It's "Reno 911!" with bloody bite.

In blunt and at times salty language, Bush gets to say exactly what 9/11 meant to him; it's visceral but only occasionally revelatory. We all know this story very well. Maybe too well.

A quick summary makes it sound schlocky, but William & Catherine is pretty slick schlock.

JUNKies follows a familiar formula, but adds a buoyant burst of adrenaline when the guys spontaneously react to the inventions and their makers.

This evocative hour doesn't lionize Steinem, but simply lays out what happened.

Nothing is left unspoken in dialogue as blandly obvious as "I am the only other person who knows" and "She had a lot of secrets."

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

If it wasn't a docucomedy, it would just be dull.

ThunderCats fanboys and girls will approve, although the story does feel a lot darker and more violent.

It's an exhaustive and exhausting film, but Garbus finds nothing that will change minds or reverse conclusions. The tragic void remains.

When you start doodling on the Internet instead of watching the show you are supposed to review, then either you, or the show, has a problem. I'm going with the latter.

Entourage is clarifying a moral message--drugs will kill you, terrible behavior is terrible, and real friends are forever. It feels like a reassuring final season.

The cameos often are amusing, and so is Kudrow, but someone at Showtime evidently forgot to ask whether a one-joke webisode can or should be expanded into a one-joke TV series. This one feels like a strrrretch.

A stunning, brilliant, terrifying launch to TV's best series.

Inexorably transfixing, whether you're taking names or taking notes.

While a bit deliberately paced, a good start, with (as always) an excellent guest-star roster.

Middling start, but we've stuck with Rescue Me this long, and no point in bailing now.

Roseanne's Nuts isn't awful. It just is. There's "nut" much happening.

The Closer may be the most comfortable old shoe on all of television; slip it on and be assured of no blisters. In fact, the cast (and not just Sedgwick) is so competent, the characters' tics so familiar; and the format and formula so firmly etched in "ceeement" (as Brenda might say) that it all feels almost too comfy.

The soul of the show, though, is its conflicted "heroes," truly tortured, in palpable ways, recalling the best, early days of NBC's ill-fated Monday comic book. There's no cartoonery here. Just adult adventure and angst.

For such a vast and important story, Torchwood: Miracle Day feels strangely confined and artificial. Here's hoping for more by Episode 4.

As twisted, and twistedly funny, as ever.

Still absorbing. Still painful.

Over these 52 minutes, she hits 50 states, so of necessity the pace is brisk and to the point. You don't really get to know anybody, but a sea of faces from the Mideast to the Far East tell her of their hopes and dreams in short, sharp sound bites.

My heart tells me that any show that revolves around an honest-to-goodness native of Commack deserves an A+. My head tells me this one deserves a C.

All those greens and blues--and I'm just talking about the trousers and jackets--make you almost forget how well-written and acted this show is; even the medical jargon seems (ummm) un-jargony and informative. The mini dramas are mostly, however, just a light summer breeze, as befitting unpretentious Pains.

Sure, it all looks and sounds achingly familiar and blandly dumb, and maybe some of it is. But check the brain at the door. You could do much worse.

It feels fresh and amusing. "True Blood" did a similar fast-forward, and both have benefited.