Nice looking, but not nearly enough action.

Smart new cop show that takes time to build, but will reward patience.

With material this thin, the actors can only do a competent job of mimicry. Mimicry is about all you'll get.

Producer Beers' team is the gold standard in male-aimed reality, and these guys have grit to burn.

Body of Proof feels like a show that has nearly been nibbled to death by network ducks. You can almost see the TV executive Post-it notes on the screen.

The problem with Jackie is that split personality--drama or comedy. What's funny here is funny, like last season's final seconds. There aren't enough moments that remind you when to laugh.

For a show forever detonating bombs, it's surprising how sweet and frothy Tara feels. Just a half-hour long, it doesn't waste a second, pulling a gun within the first few and no punches ever.

The performance tends to be monochromatic, and in the end, so is Mildred Pierce. What's especially enjoyable here are the minor performances--especially Pearce as the louche Monty--and the many almost imperceptibly small details, right down to the crockery in a restaurant.

The third season was a two-headed monster. One was Sam and Ron; the other was Shore's typically moronic, casually vulgar, breezily amusing self. Guess which one was unwatchable.

As a family, they are particularly eager to convey a sense of normalcy, but Sister Wives still doesn't have much interest in exploring the religious underpinnings or larger ethical questions of this anything-but-normal lifestyle. You're left without a solid clue why the Browns--all five of them--have gone to this much trouble.

Matt Olmstead and Nick Santora are two solid guys who know how to make good TV and Lombardozzi and Alonzo are superior actors. But there are only flashes of promise here.

Frankel's repartee may make it seem as though she's missed her calling as a Borscht Belt comedian, but underneath it all she really has no sense of humor.

Knox is neither absolved nor condemned, and you'll end up with more questions that you began with. But pay close attention: There are many telling little details throughout.

Thurgood feels more "important" than dramatic. Part of it is Stevens' then-I-did-this structure, more focused on biographical bullet points than the flesh-and-blood human behind them. And part of it is Fishburne, who despite coiled power--his Ike Turner in "What's Love Got to Do With It" was Oscar-nominated--resonates here as a cool character rather than a fiery one.

Producers clearly encourage some to-the-camera carping, but the overriding emotional tone is one of bonding and growth. And respect. In a reality competition!

The dynamics of the show seem different enough that "Housewives" fans will want to give Miami a try. But we'll have to see if the plot lines will sustain interest.

Competent spinoff, but the formula tends to wear like a straitjacket on Whitaker.

Labine and Greer completely hijack the show, and almost threaten to turn Biggs (you'll remember him from "American Pie") and Chalke ("Scrubs." "Roseanne") into props. A well-made and skillfully executed sitcom. Oh--almost forgot--fun, too.

Grim, but a chance to see two magnificent actors at the peak of their powers.

Leaden, dull, flat, tone deaf. Any reason to go on? Sure. This replaces another ex-"Friends" vehicle (Courteney Cox's "Cougar Town," which returns mid-April) that launched with both left feet, then dramatically improved. With all the on-screen talent here, this ex-"Friends" star could eventually shine, too.

A not-unpleasing comedy that takes time and commitment to grow on you. How long? I started to like it three or four episodes in. Seems like an awfully long time, no?

Monday's pilot can't quite close the sale, but there's promise here. The Chicago Code deserves another look.

Of course there are dozens of loose ends in need of tying, but you do get the sense that some will actually get tied, and in a satisfying way.

You see no skepticism in Beyond. No analysis. No thinking. Just a lot of truly scary people yelling at very young kids.

The target viewer wouldn't watch all this predictable--I mean, impulsive--bickering and button-pushing while thinking: I wonder why all the paintings and posters on the walls in the background are blurred out? And then think: Geez, why am I even wondering about that? The audience for Joan Knows Best? will be loving Joan's visits to three plastic surgeons Tuesday, not fretting.

Information tumbles off the screen and often flat onto the floor. Too bad, because much of what's here is very funny, if occasionally cruel.

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

Brownstein and Armisen move so effortlessly between characters, then execute their riffs, tics, styles and voices with such skilled abandon that before long this doesn't seem like satire any longer but a fun house mirror reflection of intensely real people.