Too many moments feel false, overblown or contrived.

A sweet, gentle, good-natured trifle that is (nonetheless) surprisingly airless and only rarely funny, if that.

Walk out on academic underemployment, say goodbye to nosy neighbors and move to a better series. [24 Sept 1993, p.95]

All the eyeliner in the world can't make Cleve intriguing.

TBS' entry only lacks "Sex and the City's" craft in writing, characterizations, plot, production and wit.

Dim, dumb, dull, daffy and dippy, Discovery should know better.

Some amusing bits, but for every one of those, there are 10 misfires.

What's missing here, besides laughs? Chemistry.

As the woebegone divorcee with an antic streak and a full-blown need to get down, Cox is not believable.

What this show isn't: fresh, witty or even well constructed.

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

Unadulterated rubbish, and exactly what fans expect. Bravo, Starz.

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

The opposite of greatness. Specifically, "Space Force" is a five-hour bloat full of temporizing dialogue, a few-too-many gags relating to gastrointestinal malfunctions, and a CGI chimp and dog who deserved better. ... Yeah, bad. Long bad too.

We get some slightly bent soccer moms and dads debriefed by an impossibly cheery, cheesy, chummy game-show host. Showtime must have thought there would be great humor and irony in the mundane exchanges recorded here. But it miscalculated. Badly.

Blunt Talk aspires to "Network's" kinetically brilliant madness. It arrives a limp and muddled mess.

Any series that calls itself Wicked City is pretty much asking for ridicule ("Sin City" already taken?), but to then go ahead and stuff the sausage with grade A baloney? That, my friends, is a demand.

Because Kominsky is so blue and so tin-eared, when it tries to draw close to anything resembling real human emotion, it emotionally founders then sinks without a trace. ... Creaky and leaky.

Gary is a throwback to a time when laugh tracks were provided by evidently demented studio audiences; when one-liners were stoked with double entendres about sexual functions; when sitcoms had a beat, pace and predictability so primitive that they engaged only the reptilian part of our brains. To some viewers, this may be comfort food. To others: Hell.

Sausage factoryline network sitcoms like this one — most of them, really — are weirdly out of step with the moment, like the obnoxious guest at some party who drinks too much and tells bad jokes before learning that he's not at a "party" but at a wake. ... Lamentable second act.

If you last the entire pilot, and your head doesn’t hurt, you’re a sturdier viewer than I.

Knight Rider is a disaster, a remake so deliriously and delectably bad that you have to watch just to tell your grandchildren that you were there.

it's a clanking, clattering collection of collagenous clinkers--of dialogue so inept, of acting performances so preposterous, of plot points so cliched that the only question worth posing is why someone of Weaver's stature would be caught anywhere near a turkey like this.

Not worth sitting through for the scenery when you can switch to Travel Channel.

Russian Dolls is so busily edited--is any shot longer than 3 seconds?--that there's no flavor of anything.

Yup, pretty awful.

It's all very exhausting. This is a terrible show. Avoid it at all costs.