Despite the sad fates of members of the Madoff family, The Wizard of Lies fails to summon much pathos or deliver much insight into Wall Street's get-rich-at-any-cost ethos.

Whether rising to consult a dictionary, delivering a full-throated rendering of the all-star swear word, or simply sending up the mock seriousness of the enterprise with wry humor, Cage’s appearances are genuine highlights. If only the rest of the series were as consistent.

The story of Henrietta Lacks is too big to be compressed into 90 minutes. And though it's made with all the good intentions in the world, The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks feels rushed and cramped.

Instead of taking any creative risks, Tut trundles along down the familiar "Game of Thrones"-wannabe path. The emphasis is on battles for power, conspiracies, warring tribes, with some cable-style sex scenes thrown into the mix.

In Snowfall, we instead watch the talented cast try to overcome writing more interested in making points than in fleshing out the people involved.

This dramatization feels less like “The Jinx” or “Making a Murderer,” and more like a weird mix of Southern California lifestyle satire and a “Dateline” episode.

Sharp though some of the writing is, “Coastal Elites” never challenges the moral superiority of its characters, and so they mostly come off as predictable, making predictable points.

A dutiful, perfectly fine, surprisingly dull evening of television.

Into the Badlands should be nonstop, melodramatic entertainment. But the first two episodes are listless and dull whenever Wu isn't battling villains. The writing lacks flavor, and the performances are stiff, with the florid exception of Csokas' Quinn.

If you're still on board with wondering if Carrie will go off her meds again, whether she and Saul will patch things up, or if Quinn is an alienated killing machine or kind of crushing on Carrie, welcome back to Homeland. But if you're craving something more, Season 5 may feel like a retread job on tires that are showing their wear.

The first episode, titled "My Struggle" (the English translation of Hitler's manifesto, "Mein Kampf," which seems strange) starts off well enough. But then things go haywire.... The second episode, directed and written by X-Files veteran James Wong, is a welcome step up from the first. And the third (only three were made available for screening), is a comic horror gem.

The show isn’t bad, but it’s definitely familiar, with a cast of quirky characters who constitute a likable, if occasionally kooky workplace family. ... But these first 10 half-hour episodes are less interesting than “The Last Blockbuster,” Taylor Morden and Zeke Kamm’s documentary about how the Bend outlet came to be the last Blockbuster in America.

“Hunters” is a series that feels like it’s finding its way, as it explores explosive territory with a tone that lurches from darkly comic to grimly violent.

Unfortunately, “Ratched” turns out to be a bloody bore. The eight-episode series is less a character study than it is a horror show, where the gore spills all over nifty period costumes and fancy production design.

Dig spends too much time building ominous atmosphere, and hinting at vast schemes that may change the course of history--that again--and not enough time giving us a reason to stay tuned as he convoluted plot unfolds.

It comes off as way too broad to be witty, and too raunchy to be a comfortable fit for family viewing.

For every slight improvement--more fully developed female characters, the always watchable Chris Noth as an American General who arrives as part of U.S. efforts to help bring democracy to Abuddin--Tyrant still fizzles more often than it sizzles.

Depends on how willing you are to suspend your disbelief that a man who's immortal couldn't find something else to do with his endless time than hanging around a morgue.

Overall, Vinyl suffers from an inflated sense of its own importance, and a dreary lack of humor (though the pilot has a funny drive-by diss of England Dan & John Ford Coley.)

“Nine Perfect Strangers” is an unsatisfying stew of mystery and melodrama, with a few misplaced moments of sort-of comedy.

Despite the abilities of the cast, McBride’s touch is too heavy, and before long, we yearn for some heavenly force to smite Jesse, just to get him to stop cursing, insulting everyone and strutting around in total blowhard fashion. ... It’s not clear what exactly it is trying to do. And it’s not funny enough to make us want to keep watching.

We know very little about any of the characters, and it's hard to care about them as they go about their doings under an ominous cloud of supernatural dread.

Though there's comedy potential in watching Murphy and her co-workers try and function in a media world that includes a conservative cable news channel whose spin apparently influences the president's policy ideas, we hardly need a sitcom to shove it down our throats. Murphy Brown doesn't demonstrate a light hand in subsequent episodes, either. ... So much lecturing. So few laughs.

What should be a sweeping, exciting epic about Texas' fight for independence instead comes off as a muddled cross between a costume party and historic re-enactors convention.

The '70s costume and production details are fine, but when you're paying more attention to the classic rock tunes on the soundtrack than to the story, it's time to close the case.

The Secret Life of Marilyn Monroe is a glum retread of Monroe's legend, with a flat script by Stephen Kronish and direction by Laurie Collyer ("Sherrybaby") who gives it all a funereal, depressed tone even when Monroe's career is at its height.

Though the cases are built around cutting-edge high-tech threats, everything else feels as stale as week-old bread.

Reilly is intense and watchable.... But other elements of Black Box feel unconvincing, and overfamiliar, which is disappointing, considering the potential.