You Can't Have Strong Without Weak

Before last night, Survivor: Gabon--Earth's Last Eden could have been dubbed Survivor: Sexism Edition, as all but one of the castaways voted out so far had been women (the lone male was GC, who almost doesn't count because he basically quit). The female bloodbath ended, however, as both tribes reported to Tribal Council, and both voted out two of their stronger physical assets: Ace from Fang and Dan from Kota. This is certainly the weakest edition the show has seen in a while. The scenery is beautiful as always, but Survivor is all about the people, and this time around, none of the contestants are particularly exciting. There's nobody to root for or--more importantly--against. Ace was the closest thing this edition had to a villain, with his indecipherable kinda-British accent lulling Sugar into a coma and convincing other tribemates to keep him around. He was blinsided last night as the Fang tribe, after losing six challenges in a row, finally woke up and realized they were playing for a million dollars, not just enjoying an amenity-free vacation in Africa. Not since the Ulong tribe in Survivor: Palau whittled down to the point where only poor Stephenie remained has a tribe looked so pathetic. A merge seems imminent; perhaps combining the tribes will breathe new life into these stale personalities.

And a few notes about NBC's 9pm comedy hour, featuring the long-awaited return of Emmy winner 30 Rock. Rock is easily the best comedy since Arrested Development, but the season premiere, in which Liz (Tina Fey) tried to show a social worker (guest star Megan Mullally) that she was fit to adopt a child, was too absurd even by this show's standards. At its best when throwaway lines (like Liz referencing Lil Wayne, then asking "That's a person, right?")dominate the slapstick, this episode got lost in silliness. But the dynamic between Fey and Alec Baldwin is priceless and brings guaranteed hilarity to even a subpar episode.

The Office was off it's game, too, as the show always seems to suffer whenever it leaves its titular location. The trip to New Hampshire as Michael (Steve Carell) escorted girlfriend Holly (Amy Ryan) to her new home was laugh-free, and Jim's (John Krasinski) trip to New York to have dinner with Pam (Jenna Fischer) and his brothers only emphasized how much we miss having Jim and Pam together in the office. They aren't nearly as cute when they spend so much time apart. The episode also had its fill of Dwight (Rainn Wilson) and Andy (Ed Helms), both of whom are best in small doses; one character with limited self-awareness (namely Michael) is more than enough. Let's hope that this episode doesn't mark the end of Amy Ryan's run on the show; she and Carell play off each other beautifully. After being stuck with Jan for so long, it was nice to see Michael in a relationship that wasn't built on sadness.

Monday's Worst Worst Show

It's almost like NBC went out of their way this season to make bad shows. In an attempt to cut costs, many of their new entries were ordered to series without an official pilot. The development process is sorely missed in shows like Kath & Kim (constant snarkiness does not equal comedy), Knight Rider (to be fair, extra time probably wouldn't have made this one any better) and My Own Worst Enemy, a head-spinning, head-scratching head trip.

Christian Slater, with his gravelly voice, plays two men trapped in the same body: Henry, a mild-mannered consultant, and Edward, a spy who volunteered for the experiment that led to him having two personalities. One fateful day, the technology that has kept the two identities separate malfunctions and Henry is made aware of his alter ego. If you haven't guessed already, intelligibility is not one of this show's priorities. In fact, the plot is so complicated that the writers apparently have to remind themselves what's going on, having Alfre Woodard deliver a monologue twenty minutes into the second episode in which she reiterates Henry's situation (as if he weren't already painfully aware). It's a shame to see Woodard in this drivel, especially after her arc during Desperate Housewives' second season went nowhere. And Slater doesn't do much to let the audience know which identity he is inhabiting; what could be done by giving both Edward and Henry some kind of unique personality trait is instead done through dialogue.

My Own Worst Enemy has all the inscrutability of Alias with none of the charm. Edward's rationale for participating in this experiment to begin with is explained thusly: "To prove the existence of free will, a person must do a thing he does not want to do." That's how I felt while sitting through this show. Rest assured, I won't be making that mistake again.

Get Me Off This Island!

NBC's Crusoe has all the makings of an epic period piece: sweeping score, sumptuous scenery, first-rate production design and costumes. But after a spectacular opening sequence filled with booby traps and narrow escapes, the plot ends up being a run-of-the-mill story about pirates seeking gold. Boring! The show bears the obvious imprint of the Pirates of the Caribbean films, with plenty of derring-do and swashbuckling, as well as an anachronistic tough gurrl modeled after Keira Knightley. Having built several elaborate ways to help him get around the island, Crusoe (Philip Winchester) has clearly been here for a while. So it's a bit of a laugh when, during the second half of the two-hour premiere, even more scallywags show up. With all these people stumbling onto the island, how is it that Crusoe has gone so long without being rescued? The show is reminiscent of erstwhile actioners like Hercules: The Legendary Journeys and Xena: Warrior Princess. But where those shows reveled in their corniness, Crusoe seems determined to deliver a more austere viewing experience. What should be escapist entertainment ends up being a slog to sit through.

Send Mars to the Moon

It's one thing to have a show set in the '70s. It's another thing altogether for that show to feel as though it were made in the '70s. ABC's Life on Mars feels about as sophisticated as an episode of Charlie's Angels, with an added dose of police brutatilty for that modern flair. Having never seen the original BBC series on which this crime drama is based, I can't offer a comparison. But on its own merits, this Mars remake leaves much to be desired. The premise: Sam Tyler (Jason O'Mara, looking bored already) gets hit by a car in 2008 and somehow wakes up in 1973. One of the first sights Sam sees is the World Trade Center, gloriously digitized back into the New York skyline, an emotional handwringer for the audience. And that's about the only emotional moment the show has to offer. From there, executive producers Scott Rosenberg, Josh Applebaum and Andre Nemec trot out leaden dialogue that could be left over from their last effort, the unwatchable October Road.

What’s particularly frustrating about Mars is that none of the characters, including Sam himself, is appropriately unsettled by what he claims is happening to him. If you were meeting a coworker for the first time—a cop, no less—who said he just arrived from the future, would you go on as if nothing about this scenario was strange, or would you suggest he get some mental help? Neither Michael Imperioli nor Harvey Keitel (who needs to be either tougher or more cheeky to make his character work) really give Sam’s assertions a second thought, and Gretchen Mol’s character pretty much believes him on principle. The show officially lost me when Sam, staring into a half-cracked mirror, moved his head back and forth between the two sides, chanting “real” and “unreal” not once, but three times. Who does that kind of thing? The BBC resolved this whole story in the span of 16 episodes, leaving one to wonder whether this is a concept that can (should?) sustain itself over the course of several seasons. Then again, given the show’s 26 percent ratings tumble in week two, that may not be a concern for too long.

Believe in Eli Stone

Eli Stone's therapist thinks the absence of the fantastic in his life, following the surgery he had to remove a brain aneurysm in last season's finale, has Eli in a funk. And she should know. After all, as it turns out, his therapist (Sigourney Weaver) is one of his visions. One thing is for sure, TV is a more fantastic place for having a show like Eli Stone. Lucky for us, ABC loves the show, with word coming today that the network has ordered four additional scripts on top of its 13-episode order.

As the season premiere begins, the law office has a noticeably downbeat feel to it. Jordan (the undeniable Victor Garber) isn't feeling the same good vibrations that Eli (Jonny Lee Miller, who manages to be both hangdog and euphoric at the same time) used to bring. Even Patti (Loretta Devine), who couldn't stand Eli's visions, gives him an MP3 player, so he can still hear music in his head. When Jordan gets trapped inside a bank after a crane collapse, Eli tries to convince the rescuers that he knows where Jordan is. Even after successfully predicting an earthquake, Eli's prophetic pronouncements are still met with skepticism. He wants nothing more than to have those around him experience the same degree of faith that he has. Because being a lawyer with a conscious isn't hard enough as it is...

By the end of the episode, with Jordan saved and eager to inspire change, Eli learns that his aneurysm (momentarily transferred to his brother, in whose head the crane vision originated) and the blessing/curse images that come along with it are his destiny. In the words of his therapist, "normal is a failure of potential." There is no such failure for this show as a whole, which, after a somewhat ordinary start, realized its own potential midway through its first season. Sit back and relish the magical journey of one man who dares to make the world a better place.

Monday's Best Worst Show

There isn't much competition when it comes to new comedies this season, but even in a more congested year Worst Week would be a winner. Kyle Bornheimer (he's the guy who leaves those embarrassing voicemails in the T-Mobile ads) embodies his Everyman character with charm and gusto as he tries to impress the parents of his newly pregnant fiance. The simplest of tasks, like raking the lawn or walking the dog, become Herculean tasks when Sam is involved. Sam is the personification of good intentions gone wrong; he's like a grown-up Charlie Brown, still determined to kick that football, even when the ball takes the form of future in-laws. Kurtwood Smith (That '70s Show) brings that slow-burn he does so well, glaring at Sam with enough disdain to make the poor guy wish he'd never been born. While the show does seem to have a limited, slapsticky premise, so far it has done a good job of keeping things lively. Worst Week has a bit of an edge, but in many ways is a throwback to sitcoms of old, when a well-placed sight gag or malapropism was all you needed to get a big laugh.

Private's Parts Not Worth Looking At

I spent most of Private Practice's strike-shortened first season hoping that Kate Walsh's Addison would come to her senses and return to the halls of Seattle Grace. Grey's Anatomy certainly suffered from her absence and the spinoff lacked clear direction. Many producers, Private Practice creator Shonda Rhimes among them, have gone on record as saying that the strike was a creative boon, allowing them precious time to sort through what wasn't working. So I was pleasantly surprised when the show returned last week from a 10-month hiatus with what was easily its best episode so far. A more even tone. Medical stories capable of sparking debate. Money-induced friction between friends and coworkers. There was even marginally less time devoted to the tiresome office romances that are Rhimes's bread-and-butter. All in all, a positive start.

Alas, the triumph was to be short-lived. Last night's episode was as empty--not to mention icky--as any produced during the first season. The main story centered on a couple who came in for fertility advice, only to discover that they are actually brother and sister, random products of the same sperm donor. Later, the sister was outraged when she learned that her brother already knew they were related, having done some digging of his own after he had suspicions about their similarities. All of a sudden, she's disgusted by the thought of continuing a relationship with her brother, as if it were perfectly acceptable when she thought the revelation was news to both of them. Creepy much?

Perhaps most egregiously unforgivable is the show's treatment of Audra McDonald. Instead of giving her the material she deserves, she is made to do things like harumph around the office for most of the hour, angry with Addision and Sam for going behind her back to inform the rest of the Oceanside Wellness staff about the group's financial troubles. This isn't the first time the show has wasted McDonald's talents; one of her character's "quirks" is a love for cake, and she spent a good portion of an episode from last year shoveling the stuff into her mouth. It hurts to see one of the great stage actresses reduced to this kind of vapidity.

And how can a show that is so obsessed with sex--another Rhimes trademark--be filled with characters who are inherently unhappy? For as often as these people get laid, they should be walking around with perpetual grins rather than woe-is-me attitudes. Shouldn't these kinds of private practices lead to a little more levity?

Chuck Versus the Critic

Chuck was in top form this week after a fun but predictable season premiere. (Casey killing Chuck? It'll never happen. The show's named after him!) John Larroquette was perfectly cast as a martini-swilling spy called on to give the leading man some seduction tips. It was like revisiting Larroquette's Night Court character Dan Fielding, 15 years older but ever the self-deluded lothario. The episode also dealt with the ongoing attraction between Chuck and Sarah, a story line that's moving along nicely without wearing out its welcome. Professional boundaries prevent the pair from giving in to their omnipresent desires, despite the fact that Sarah was previously involved with her spy cohort Bryce, a figure who inconveniently resurfaced just as Chuck was about to pronounce his feelings for Sarah.

The show is light as air, but is made very enjoyable by the energetic performances, especially Zachary Levi as Chuck. Capable of delivering lines with pitch-perfect comic timing (he gave driving directions to the people holding Sarah and Casey captive) and deftly handling physical comedy, Levi is certainly up to the task of being this show's gooey center. And Yvonne Strahovski (appropriately nicknamed "Strahotski" by her costars and online admirers) and Adam Baldwin do an excellent job of balancing the serious moments with the jokey ones.

If Chuck has a problem it's in the supporting cast. The Buy More where Chuck works is loaded with so many nerds that they have a tendency to melt into one. It's like a Hydra with an endless supply of replacement nerd heads. Also not adding much to the proceedings are Chuck's sister Ellie and her fiance Devon, aka Captain Awesome. It often feels as if the writers have to stretch to include these two in the story. Since they're not in on Chuck's secret life, it makes it all the harder to work them in organically.

Minor quibbles, though, for what is essentially escapist fare. NBC seems to agree. The network granted the series a full season pickup over the summer based solely on its creative strength. Now all they need is for more people to show up in front of their TV sets to fully justify their vote of confidence.

Dying Daisies

Sometimes the love other critics have for a particular show just plain escapes me. For example, I can appreciate Mad Men as a detailed, heavily researched time capsule, but that doesn't make its somber, deliberate pace any more entertaining. Bones is another one I don't get, a pedestrian procedural that, with the exception of David Boreanaz, boasts a rather wooden cast. (Side rant: I was particularly bugged when Brennan, who in addition to being a forensics expert is also a bestselling author, uttered the phrase “serious as a gas attack.” What writer doesn’t know that it’s supposed to be “heart attack.” These kinds of things go on all the time on this dippy little show.)

Now add Pushing Daisies to the list. While the pilot was a scrumptious introduction to a whimsical world, the show quickly stumbled in its storytelling ability. This week’s season premiere was built around the death of a spokesmodel for a bee-related business and I lost interest in finding out whodunit by the time the first commercial break came around. Jim Dale’s narration feels like a cheat, and it breaks a cardinal rule: show, don’t tell. By having the events laid out in thirty-second narrative bites, the show crams a lot of story into a shorter amount of time. But because the information goes by so quickly, most of it doesn’t even register. The show’s storybook set design goes down as easily as honey (though the cheap-looking special effects leave something to be desired), but the death-of-the-week usually leaves me cold (pun intended).

For the most part, the actors are all fine and there are some engaging characters here to be sure, but they're all done a disservice by writers who seem to be too enamored of their own cuteness. Specifically, I could do without Anna Friel, whose Chuck is so cloying that I long for Ned to touch her again so their problematic romance can finally come to an end. Creator Bryan Fuller has been in the company of death before; he was also responsible for Showtime's Dead Like Me. That show had a sassy center and was fun to watch even as it handled its subject in a much more morose manner. Given the 50-percent drop Daisies has taken in the ratings since its premiere last year, it may not be amongst the living for much longer. And not even Ned’s magical touch will be able to bring this one back from the dead.

"Do You Deserve a Smoothie?"

The title is a reference to a line that Coach Taylor hollered at his meandering football squad during practice on the season premiere of Friday Night Lights. Last night it was the writers of this insanely well-made show who deserved a smoothie. Thanks to a partnership between DirecTV and NBC (DirecTV’s 101 Network gets first-run rights), TV fans across the country get to spend at least one more season with the denizens of Dillon, Texas. Coach's tirade aside, one of the things that sets FNL apart from almost every other show on TV is the way it can say so much without a single word being uttered. The premiere saw quarterback Matt Saracen trumped by a freshman phenom, and the uncertainty about his future with the team was written all over his face, as well as that of his grandmother, who empathized from the bleachers. No dialogue is necessary when you’ve got actors with life experience oozing out of every pore. And on this show, none ooze more than Kyle Chandler and Connie Britton, criminally overlooked when it comes to major TV awards. The pair, as football coach and newly promoted school principal, carry the weight of Dillon on their shoulders, while trying to maintain credibility as parents to their two daughters. Unlike some TV characters (I’m thinking about you, Meredith Grey), you’ll never find Chandler, Britton, et al., saying something you wouldn’t say yourself. This is real, genuine, satisfying entertainment that is an absolute privilege to watch.

Sticking with DirecTV, the 101 Network also aired a preview of the new drama Crash, premiering on Starz later this month. Based on 2005’s Academy Award winner for Best Picture, the first episode was an absolute mess. (I realize I’m going against my two-episodes-before-judgment rule, but I don’t subscribe to Starz, so this is all I’m likely to see.) You know you’re in for something less than enjoyable when the show opens with Dennis Hopper lamenting the state of his testicles. From here, we’re introduced (barely) to a cast of characters whose lives will presumably intersect one day. With the exception of a cop and an EMT, nobody is put into any kind of context; most of them seem to make their living by being angry and yelling all the time. The pilot ended with a series of cliffhangers, none of them making much sense, and none of them making me want to come back to see them resolved. If this is intended to be a vehicle to get out the message about race relations, I think we’re all better off being ignorant. An overrated film is now an unwatchable series.