To find a network drama that bears sustained comparison to ABC's Kingdom Hospital, you'd have to go all the way back to 1990, when the same network premiered David Lynch's "Twin Peaks." Alternately random and brilliant, the 15-hour, limited-run series "Kingdom Hospital" has a similarly indescribable vibe. Set in a huge Maine hospital, it plays like a cross of "M*A*S*H," "Six Feet Under" and "The Shining." King, his talented ensemble cast and his capable director, Craig R. Baxley, have created one of the creepiest locales in TV history. But they don't limit themselves to mere spookiness. They go wherever they please, and their brazen confidence demands that we follow along. [3 March 2004, p.39]

This is the most uncompromising and stylistically innovative approach to TV drama since "NYPD Blue" maybe since "Hill Street Blues" 20 years ago. [30 March 2000, p.57]

Son of the Beach is everything you'd expect from a TV comedy executive produced by Howard Stern - and more. It's unbelievably vulgar - and one of the best bits of dopey humor television has featured since "Police Squad!" [13 March 2000, p.15]

Odd as The Beat may seem on first glance, it's of a piece with the rest of Fontana's work, which aims to shake up TV storytelling by any means necessary. [21 March 2000, p.37]

The biggest rap against Hollywood dramatizations is that they treat history as a series of white-hot personality conflicts when it's really about slowly building waves of collective action. "From the Earth to the Moon" is a rare exception. There are recurring characters and motifs, but none that appear in every episode, and the writers have resisted inventing an audience surrogate to guide us through the maze. [5 Apr 1998]

American Gods is a bit too packed with these intriguing jaunts, and the narrative sometimes feels like it will run out of gas long before reaching its destination. (The first 8-episode season reportedly covers only the first third of the fantasy epic.) But that doesn't mean you won't enjoy the ride.

Atwood's spare narrative is haunting in the horrors it only hints at. The Hulu adaptation is 10 episodes (and judging from the gripping first three, hopefully there will be many more). The narrative is more fully fleshed out, and obviously more visceral, but it still leaves a lot to the imagination.

This is supposed to be a cat-and-mouse game, but it's more like a kitten with a ball of yarn.

The TV series is a rote procedural that dulls the film's premise further by making it an ensemble piece (the monomaniacal nature of Neeson's Mills is the point of "Taken") and has a lead actor, Clive Standen of History's "Vikings," most notable for not being Neeson.

The basic structure is compelling enough--viewers don't even know who the identity of the murder victim is through much of the series, and the layered performances keep us in flux over who we'd like to kill off, and who we wish would do the killing.

The Missing is a feast--albeit the most chilly, emotionally devastating feast ever--for armchair sleuths.

[Legion is] produced like a cerebral art house version of a superhero series, thrumming with precision and emotion where the genre usually calls for shock and awe, and assembled with an entrancing period aesthetic (it seems to be set in the early 1970s, but that could just be a side-effect of David's fragile mental state) and stunning, occasionally horrifying visual effects.

Newcomers to the franchise--there may be a quite a few, as 24: Legacy gets the prime spot right after the Super Bowl--may get sucked in, mostly thanks to Hawkins' charisma, although Miranda Otto is also very watchable as Rebecca Ingram, the tough CTU director who is leaving the agency to help her husband, played by Jimmy Smits, run for president.

Powerless has a high-flying concept indeed. Too bad it fails to take off.

TThe writing is stilted, with every other sentence from Rourke's mouth a ready-made movie poster tagline.

Riverdale is not only coherent but often enthralling, an effectively moody and sometimes perverse melodrama that manages to revel in the high school tropes that Archie helped define decades ago while simultaneously subverting them.

With its over-the-top plot and rococo themes, it just comes across as Eurotrash--intellectually pretentious, but it sure is pretty to look at it.

The metaphorical gloom and doom of Taboo is likewise dense and relentless but so enveloping you can't help but be sucked in.

It's just as muddled as "Once" often is, and too ridiculous to be taken seriously as an epic as "Thrones," which is not surprising, given the show's long stay in development purgatory.

The first episode is not as edgy (or, quite frankly, as funny) as it thinks it is. Olson is a gifted physical actress but the woman-behaving-badly shtick starts off a bit toothless. The second episode is sharper.

They can sing, but not well enough to make you forget the sub-Lifetime made-for-TV-movie dialogue, whiplash plotting and utterly laughable dramatic moments.

Uneven performances and technical issues stopped the show connecting with viewers like 2015's superior "The Wiz."

A sumptuous, stately but never dull look inside the life of Queen Elizabeth (Claire Foy).

The humor in Divorce is so bleak and the characters are so toxic that you may crave a "Silkwood" shower afterward.That's not to say there aren't funny lines or excellent performances by the core cast of Parker, Haden Church, and Molly Shannon and Tracy Letts as the awful friends whose mutual meltdown at a party sparks Parker's Frances to ask for a divorce. Trouble is, they feel like performances from different shows.

Like the park, Westworld operates on many levels, and the ones that take place below the park are less successful than the vibrant but violent world the programmers have built above. ... The saving grace is the interplay between Ford's sensitive second-in-command Bernard Lowe (Jeffrey Wright), obsessed with tweaking the code to imbue the hosts with ever more humanity, and the hosts, particularly Wood's Dolores, who can shift from sunny self-denial to clinical self analysis at a word from Lowe.

The procedural element is smartly done, the stakes realistically high, and Atwell's chemistry with Cahill's D.A. compelling.

It's an infectious, engaging hour that sets up the rules of this universe efficiently and effectively (i.e., they can't double back to anyplace they might meet themselves), and the cast gels quickly.

The expensive-looking pilot episode, with its frequent use of unusual camera angles to suggest a world gone askew, effectively establishes the sinister vibe, with some genuine scares and plenty of gore. Daniels is particularly magnetic as the older, put-out-to-pasture priest haunted in more ways than one.

It looks cheap (even though CBS decided to scrap the entire original pilot and make a new one), the action sequences are rote, the dialogue is mostly generic, and the characters are all one-dimensional.

There's little visual style to Notorious, and the main case of the week is standard fare, a trying-to-be-twisty but quite predictable tale of a tech billionaire accused in a hit-and-run, while the B plot about a political blackmailing is completely forgettable.

The show feels realistic in the locker room, on the field and in the media circus that surrounds her. (The synergy with real-life Fox Sports commentators and on-screen graphics provides more verisimilitude.)

This Is Us (from "Crazy, Stupid, Love" screenwriter Dan Fogelman) methodically weaves four seemingly disparate stories into a believable and emotional whole through tiny telling details, relatable moments, and conversations and confrontations that are funny, tender or painful, or all three at once.

This is the best network comedy of the season (yes, that's a caveat), with its deceptively easy balance of heart and snark.

Designated Survivor has got a dynamite premise, but the premiere episode flounders when it leaves the White House for the ruins of the Capitol, where FBI agent Hannah Wells (Maggie Q) is spearheading the investigation.

The first episode starts out whimsical and veers into freakish by the end, but I'm already invested in seeing where it goes from there.

Better Things is one of the messiest portrayals of motherhood on television today--which pretty much makes it the most real.

How Naz's religion (he's the American-born son of Pakistani immigrants) becomes a factor in the case is a natural part of the narrative but never feels like a polemic--The Night Of is too subtle for that. Its brilliance is in the way, thanks to the moody, unrushed direction and pointed, spare dialogue, everything feels freighted with meaning.

Outcast is incredibly visceral, both in its scenes of demonic possession and in the punch-happy tactics of the titular amateur exorcist. But it's also a tense, meditative psychological drama about trauma, redemption and belief, with nuanced performances throughout and a grim but arresting visual style that is not without flashes of humor.

Confirmation could have used a lot less C-SPAN and a lot more theater.

"Breaking Bad" fans will thrill to the second coming of Jesse Pinkman, and there are Job-like similarities in Paul's tormented Eddie. But Dancy, taut as an ascetic and grimly magnetic, is the one to watch as Cal.

As someone who has grown exhausted by frenetic and increasingly absurd plotting of "Scandal" and "How To Get Away With Murder," I suspect "The Catch" will prove at least as durable simply because the stakes aren't as high here, and it doesn't take itself as seriously.

Franco dials down his signature smarm, and as Sadie Dunhill, the vibrant small-town librarian whom Epping courts in the small Texas town in which he waits outs Oswald, Sarah Gadon is a real find. Their stirring romance carries with it the same whiff of doom as Epping's visits to Dealey Plaza, and gives what could be merely an interesting and handsomely-made take on the conspiracy thriller genre more texture and depth, resonating across the ages.

The show's ungimmicky and sociological fly-on-the-wall approach — you'd never guess Ryan Murphy of the outrageous "Glee" and "American Horror Story" is the man behind the curtain — is particularly effective, perhaps because the events were so outrageous on their own.

It lacked, for the most part, the emotional punch and sheer vocal prowess of NBC's recent staging, but the production itself redefined what a live musical could be.

These extended sojourns on the mountain, though beautifully shot, are self-serious to the point of spoof. That said, the performances--a supremely shaggy David Morse as Big Foster, a mercurial leader of the clan, Joe Anderson as Asa, who returned to the fold after a decade in the outside world, and Thomas M. Wright as troubled deputy Wade Houghton Jr., with a mysterious link to the Farrells--are strong throughout. And there's much in the material that resonates.

Any evidence of the source material's wit or grit is MIA. We're left with a show that's as cheesy as it is ridiculously improbable.

[Mad Dogs] is perfect escapist fare--by turns funny, frank, and frightening, with terrific, color-saturated cinematography and a central foursome whose long history feels immediately palpable.

Muscular writing and powerful performances.... You can get sucked in by the spycraft, but this is also a parable about queerness, and a fascinating character piece for Whishaw.

The prospect of jumping from era to era to stop Savage holds promise, but there isn't enough interplay between the characters to add any dimension to the early episodes. If only they could go back in time two hours and make a different show.

Billions is a mostly engrossing but occasionally tiresome tale of financial and legal brinkmanship between Bobby "Axe" Axelrod (Damian Lewis), a blue collar kid turned hedge fund manager with a chip the size of the Bronx on his shoulder, and Chuck Rhoades (Paul Giamatti), an ambitious (and silver-spooned) U.S. Attorney known his no-mercy prosecution of financial crimes.

Yes, this is "The Shield," with more gloss and less shock, and the story starts to strain as Harlee's FBI handler Warren Kole (Robert Stahl) shows an unhealthy interest in his undercover agent and the series worryingly starts to veer into "Enough"/"The Boy Next Door" territory. But the increasingly fraught dance between Harlee and Wozniak is absorbing and even occasionally nail-biting, and certainly reason enough to give Shades a shot.

This is uncomfortable television about uncomfortable topics. And we could use more of it.... This way of constantly upending the viewers' own preconceptions saves the show when it seems a bit too preachy and on-the-nose. Television too often gets teenagers wrong--too perfect, too whiny, or too bratty--but the young actors here offer nuanced portrayals.

This is not the candy-coated girl power of CBS's freshman series "Supergirl," which is doing something very different (and doing it very effectively). Jessica Jones is more psychologically complex, acknowledging how painful it can be to flee, to be free--even when you have an iron fist.

Into The Badlands thrills in its nimble genre fusion a la "Kill Bill" and "Firefly" (though, it must be said, without the humor). Even more striking is its impressionistic world-building, skillfully painting a feudal society a few centuries beyond our own, outfitted with Studebakers and Saarinen chairs and dressed in bowler hats and bustles.

This is a conventional crime show draped in period trappings when it should be steeped in the era.

Only the first episode was available for review, but the writing and direction is assured enough that easy to see where this show headed: an uplifting thrill ride that isn't a heavy lift like so many dark superhero dramas.

They're all likeable enough, but the set-ups are straight out of a dog-eared playbook.

The Leftovers shifts locations, expands its cast of characters, delivers new soul-shaking twists and drills more deeply into its theme of spiritual vertigo. This season, it's less about loss itself than how to fill the chasm. It's breathtaking.

It's effective at quickly making us care for these docs and particularly at orchestrating the cases of the week to an emotional (and emotionally manipulative) crescendo.

Yes, this is "Raising Hope" for the carpaccio crowd, but like that gone-but-not-forgetten Fox sitcom set in the no-frills aisle, the potential for schmaltziness is more than balanced by the show's oddball sensibilities.

Dean's goofy legal maneuverings--we're talking one step up from Mr. Brady's whiplash-busting briefcase toss--may strain the premise eventually, but after last season's wretched record for comedies, a sitcom that consistently amuses is worthy of acquittal.

This show will run on poisonous rivalries, hidden agendas, and unbridled ambitions. And something about a Mormon temple. Blood & Oil doesn't dig deep enough.

Pacing is a problem for most pilots--so many characters to introduce, meaningful stakes to establish--but Quantico, from "Gossip Girl" producer Joshua Safran, does this effortlessly, with at least one deadly effective twist you won't see coming. Just don't come looking for subtlety.

The Player has the feel of one of those high-octane action thrillers that Hollywood pumps out--you get caught up in the moment, but the intricacies of the plot dissolve the second you step out of the theater.

Despite that all-too-familiar set-up, Heroes Reborn gets off to a promising start, with some fresh, sympathetic characters and a gentle introduction baited with a little mythology from the original to keep those fans on the hook.

Chestnut, a reliably charming presence on screens small and large, is by far the best the thing about this painfully conventional procedural that borrows aethestically from "Miami Vice."

The satire is sharp, including a scene in which one sister texts with her killer as he's trying to kill her. But the two-hour premiere does itself no favors, so overstuffed with scares, silliness, intrigues and occasional moments of real horror that it fails to coalesce into something resembling coherence.

The dysfunctional relationship between sensible Kermit and the perennial diva Miss Piggy drives the show, and there is plenty of inside Hollywood humor, but its most delightful subplot is with Fozzie Bear, who is experimenting with inter-species dating.

It's relatively engaging and slickly produced, with effective visuals showcasing Brian's new talents, but the side effect of this show may be fatal blandness.

The leads are fine, but the amount of disbelief that must be suspended for an anonymous woman with hinky body art to become an adjunct FBI agent beggars belief.

While these standalone plots could descend into sketches, they don't--the writing is sharp and relatable, and the cast, particularly Colin Hanks and Zoe Lister Jones as new parents, bring their standard-fare roles to life.

The CGI is still pretty cool, and some chuckles are wrought from the futuristic premise (Iggy Azalea is considered a classic in 2065), but at its heart Minority Report is a by-the-book cop procedural with turgid writing and complete absence of subtlety.

Sutter's taste for chewy dialogue works well ("Make this a sight for deep memory," instructs Baron Ventris (Brian F. O'Byrne) before a slaughter, and his minions do). But Brattle and his band of rebels are frustratingly one-dimensional; the only character who comes to life is Stephen Moyer's Milus Corbett, the Baron's scheming chamberlain.

The marquee interviews, taken as a whole, were Colbert's weak point--the Bush interview went longer in reality and felt rushed when edited. And Colbert's talk with George Clooney just fell flat.... What did work was the overall vibe--enthusiastic, encompassing, high-energy and with healthy dose of quirk.

Public Morals is engaging enough, with a jazzy pace, assured direction and a number of fine performances.

There's a minimum of gore--these walkers are slow and more intact at this stage--though there are a few zombie fake-outs. But instead of building tension these sequences merely underscore the tedium.

All this should seem precious and dumb, but it doesn't, thanks to the cast's deadpan intelligence and some sharp, self-aware writing (the characters' names often refer to characters in fiction by J.D. Salinger ). Best of all, Travis fails to wrap everything up in a neat, happy way; the second episode, which is much better than the first, essentially starts all over again, picking up on the time-travel mayhem Travis wreaked a week earlier. [27 Sept 2002, p.59]

The storytelling itself is agile, even with frequent digressions into the finer points of sociophysical architecture and the pitfalls of "nebulous public areas."

7 Days in Hell is flush with over-the-top raunch and absurdist asides, but there's a shaggy charm about this production.

With MTV's Scream, anyone who has enjoyed the original is bound to be disappointed here.

As with many a Patterson thriller, the breathless pace and spine-tingling what-ifs make it easy to get caught up despite your well-founded reservations.

Another Period also skewers gender politics (and classism and the cult of celebrity), but the jokes are not particularly charged, aiming for--and granted, usually reaching--bawdiness, not brilliance.

Johnson surprises with hints of vulnerability behind that mega-watt smile. The show is also very funny.

It tries to deliver a biting geopolitical satire about unconventional warfare with weapons that are depressingly conventional.

There's a lot of backstory, and there's a lot of plot that makes the first couple of episodes a bit difficult to ease into, but at the end of the second episode, Pizzolato's penchant for abrupt violence with a side of freakiness will leave you with panting for more.

The show fails to engage on any level, striving at best for a vague earnestness.

Beals does hard-edged well, her bluntness an effective buffer against the potential treacle of the weekly cases.

Because of the episodic nature of the reenactments, and abetted by merely competent acting and bland writing, they fail to gain momentum. This lack of urgency in the production is ironically heightened by a heavy-handed percussive score that never lets up.

It's not everyone's cup of oolong, but it is an idiosyncratic tale bracingly told, generously whimsical but embellished with malevolence.

A workmanlike space opera.

Delightful. [8 Nov 2001, p.45]

What's there is fascinating. More than perhaps anyone writing for TV, Carter understands the tactical value of withholding information; he gives us just enough to pique our interest and then pulls back, promising to deliver more when the time is right. The first installment of Harsh Realm promises plenty. [8 Oct 1999, p.71]

A fascinating, globe-trotting epic that still manages to feel very intimate.

The central mystery still reaches to the Highest Levels of American Government, but it's a more intimate story, with fine performances by the three young children who start hearing voices, and more worryingly, taking direction from an unseen force.

Hart is a delight as Sabrina. She's warm, charming, always plays Sabrina as a vulnerable teen first, and a superpowerful witch second. The writing is very squarely aimed at younger viewers, but an occasional joke slips in just for the grown-ups. [27 Sept 1996, p.67]

"The value of what's in the briefcase might not be in the money." That's what creator Dave Broome, the man behind "The Biggest Loser," clearly wants us to ponder, but The Briefcase also preys upon our judgmental side as we watch the couples attempt to justify keeping all the money.

What is surprising is that the network that turned "Small ville" into a soaring hit has crashed so badly with its second flight of Spandex fancy.

Thanks to Queen Latifah, we know exactly who Bessie Smith is; the movie itself could have spent more time exploring how she got to be that way.