Hiddleston is effusive, while Wilson is wry and restrained. Yet they work, as inexplicably as the world they inhabit. Loki’s premise may not be as bold as Wandavision, nor as crowd-pleasing as The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, but it’s proven to have the strongest opening of the three.

There is no great hook to Lisey’s Story, however, nothing that really distinguishes it from the rest of his oeuvre. Instead, we find a host of familiar ideas, recycled and repeated, only louder than before.

It’s intriguing, without being compelling. The writing is sharp and witty, sardonic and ironic, but amid the perfectly formed wisecracks and zingers, the dialogue falls short of being believable.

Friends: The Reunion doesn’t quite justify its existence, but it still goes down easy.

Often, half an hour’s not long enough, but sometimes it’s too much.

These long, beguiling sequences don’t merely resonate with tension and emotion, they positively ache. ... Some early reviews have dismissed the season as overly slow and meandering. Don’t listen to them. It may take its time, but good things come to those who Waithe.

No television show is required to reflect absolutely everything all at once. But when it’s a show that claims to reflect a universal truth about pain and struggle, yet is dominated by those with unlimited access to counselling, medical professionals and sheer time to heal, it feels half-baked. The Me You Can’t See is full of people talking, but rarely about the things we desperately need to be talking about.

The enthusiasm comes at the expense of developing any of the characters beyond their immediate impact. The dynamic between the two leads is promising. Despite their advantages, they must still put up with being young women in a male-dominated world. But the relationship is hardly given space to breathe amid all the plotting and exposition.

Like one of its titular character’s own designs, Halston is clean, sleek and beautiful to look at – but you might find yourself wishing it was a little messier around the edges.

It’s unclear exactly which characters to focus on and what their motives are, and tonally the show is confused.

The series succeeds in anchoring its narrative to the full context of racism throughout centuries. It compels us to reflect both on what happened and where those events have led us – how they continue to shape us and the world we live in.

Intergalactic is really best thought of as Prisoner: Cell Block H launched into hyperspace, but thus far without the kind of rich character development we saw in the classic 1980s Aussie drama.

Fargo has always been more a triumph of style than substance, but here, the discrepancy is broader than ever.

In Gough and Watson, it unites two intelligent and feeling actors over a twisting script that rakes over a full suite of middle-class anxieties: sex, class, parenting, race, fashion, even interior design gets it in the neck. At times, it’s more like a play than a TV series: sharp and involving, but occasionally somewhat static.

The tension of the “is he/isn’t he” question rests on the coherence of the universe. Whether Jodie is right or not, it’s more effective if she is living on our planet. This feels too much like TV land.

The desired tone, I think, is a kind of Ulster version of Deadwood, a creation parable for the problems of the 20th century, but there is a fine line between powerful and self-parodic. Without a novel’s finesse and complex sense of interiority, the characters fail to make us care.

Overall, Shadow and Bone leaves you with the unusual impression that the weaknesses in the TV version might be more to do with the source material than the treatment. Between the silly names and mythology, this is a thorough, detailed production, with crisp special effects and likeable lead performances from a diverse bunch. We get glimpses of several interesting characters, but on the whole, they are relegated in favour of the main tale.

Mare of Easttown is much easier to watch than I Know This Much Is True, Mark Ruffalo’s joyless HBO miniseries from last year, and much of that is down to its star. Mare’s undimmable despite the encompassing gloom. Thanks to her, Easttown feels surprisingly warm for a town full of dead teenagers.

If it had dialogue more like, say, Derry Girls or Father Ted, or indeed Catastrophe, it could be sublime. It’s not terrible but, like so much about our lives at the moment, there’s something missing.

Close-ups on tear-streaked faces and bare skin aren’t quite able to do the emotional heavy-lifting necessary – it’s a gorgeous piece of work, yes, but I remained resolutely dry-eyed.

Effectively an act of worship: a televisual version of a medieval cathedral, a monument to our new religion of environmentalism, constructed with impressive craftsmanship and soaring ambition, and dedicated to its patron saint, Greta. The film is thus predictable, but still awesome. ... Greta’s critics often say to her that she will grow up one day, but the film reminds us that this young woman is already self-possessed far beyond her years.

The question is whether the show’s any good. On the evidence of this frenetic, nerve-jangling opener: yes. After the more outlandish conspiratorial shenanigans of series five, the first episode of series six returns to what Line of Duty does best: dodgy coppers, tense action and characters who communicate almost exclusively in acronyms.

Some of its characters are unapologetic parodies (the Batman facsimile “Darkwing”, for example), and you could easily go through picking out elements or story ideas that have cropped up in Watchmen, or The Incredibles, or Sky High, or Misfits. But there are still some good bones to its premise, and just enough subversiveness to let you ignore the fact this is a story you’ve seen a hundred times before.

For MCU die-hards, there will naturally be much to enjoy in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, but the show doesn’t immediately declare that it’s doing anything that interesting either.

The presenters have gelled a bit, and the show is more original and above all, more intelligent. ... Most of the show is given over to the “boys” driving the cars their respective fathers once owned, which is surprisingly touching and satisfyingly nostalgic, but does go on for too long and had me nodding off like a dog on the parcel shelf.

During two admittedly riveting hours of television (and probably one of the finest interviews of Oprah’s long career), audiences got an excruciating reveal around what it was like for an American woman of colour to be absorbed into a thousand-year-old institution and nearly be driven to take her own life because of it.

It’s not quick. Even allowing for the need to introduce the characters and the timeframes, the pace is glacial, at odds with the rapid changes of time and location. ... It’s Herman’s storyline that’s the more interesting of the two. We know what the snake is going to do. The challenge is catching it.

It’s a promising dynamic, but it’s not helped by the glacial pacing. When the BBC rattled through War & Peace in six hours, a single-narrative series has a lot to do to earn 10. Your Honor never spends a minute when it can spend two.