A powerful testament, and TV's best miniseries since last fall's “Escape at Dannemora.”

The usual C.K. show--fresh, funny, smart, bleak, offensive, entertaining--with one minor demerit, for an overlong finish.

Everything is in place, and everyone, and what's prevented this from turning into a heightened camp version of Wisteria Lane is that now-supersized superteam. ... Still fun, still addictive, still (yup) pretty much the same.

Takes time to get into, but once in, you're in.

Monday night's return of Dallas is a joy and everything fans could ask for--the past, present and future all skillfully bound up in a high-gloss melodrama full of deceit, greed, Velveeta and (surprisingly enough) even love.

They're real people with real problems in an all-too-real world. "As We See It," in other words, is the perfect Katims show. Best TV newcomer of the new year so far.

Fascinating, incomplete, portrait of a man of mystery.

Sunday is a blast. Heads will roll, and roll well. The gore quotient is through the roof. And finally this guarantee--there is one, maybe even two, spots where you will yell out at the screen, "Oh, my God, that just didn't happen." Yes, the new season is that good.

"Men," of course, remains the King of the Emmys, while Empire nailed the equally prestigious Golden Globe for best drama last winter. But Sunday begins to build the case for Empire, and build it convincingly.

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.

Fascinating primer (that occasionally begs for more details and explanation).

There is an insistent, glowing, pervasive optimism over these 80 minutes that the TV screen can barely contain.

Full of joy, humor, brilliant writing and performances, and a deep unabiding love for what really makes Hollywood great--the women.

It's all sharp and snappy.

It was energetic (de rigeur), secular (usually is), handsomely staged (or scaffolded) and sonic (the louder the better). ... As Christ, John Legend was out-sung by Brandon Victor Dixon (Aaron Burr, “Hamilton”) who was Judas Iscariot, Norm Lewis (Caiaphas), Ben Daniels (Pontius Pilate) and Sara Bareilles (Mary Magdalene). But they out-sing everyone. Not a fair fight.

It does take six full hours to get there, but the journey — her journey — can be an immersive one. ... Terrific. Immersive. Melancholy.

This intelligent, sensitive portrait effectively explores a lost childhood and remarkable mind. It's engrossing to a point, then tiresome.

Sumptuously produced but glacially told, The Crown is the TV equivalent of a long drive through the English countryside. The scenery keeps changing, but remains the same.

Excellent actors playing excellent actors--and largely succeeding.

"The Nine" may well be the best of the crop - smart, clever and especially wise to the ways of this genre - but the challenge remains the same. This is work - admittedly often pleasurable work, but come 10 p.m. next Wednesday, we've got to do it all over again.

The violence and horror of this season are extreme, absent any glimmer of light down that long, Stygian tunnel. .... But that shouldn't detract from the genuine pleasures here either — the acting, the superlative craftsmanship, even the spectacular Canadian Rockies. You could do worse. You will rarely do better.

Equal to season 1, and in some ways (the fashions, humor) superior.

[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.

What it's really about is the stuff that dreams are made of. As this third season will remind true-blue fans, that stuff can be very funny indeed. ... Hilarious.

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.

This handsome, moodily shot movie liberates the play from the confines of the tiny apartment with almost too many scenes on the bus, in a bar and, most chilling, in the back room of a beauty shop where the neighborhood abortionist boils forceps.

There was lots of life left here. If these first couple of episodes are at all representative, there still is. (But still too bad about Peretti's departure.)

Still very high quality, and still a tiny bit dull.