It does a lot of things right in the first season, and lays considerable groundwork for deeper character dives and plot expansion in the future. But it’d be daft to think Disney would be able to capture the Asian American experience in a way that pleases everyone, everywhere, all at once.

While there’s some thematic padding and unavoidable repetition in the imagery, tedium isn’t an issue. Yost and the actors always seem aware of how living in this place affects the ways its denizens think. That, along with increasingly gnarly riddles and relationships, keeps the show engaging.

She [Shonda Rhimes] has written a story that uncannily echoes the current-day cruelties and outrages of the British Royals, a subtext valentine to Prince Harry and Meghan Markle. She writes libidinous episodes that manage to make monogamy seem adorable. She makes us cry in the end.

Not all the episodes of “Bupkis” are of equal quality, but none are bad. Episode 1 is a homerun — if you don’t like it, go no further. The weakest is probably Episode 8, which concentrates on Davidson’s effort to get off drugs.

It’s Gabriel Byrne’s “In Therapy” meets “Law and Order: Special Bad-Girlfriends Unit.” On such soap-operatic terms, the series is entertaining. ... Whenever the TV producers throw a bone to the original film script, I found myself begging them to quit. Their contempt for the original material shows in their dull nods to the listless sex scenes and a sad rabbit cameo.

A sleek, glossy spy thriller that grabs the audience immediately and never loosens its grip. It’s a collection of spy movie cliches, but with all of them shined up and refurbished so that they seem almost fresh.

DOA. Despite the maternity ward screaming and cursing and blood on the aprons, the cocaine-whiffing and lesbian-contrived-kissing, the series is … boring. It’s an off-putting story— not on the documentary level, but on the dramaturgical.

Intertwining the dueling demands of idealism and pragmatism with the equally pressing interpersonal dynamics that inevitably shape realpolitik outcomes. It makes for a rich stew of international intrigue and rolled-up-sleeves diplomatic finagling, all held together by a talented ensemble.

Won’t add up to a satisfying whole for everyone, but fans of Laura Dave’s bestselling source novel ought to be pleased.

What makes “Beef” compellingly watchable is the crackling chemistry between Wong and Yeun. ... For the most part, the heavy absurdity in “Beef” works, but there are a few off notes. ... Its use of this weapon feels painful when considering the deadly toll of gun violence in the United States, especially after the Monterey Park killings shattered Asian American communities so recently. I also took issue with the series’ casting of millionaire graffiti artist David Choe as Isaac, Danny’s volatile, villainous cousin.

“Dear Sugar’s” unique advice takes a turn toward conventional life lessons near the end, and the sentimentality is a letdown. But thanks to Hahn and Pidgeon, and a whole load of great writing, “Tiny Beautiful Things” is for the most part a hard, faceted jewel of a TV show.

It’s just the right length. Six, not eight or 10, half-hour episodes that breeze by quickly, all packed with fun. And even though it’s busy and filled with eye-candy and distractions, the series never loses sight of the central relationship. Strong and Key play their roles with just the right blend of absurdity and bemused observance.

“Pretty Baby: Brooke Shields” plays out like a VH1 “Behind the Music” episode. We watch a young talent caught up in forces bigger than herself, reach a dizzying peak, a crisis, and ultimately, a happy ending. Nothing much is revealed in the two-parter we don’t already know.

The four actor/singers create beautiful harmonies together, yet “Pink Ladies” never quite transports.

Is “The Glory” ultimately about the price of revenge? Not really. It delights in every step. Its heroine lives for vengeance. And we’re along for every turn on the ride.

While Lindsay and Miguel’s issues go to some dark places, they too get glossed over by narrative forgetfulness, superficial optimism and rom-com contrivances. That makes for light entertainment with a few good hooks. But considering the star power, “Up Here” really should have been more mind-blowing.

Fishback rarely plays into the laughs the character’s absurd psychosis generates. She’s a frightening, wounded core around which the show’s snarling satire of media madness swirls. Dre’s also a deceptively blank slate for both a condescending Black community and clueless white people to project their misunderstandings onto, often hilariously.

Kimmel, in his opening monologue, made several wisecracks in regard to “the slap,” but from his tone, one got the sense that his remarks weren’t meant only to be funny. He was establishing that 2023 would not be a repeat of 2022 — and it wasn’t. It was such a relief to see something, anything, actually get better.

Even more impressive is the way “Extrapolations” balances macro and intimate data. That keeps the show fresh and persuasive, with a constant flow of intriguing issues and perspectives. Sometimes the scripts get didactic. ... But “Extrapolations” generally prioritizes compelling characters in heartrending situations over messages. Burns may preach to the save-the-planet choir here, but he knows that the only way to make a lasting impression is to put on a good show.

On Saturday, March 4, audiences were treated to an hour of the comedian toggling between reactionary and woke gags, along with racial/sexual/cultural observations, before he unloaded on Smith and his wife Jada Pinkett Smith for about eight minutes with a year’s worth of pent-up vitriol. Like his earlier material, Rock’s verbal counterpunches were at times funny, insightful and sometimes righteous. They also included some of the lowest blows ever directed at individuals in the context of an entertainment program.

We finally get that sequel — and boy, it reeks.

While the series may be criticized for a certain rose-colored approach to rock’s manipulation, selfishness and self-destruction, its fundamental good humor is quite compelling. Imperfect and fault-ridden like the people it depicts, “Daisy Jones & the Six” has a hard-earned forgiving heart that may leave you a blubbering mess.

Pollard does a good job of detailing how Russell changed the game defensively as the first master of the blocked shot, and how at USF he and Jones developed a mathematical theory of the game.

Yes, a child shall lead them. Enter “Dear Edward” with caution if such tropes make you gag. But know that there’s plenty here to like, whether or not you’ve had the misfortune of knowing grief on an intimate basis.

The writing is steadily sharp; with the whodunit part always abundantly evident, the show can focus on the intricacies of the why and the how. And the killer guest spots just keep coming. ... Watching “Poker Face” is like seeing a bunch of old friends, realizing they’re murderers, and liking them all the more for it. They’re all here to get busted by Lyonne.

It feels like “Wolf Pack” is trapped by a mythology it hasn’t even expanded on yet. It’s all too familiar to be treated like it’s something new.

Nestled between the shenanigans, which include a fair amount of sexual frankness, is a generous and thoughtful accounting of grief.

As an outgrowth of this fad [revivals], the series falls somewhere in the middle of the pack. While there’s a chance we’ll want to hang out in the basement with this gang in the future, we’d rather hang out with Red and Kitty upstairs for now.