Unless your name is Stephen King or Steven Spielberg, there’s only so much new anyone can bring to this potluck supper. The Duffers don’t bring much new. They do bring a large degree of enthusiasm, however.

[Showrunner and creator Sam Esmail is] a Kafka in the director’s chair, who sees alienation where everyone else sees a Facebook “like.” It’s as compelling and timely a vision as there is in a primetime series at the moment, and darkness is the price of admission.

The series never quite convincingly establishes what could have been a powerful undercurrent-- whether Naz and by association the rest of New York’s Muslim community had been tried and convicted based on their Muslim faith alone. That’s OK. Everything else--and everyone else--cclicks just about perfectly.

Tyrant gets a welcome addition, along with more intrigue.

As always, magnificent with a moving subtext.

S&D&R&R don’t bring me anything but down.

A touchier-feelier Ray Donovan emerges, and the change is welcome.

Unlikeable characters fill the foreground, while an unfocused music track fills the background.

As a viewing experience, Greenleaf is absorbing, hardly pulse-quickening.

This new version looks like Franco moved on to something else long before he finished it.

Based on the first six episodes of the 4th season, OITNB remains fresh, funny/sad, smart, inventive, well-written, and particularly well-acted.

A far-improved start to the second season.

The most interesting character, or certainly most compelling, is Barkin’s Smurf. She’s a Ma Barker with cleavage, a brownie-baking Gemma Teller (“Sons of Anarchy”). Ultimately, she may be the one to seal the pact here.

Not exactly satire, not exactly horror, BrainDead is not exactly much fun, either.

Excellent, balanced, powerful, engaging, comprehensive perspective on the “trial of the century” and race. The first two parts are best.

Whip-smart and skintight, Season 2 clicks like clockwork. You’re appalled, you’re LOL, you can’t wait to see next week.

Just to keep our restaurant metaphors straight, this newcomer does a competent job of setting the table, but when the plates arrive, there’s nothing on them.

With all this time spent checking off genre boxes, there’s scant space for the narrative to breathe beyond them.

It’s more urgent and visceral, the blood more copious, the agony more intense. This Roots doesn’t flinch, but you almost certainly will. The cast is first-rate, too. ... But this Roots can’t quite escape the faults of the original. Kunta’s story, the Fiddler’s, and later Chicken George’s, are patterns, and also cycles. They seek dignity, but find only indignity--or abject cruelty--over and over.

Good setup pilot on Sunday that doesn’t quite carry over into subsequent episodes.

All the Way gets a couple of electrifying performances that catalyze the drama--not to mention the forward momentum of history. They’re brief, but they do the job. ... Magnificent, often stirring performance by Cranston that no one else comes close to matching.

Genius can be gimmicky, while those eternal questions about time travel and alien life forms are ultimately beyond the power of TV (or sand piles) to answer. But the value of this series lies in the attempt, which is ambitious and edifying.

As always, a welcome summer visitor.

An interesting, compelling idea for a TV series. Too bad a boilerplate cop procedural had to be the series they got instead.

It’s easy enough for new viewers to join this Emmy-nominated gem, as its third season reshuffles everyone’s deck at least once.

Hilarious, as always, and unexpectedly, maybe an instructional guide to the current political landscape.

Fans will be happy, but you newbies have been warned--the vulgarity will blow your hair back, or right off.

The real le Carré unreels here, with savvy updates (re-gendering the book’s male spy boss) strengthening his nail-biting storytelling and ever keen focus on the toxic bureaucracy behind even the most opulent intrigue.

What worked especially well last season also gets better in the second.

Dutiful, respectful, evenhanded, and full of old network TV news clips that attest to the great drama of the moment, Confirmation can also be about as adventurous as a televised hearing on C-SPAN.

A convoluted story that doesn’t seem all that worthwhile to unravel, or peel--or watch..

The Detour is ruthlessly adult stuff--surely too frank and out-there for some viewers--but it’s intrinsically honest, convulsively hilarious and oddly endearing.

The Jamie and Claire show moves to Paris--and in a sense, Frank and Jack do as well. A nice change of locale, and tone.

There’s a fine line between “calming” and “soporific,” but the new season mostly manages to stay on the right side of it, judging by the first three episodes.

The show is bad, the star a bit sad, his shtick as old as a rock.

This is a singular vision throughout, written and directed by the team of Lodge Kerrigan and Amy Seimetz. (She also plays Christine’s older sister.) Their intense focus draws a disquieting portrait of a peculiar personality.

Fascinating, disjointed, moving, tiresome, elegant, tacky, fast, slow. There’s a little something for everyone here.

The Ranch isn’t hateable as much as just bone-weary. It’s a by-the-dots, or the numbers--whichever are easiest to connect--sitcom that proceeds according to formula.

The plotting had better up its game, too, with nearly every pilot “twist” being ridiculously predictable.

Should Lopez go big and broad with cultural comedy, trafficking so hard in stereotypes they seem all the more absurd? Or stay subtle and let its less-enlightened characters hang themselves? “Lopez” can’t decide, overloading its pilot with maid/valet/parole jokes (those crazy Mexicans!) vs. “white-man problems.”

The Path is a grim unburdening, all right, but also that what-if series in search of deeper moorings, and a deeper meaning.

The Catch is about illusions, also about who’s real, or not. It’s about human mirages. Could Ben possibly be a genuine “catch,” or is he just another Shondaland heel in a bespoke suit? The answer is not so clear-cut, and it’s also what makes The Catch so possibly engaging.

This all felt too commercial, too slick, too “American Idol”-ized. The Passion is Christianity’s foundational story. This usually--also awkwardly and regrettably--felt like just another TV one.

Daredevil” isn’t only mindlessly violent, but mindless, too. The cast is terrific, production values superlative and direction first-rate.... But is there a functioning brain, or at least a higher purpose, maybe a deeper one? Like Matt’s own search for meaning, good luck finding answers.

The Americans remains a superior American drama and--admittedly, without having a working knowledge on the subject--possibly one of the best Russian TV dramas, too.... These four [episodes] also feel weighted and forlorn, as the chain of lies loop around and around the ankles of Paige and Martha, or those others unlucky enough to know Philip and Elizabeth, with an anchor just waiting to be tossed overboard.

Beyond comprehension, beyond silly, beyond words.

A genial, old-fashioned--nay, prehistoric--family sitcom on the wrong network.

A good portrait of a fallen man and the place he has fallen into. Promising--but also frustrating.

Like Seinfeld, Carmichael’s humor is sometimes about locating what’s funny in our narcissism, or his. But this episode wouldn’t work as well as it does if there wasn’t a moral, wrapped in a truth.

Best not to overthink 60 Days, and 60 Days clearly doesn’t want you to.

Good newcomer that can drag, but Hemingway's direction keeps this one on track.

What ABC has tried to do is make something that will appeal to the sword-and-sandal crowd and the faith-based one. Predictably, neither will be pleased.... Prophets manages a few things well--notably the production values--and gives American TV audiences their first good, long look at the fine veteran British actor Ray Winstone. Newcomer Rix is promising, too.

A fast and furious romp through the first six episodes that should keep bingers--and fans--happy.

The hope is fleeting, the twist a tease, and the show--you must finally, reluctantly and quite accurately conclude--is basically just a bore.

Authenticity ranges wide enough here to engage the whole family.

Pure joy and the tribute Nichols finally deserves.

Fun comedy that takes time to warm up to.

Like a packed piñata of absurdity, each episode rains unforeseen treats, from physical pranks to existential banter to all manner of sexual exuberance. It’s all smartly visualized around town and briskly stitched together.

The pursuit of answers feels both rewarding and enjoyable.

Think of Fuller House as “Full House 2.0.” Same premise, same vibe, mostly same cast.... A winner, strictly for fans.

The second season of Saul establishes what should have been obvious all along--this is basically just a continuation of “Breaking Bad.” Same themes. Same setting. Same preoccupations. Even same humor. But best of all, same deep, abiding intelligence.

Vinyl is a compelling idea in search of a compelling story. There simply isn’t much of one, in fact, and--abhorring the ever-present vacuum--a lot of other elements rush in to fill the void. Scenes are padded, lots of flashbacks are even more flaccid, while actors devour the helpless scenery.

Two nights implies this will be “epic,” but this is the anti-epic miniseries, where the subject gets smaller and smaller while his crimes get larger and larger. It’s instructional--just not emotionally engaging.

Grease: Live was maybe not a slam dunk, but nevertheless was the crowd pleaser it deserves to be and so often has been.

Best series of the year so far. Easily.

Quirky, uneven oddball that will appeal to a few. Best to wait for all episodes to stream and go ahead and binge.

Monday’s busy pilot (crammed with setting reveals and visual effects) leads to a sluggish second hour trading the thrill of discovery for downbeat foreboding. Yet the purpose-seeking characters emerge so starkly--Jason Ralph’s disturbed new student, Hale Appleman as his sardonic guide, Arjun Gupta as his itchy roommate, Stella Maeve as his left-behind soul mate. They feel worth following.

The ambition’s an admirable one, and Outsiders clearly has ambitions. But what it doesn’t have is much of a story or all that much conviction in the one it’s telling.

This louche Lucifer is mostly a cop procedural snooze.

Above-average special effects and the presence of two old and beloved friends--you know who!--more than make up for an eye-rolling new premise.

Baskets builds into a character-study treasure, much like FX precursor “Louie.”

Legends simply feels too loose, too campy.

Davies’ dialogue feels so organic to the characters it’s written for that it seems almost to bond to them, as naturally as if it was their skin or hair color. Actors in Davies’ production invariably rise to the level of the words placed before them. They certainly do here.

Well-written, directed and acted, Billions is still badly in need of a more human touch.

There are lots of other small touches--or technical flourishes--along with new cast members, notably Nina. Otherwise, best of luck finding anything radically different because there isn’t all that much that’s changed.... This is a “win-win”--for HBO, public TV, its most iconic series and those kids.

The cast in fact is terrific. (It also includes Norbert Leo Butz, Peter Gerety and AnnaSophia Robb.) A cramped, airless setting is the critical flaw here. Nothing comes to life--words, drama or most of all, characters.

The episodes’ hectic “action” often lands perfunctory or incongruous, and character development languishes in favor of sex scenes and left-field encounters “to be explained later.”

Wild start, but a good-looking one.

Get past the tough-to-buy setup of the premiere, and Shades improves. The star? Initially tough to buy, too, but also improves.

Lynch can be as goofy-delightful here as in the ensembles of “Party Down” and “Glee.” But she’s all over everything, all the time, in a show that just won’t let up.

Satire administered with a Wiffle ball bat. A dull thud, where there should be a sting.

Like the first season, there’s a “Crash”-like flavor to the storytelling, but it feels more organic this time around.... Excellent, all around.

Beautiful, elegant final ride, full of love and nostalgia and joy.

The story feels recycled, but Idris Elba’s Luther certainly doesn’t. He continues to fully inhabit this groundbreaking--and star-making--role.

There are too many characters, too many points of view, all subservient to big ideas that don’t even begin to come into focus until late in the second part--just as the unwieldy story starts to go out of focus.

Expanse is so expansive, it’s hard to pin down--well, anything.

Transparent is no longer as interested in trying to locate the comedy in these lives as the tragedy. The tonal shift is a huge one, and not necessarily a welcome one either.... Transparent is still sharply observed, and it’s still easy to admire the actors, especially Hoffmann and Tambor. Just harder to love the show.

Fun, light, colorful and original.

Newcomer Shanice Williams--all of 19--had to capture a butterfly by the name of Dorothy. And if the butterfly occasionally eluded her grasp, her voice did not.... Leon, a veteran Broadway and TV director, decided we all needed a little dose of happiness instead. We do. He and the terrific cast of The Wiz Live! delivered.

Amusing, odd, fascinating, indulgent and not quite as funny as you might expect, or hope.

Not terrible, not without charm, not a bad cast (in fact, a pretty good cast).... As a consequence, not particularly funny or memorable either.

Marvel’s Jessica Jones succeeds in all sorts of ways, especially the one that counts most: Ritter just might be the shrewdest casting move of the season, maybe several seasons, because she so fully inhabits the multidimensional Jones.

Intriguing... but somber and slowww-moving.

Dramatically inert, Badlands is at least technically accomplished.

There’s some funny stuff on the Netflix version (two episodes were made available). Truthfully, just not enough. In fact, W/Bob & David can be more tedious than inventive.

"Donny!" would be as bad as you could imagine except ... it exceeds even your imagination.

Flesh and Bone is so grim, so devoid of pleasure, so moldering that you're left to wonder why this significant collection of talent didn't actually have something fun or exciting to say about the New York ballet world.

As you would expect, very (very) funny.