Mark Peikert

The show’s centerpiece remains Malek’s mesmerizing turn as Elliot, as well as his chemistry with Slater‘s Mr. Robot. Excavating that much emotion from deadpan narration is a tough gig, but Malek continues to find new shades of neutral both in voiceover and in his scenes.

Season 4 is so rich and dense with characters, backstories and subplots that some of its more interesting new additions remain mere teases. As always, the flashbacks remain the strongest aspects of the series.

Outcast tries to maintain a sense of tension from episode to episode (only the first four have been made available to critics) but too many sags in the storytelling allow doubt to creep in.

This is a television show at the very peak of its powers, confident and controlled. The cast and crew have done their part--your assignment, should you choose to accept it, is simply to tune in. You won’t regret it.

That the limited series squeaks by as just entertaining enough is a disappointment considering the pedigree of everyone involved and the reputation of its source material.

The surrealness almost disguises the repetitive plot of returning home as a manchild. But as a series, Baskets is more bleak than amusing.

It’s Siff and Malin Ackerman, as Axe’s loyal wife (who’s like a sober Michelle Pfeiffer in “Scarface,” all sharp blonde bob and sharper tongue) who simply, by virtue of their talent, keep Billions from devolving into an exercise in white privilege and machismo, something it constantly threatens to do.

Other than presenting Kazinsky with the late holiday gift of a starring role, there’s not much else to Second Chance. The twins feel as if they’ve been grafted onto the plot from another series, while DeKay’s sole note for much of the first few episodes is pissed off. Other shows have tackled estranged fathers and sons better.

The show is satirizing smug, middle-class white folks who resent any threat to their status quo, but the only viewpoints presented on Bordertown are those of smug, middle-class white folks and smug, middle-class liberals who resent the white folks’ resentment.

Longoria remains radiant. Whether a sitcom spoofing soap opera is still relevant in 2015 remains to be seen--but this one is certainly a worthy addition to your weekly viewing.

Season 2 is bolder, stronger, and more audacious because now, actions have consequences.... For a TV show, the stakes don’t get much higher and Soloway nails it all with ease.

Meanwhile, there’s Bosworth, throwing glacial glares and selling her soul to impress her father and compete with upstart Connor, giving a beautifully restrained, imminently watchable performance that conveys depths with very little. Too bad there’s not more of her and less of everything else.

Master of None is more articulate than any other show at putting under a microscope that generation’s neuroses, desires, and ambivalence. The series also happens to be sexy, hilarious, and very moving, a tribute to Ansari’s observational powers and ability to pinpoint the zeitgeist.

Almost every episode trades on our familiarity with the type--the heavy sidekick, the dumb, bullying jock, the knockout who wonders if she should be with the heavy sidekick instead of the dumb, bullying jock--but that familiarity too often comes perilously close to breeding contempt.

That we never really know the people whom we love is a powerful, popular theme that fits snugly into the thriller and horror genres (think of “Rosemary’s Baby” and all those early ’90s erotic thrillers) but to see it rendered so artfully and crisply and unsentimentally as a weekly drama is to understand why we are so often informed that we live in a golden age of TV.

[A] very funny new sitcom.... Lowe and Savage have a crackling energy together.

Both Johnson and Valleta recognize the script for what it needs--a quirked eyebrow here, a glower held a bit longer than usual there--and tip the story in their favor as the down-and-dirty version of Frank and Claire Underwood. Crawford and Rittenhouse are so busy trawling for sympathy that they barely register.

At its worst, Rosewood plays like the kind of ridiculous, over-the-top drama with which a sitcom character becomes obsessed. At its best, it offers its audience the chance to feel smarter than its characters.

Separately, the Short family members are worthy of a glimpse and can garner a chuckle. Together, they’re abrasive and unlikable.

Most of what has made Harris a beloved fixture of live telecasts has been eradicated in this misguided attempt at revising the variety show format.

For the most part, Show Me a Hero revels in small, telling moments that say as much about human nature as how the American people perceive politics and politicians.