—a distraction from the mission to make viewers eye-roll as much as possible while watching insufferable bits. It’s hilarious, then, how moving most of the wins were. (Beyond that, I can’t remember a time I’ve seen an award show and thought almost every winner was the right choice.) ... Kenan Thompson hosted the show, and was, to keep it concise, terrible.

[Steve Carell's] career-best performance in The Patient. OK, career-best dramatic performance. ... It’s the best thriller that’s been on TV this year... and it’s about therapy. ... The series, refreshingly, abandons the trope where the serial killer is brooding, charismatic, and sexually mystifying.

It’s a really fun TV series, with a great lead performance from Neil Patrick Harris.

A person shouldn’t think a TV show is good but also spend the entire time watching it hoping for it to end soon, and being annoyed when it doesn’t.

It nails the mayhem and the din of flaring short tempers that makes what happens at restaurants nothing short of a continuous miracle: something as delicate and crafted as a plate of food manages to come out of all that pandemonium. ... What it also captures, however, is the beauty that lies underneath: the drive behind people so overwhelmed by their passion for the field they chose and who are so committed to the skill and the art it requires that they’re willing to submit themselves to that kind of environment. ... There’s also something emotionally elegant about The Bear.

This is a mixture of both [Grey's Anatomy & Scrubs], and is filmed with a lot of style and creativity. But it also accomplishes something that those series do not: it actually feels real. ... The show is also not only bleak. In fact, it’s incredibly funny. Whishaw's natural dry wit punctuates every encounter. ... It’s a really special show.

It’s nice when a masterpiece returns and is still a masterpiece. This is still the best show on TV.

This is, again, a fun mystery show, and it’s sexy and hilarious and does those elements—the le Carré-esque mystery filtered through the batty millennial lens—really, really well. But to have the confidence to tread into those human waters, and not somehow feel pandering or patronizing, is so impressive.

It is more with awe and maybe even admiration than derision that we say that we have no idea what to make of this series. ... We’re not sure whether we’re supposed to laugh, to cringe, to dissect, or to be disgusted.

You get a sense of who Holmes was, what drove her ambition and, ultimately, the desperation behind her foolish delusion that she had to stay the course, even as things careened out of control. Yet the series never lionizes her or glorifies her actions—tempting given the scale and implausibility of what she pulled off for as long as she did. ... [The Dropout] gives us something much more valuable, something that Theranos hoped to achieve itself: A new, better way of doing things.

After setting the show and the character forth on a pretty thrilling trajectory for the first three seasons, this new one is a complete reset. As in, Midge Maisel is in exactly the same situation she was when we first met her: single, desperate, and obstinately pursuing a career in comedy even though she can’t land a gig or respect.

There’s a disconnect between the fantasy lavish life that Anna lived, as we see it on screen, and the labored pursuit to piece together the puzzle of her crimes. This is never successfully bridged in a way that has you invested wholly in either Vivian or Anna, or even fully understanding their respective motivations.

Pam & Tommy is far more than a sniveling, pervy time machine revisiting a salacious sex scandal that’s been mocked for decades. But the genius is that it is also that: sniveling, pervy, and canny about the scandal and the mockery that piqued all of our attention in the first place.

The series is a comprehensive, harrowing, and exhaustive look at Cosby’s rise in the entertainment industry, his strategic self-branding throughout the decades of his career, and the unimpeachable impact he had in changing Black culture and how Black Americans are viewed in this country. ... The series also painstakingly builds the other pillar of Cosby’s legacy, brick by haunting brick: the graphic detail of the dozens of assaults alleged by his survivors.

The best advice I can give is just to enjoy. It’s an enchanting period soap opera in which every character is delivering a loud, scene-stealing performance. I can’t think of anything more pleasant.

That, to me, is the most striking thing about And Just Like That. By getting away from the sex and the city of it all, in 2021, it actually feels a bit more real. ... And Just Like That marries the optimism and breathless wonder of a 1998 Carrie Bradshaw with the weariness that accompanies, as Samantha once said, decades of “lies and mutually accepted delusions.” And just like that…evolution.

Like Framing Britney Spears, it is most successful as a speed-read, an almost bullet-pointed rundown of the controversy at hand. ... Malfunction presents a timeline and an engaging reconsideration of a cultural discourse. But the most pressing voices—Jackson’s and Timberlake’s—are missing. That said, there’s an immense amount of gratification to be had from the rewriting of history to how it should have been.

It’s black comedy at its bleakest, a tonal juxtaposition that is to be admired. I think it’s so effective, especially in a genre that is so extreme in its gore, that it masquerades as “fun.” ... Like Parasite, it uses genre as a Trojan horse for discussions about capitalism and class. We’re a culture attuned to hyper-violence, but the series manages to show it in a way that you never become desensitized.

This is the same Succession you know and love: crude, uncomfortable, deplorable, indulgent, and the kind of smart that is both obnoxious and inspirational. But where season 2 was all about letting that manspread with reckless abandon, now we’re seeing what happens when it’s time to bottle it all up again. ... It’s a truly visceral viewing experience. ... I can’t think of another show for which we’re so excited for new episodes.