The two protagonists carry the day, though. C.B. and Robin are well worth rooting for as they sift their way through both the crimes at hand and their own personal dilemmas. So keep writing these characters, J.K. Rowling. They’re every bit as down to earth as Harry Potter was fantastical.

Reverie is brightly colored and nicely designed when it’s tripping. But it’s also all over the place, and probably not worth the overall trouble of trying to grasp whatever the rules of this game are, were or will be.

Some might find For Whom the Bell Tolls to be too easy on, if not downright deferential, to McCain. But this last testament in many ways also underscores the respect and admiration he has won from those he’s battled fiercely.

A disappointing film that can’t seem to rise above room temperature.

Patrick Melrose is stamped throughout by Cumberbatch’s alternately furious and touching performance. But it takes a real despot to fuel his fires and shame, and Weaving is thoroughly up to commanding that role. Leigh likewise is a standout as Patrick’s cowed mother. ... Showtime in the end has a unique viewing experience, with some wit also in play amid the terrible consequences of being raised in a living hell.

Despite the hardly surprising plotting, Vida excels as a series with a notably different look and feel.

Handmaid’s Tale had a tough act to follow, but its second coming soars on multiple levels. It’s intense, heartbreaking, full of resolve and perfectly paced.

Genius: Picasso is sluggish in the early going before gaining traction in later episodes. Banderas makes a growingly strong impression.

HBO’s three-and-a-half hour Elvis Presley: The Searcher is an evocative documentary without malice.

Throughout these first five episodes, Westworld continues to have a mind-bending mind of its own, sometimes to the point of being close to nonsensical. It’s also a non-stop killing field, and that gets to be off-putting after a while. But Westworld also remains picturesque, challenging and undeniably distinct.

Lost in Space didn’t have to be very good at all to improve on either the original or the movie. Still, it’s much better than might have been expected, as is Netflix’s ongoing One Day At a Time reboot. The Robinsons and their antagonists look good to go again.

The portrayal of Paterno is right up there with Pacino’s very best work. Kudos to HBO for keeping him center stage, which is where he still belongs.

What stands out is the letter-perfect ensemble casting, Morgan’s ability to perform as more than a caricature and the comfy fit of Tray’s adventures and misadventures.

The Crossing has just enough going for it to invite a second look. Then again, it doesn’t yet seem dynamic enough to be worth a long-term investment--or a short-term disappointment if ABC cancels it without resolving much of anything.

Frankly, a little boredom sets in at times. ... How The Americans resolves their fates will be key to whether this series is remembered as a superbly rendered morality tale or a distinct disappointment after setting its bar so high. Season 6 so far is rife with both possibilities.

Alex, Inc. is an enjoyably comfy fit among all of those fellow ABC family comedies. Braff and Imperioli are the name brands, but the wife and kids quickly make their own strong and appealing impressions.

ABC has far more family-driven sitcoms than any of its rivals. Splitting Up Together shows that the network is still finding new ways to make them work just fine.

[There's] quite a lot to unpack--and the first episode is awkward at times compared to the two subsequent ones made available for review. Barr’s acting is noticeably mechanical in the early going while Goodman (who seems to have made a million movies in the interim) initially seems a little lost in the transition back to playing a character for which he received seven Emmy nominations without ever winning.

It’s a pretty good wallow so far, a real-life Dallas or Dynasty whose more diabolical Ewings and Carringtons swallowed their enemies and family members whole when they weren’t simply spitting them out.

Barry isn’t always completely on target. There are more than enough nifty plot turns and deftly played scenes, though, to keep the series steadily on its feet before a season-ending cliffhanger leaves one very much wanting more.

Krypton’s special effects are pretty impressive throughout the first five episodes made available for review. But the overall storyline begins to bog down rather badly in the latter hours, making Krypton seem like too much of a slog en route to a seemingly long-in-coming payoff that’s already set in stone.

The premise may not sound shopworn. But CBS’ Instinct otherwise is extraordinarily ordinary at best as a midseason replacement for the failed Wisdom of the Crowd.

Rise doesn’t elevate to the heights of Friday Night Lights with either its storytelling or performances. But it’s heartfelt from start to finish while also offering an overall feel-good respite from television’s ongoing obsessions with “true crime” and all things Trump.

Deception isn’t likely to win any awards, except perhaps from the Society of American Magicians. As escapist fare, though, it turns the trick, plays its cards well, pulls a rabbit from the hat, etc. Or as ABC might say, “Abracadabra, here’s to another Castle.”

Some of the scenes play out OK, and Favreau has a marginally winning way with the doofus brother he plays. As the self-described scene-stealer, newcomer Totah also gets in a few good jabs. None of this seems nearly good enough, though, to make Champions more than a likely short-termer on the TV sitcom conveyor belt.

Life Sentence has an off-putting preciousness to it while grinding through one “crisis” after another. It doesn’t earn any sympathies because its principal characters don’t merit much more than one big “Oh, shaddup!” With the exception, perhaps, of poor Wes.

Be assured there’s still nothing else like it--on FX or anywhere else. Atlanta depicts “The Black Experience” without preachments, but with pride of authorship.

This is an amiable enough little comedy series that doesn’t use religion as a punching bag.

It’s a daring, immersive undertaking by USA, while also being far removed from the usual true crime suspects--lately the Menendez Brothers and Waco-based cult leader David Koresh.

Looming Tower, for which author Wright is a co-executive producer, is visceral and fully engaging in its best moments, but also head-hurting with some of its efforts to diagram the myriad goings-on abroad. By the end of Episode 3, however, the story has gotten a firmer grip.

For now, the three lead performances are uniformly winning while the pacing is bracingly brisk. The male characters in large part are furniture to be moved around in service to the women’s varying predicaments and aspirations.

Seven Seconds, which runs for more than 10 hours that seem like 15, follows the grim and grimy Sud playbook without really saying much of anything new. The fault lies not with its stars, most of whom perform very ably or well beyond that. It’s just that sometimes enough is enough.

The first two episodes hit some comedic sweet spots, both visually and verbally. But if the government again shuts down over DACA, Colbert and his writers will be increasingly hard-pressed to find the funny.

There are moments in Here and Now that threaten to turn the corner and reward a viewer’s patience. But just as quickly, things bog down again. The acting isn’t at fault, but the preachments and overall ponderousness are.

Howerton makes the most of his central ribald rogue role while Oswalt seemingly was built to be a bumbler. Neither character is believably employed--if that really matters. Beyond that, A.P. Bio suffices as a teacher-student comedy.

Girlfriends doesn’t aways hit its marks--particularly during the over-reaching opening minutes of Episode 4. But the three lead performances, particularly on the part of Miranda Richardson, are more than enough to carry the day.

Counterpart blooms and grows as an absorbing sci-fi/spy thriller with elemental questions about how identities can be forged and changed by environments and circumstances.

Those who book full passage for Season One’s 10 episodes may or may not get full closure. The Alienist, which closes out Episode 2 with Moore at the mercy of gangland forces and their young boy prostitutes, so far is trying terribly hard to be darkly spellbinding. Toward that end, it has yet to make its case.

HBO’s six-part Mosaic, also available as an “interactive movie” on mobile apps, begins as an immersive spellbinder before eventually plodding to the finish line under its own diminishing power. Accomplished director Steven Soderbergh (Ocean’s Eleven and its two sequels, Traffic, Erin Brockovich) does succeed, though, in resuscitating the acting career of Sharon Stone, who gives a bravura performance until her character suddenly goes missing.

The Resident already seems to be straining credulity with the demonic Dr. Bell. How long can he rule with an iron fist as the hospital’s most-requested celebrity surgeon? That hand isn’t getting any steadier while his ego shows no sign of downsizing. This isn’t supposed to be a soap opera in the mode of Dallas, so Bell seemingly can’t get away with being a broadly drawn J.R. Ewing. Something’s got to give. And I’m interested just enough in The Resident to see if something soon does.

Although her time on-screen is limited, Cruz makes some strong impressions as the ever-demanding Donatella Versace.

[Cress Williams] delivers the goods in Black Lightning as a title character of steely intent whose vulnerabilities are also a major part of his makeup. Are his powers a curse or, as he prefers to see them, a “blessing from God?” However things turn out, it’s already quite electrifying.

There’d be no hope for the future were every millennial this way. But as voices of a hopefully very small subset of their generation, Povitsky and Aflalo are funny enough in spots to make a go of it as two oddly self-aware non-starters.

Whether young, old or in-between, all of these characters resonate in their own distinct ways as The Chi builds both momentum and suspense. This is no small achievement for Waithe, whose first TV series under her direct control is bursting with flavor and humanity in a South Chicago proving ground. The footing is always slippery, but the storytelling remains bracingly sure-footed.

True believers who have devoured most if not all of the 208 previous episodes likely will find it thrilling simply to be strung along anew. Those of us who have been less dedicated to the cause perhaps can be more forgiving of the show’s loopy transgressions.

Serviceable yet unremarkable. ... 9-1-1 is a match for the overall quality of NBC’s Chicago trifecta. None of race-to-the-rescue, life-and-death dramas are anywhere near Emmy caliber. But if there’s room for one more -- and quite likely there is -- then Fox certainly could do worse than a comparatively blood-less but decently executed series from a producer who still hits more than he misses.

Airplane! it’s not. Not even close.

Enjoy and appreciate all three of these principals in a Season Two that matches and sometimes surpasses the quality of the series’ initial 10 hours. The Crown remains a joy to behold and savor. ... This is drama of the highest calling.

At one extreme, you want Santa dead. At the other, it can get to be ho ho hum in a hurry.

Inventive and frequently hilarious. ... Future Man has a firm grasp of what it is and where it’s going. Coupe and Wilson excel as goal-fixated warriors from the future without any social graces while Hutcherson shines as a nebbish who both talks them down and strives to keep his own heart from beating off the charts.

This tautly emotional and up-close look at a mettle-testing day in Iraq seems certain to become its most resonant and valuable production to date.

Being gross, graphic and disagreeable has not kept Shameless from having a long run on Showtime. SMILF is in that vein, and perhaps also will find enough of an audience to sustain it. It’s hard to know what going to work anymore. But this one just doesn’t work for me.

Alias Grace doesn’t wrap everything up tidily -- and at times can be a bit messy and far-fetched. ... The performances are uniformly first-rate, though, and viewers will get closure rather than any dangling cliffhangers.

Heavy-handed in both its law enforcement and dialogue.

Hit the Road is relentlessly broad and determinedly offensive. It’s also quite funny in fits and spurts, primarily when Alexander is throwing the fits and having the spurts.

Livingston excels as the point man, making Sam Loudermilk both his own worst enemy and a guy who would be damned interesting to be around. This is one of the ongoing TV season’s better new comedies.

White Famous can be faulted in its conceits and concept, but Pharoah is fully invested and funny at times, too.

Patience is recommended, because it takes a while for Mindhunter to embed its hooks and acclimate Groff, who at times seems to be almost painfully “finding” his character. ... Based on what we have, Mindhunter is plodding at times but promising in the main.

Some fun possibly can be had here amid all the back-stabbing, sneering, secrecy and infidelity.

This all probably sounds ridiculous, and pretty much is. Even so, Valor is more entertaining and accessible in its own way than network TV’s two other hard-charging combat hours. Ochoa and Barr blast off in their lead roles and also play well together.

The Mayor can be preachy and predictable, but is also spirited and reasonably amusing in this opening scene-setter. Hall brings considerable charisma to the lead role and Brown supplies the needed anchoring presence. Michele, the former Glee star, still seems to be finding her way, though, in a role that at the moment doesn’t really fit her.

Ritter brings solid appeal to the title role while Herbert Gregory has a strong grip on her “warrior for God.” Even so, Saves the World can be overly goofy at times and remains murky in terms of just what Kevin represents or is supposed to do as “the last of the righteous.” Whatever the potholes in the plot, Saves the World commendably aspires to be bracing and uplifting in times when a second coming of Touched By An Angel might just do a world of good.

This latest Marvel concoction is better than ABC’s Marvel’s Inhumans, which launched on Friday of last week. Still, an overall weariness prevails, perhaps even among the most fanatical Marvel diehards.

[Mark Feuerstein] brings exuberance and a certain likability to the role as a good son who’s still trying to please his parents. But geez, what a grind 9JKL is. You’ll find more originality in the recipe for cream of boiled water soup.

Piven’s OK in his latest starring role while Jones brings some ‘tude as Cavanaugh.

Ghosted includes a few halfway decent special effects, but not much else, en route to the inevitable.

Although laboring like the rest of them in servitude to a mostly nondescript script and a standard issue Marvel plot, Rheon makes the most of his latest dastardly character. Villainy still suits him, even if the drop in quality from Game of Thrones to Marvel’s Inhumans is both obvious and precipitous.

The broad histrionics of Will, Grace, Jack and Karen, who are still cavorting before a guffawing live studio audience, at times seem more dated than NBC’s early reluctance to let Will have a same-sex kiss or be seen in bed with another man. But there’s no hesitancy from the actors in terms of re-committing to these roles with a vigor that still drives the series like an old Wild Mouse amusement park ride from back in the day.

Falco is fine in this role and Jaeger brings some nice touches to the role of detective Zoeller. Josh Charles (The Good Wife) adds a little extra marquee value as the brothers’ compromised psychiatrist, Dr. Jerome Oziel. ... Just don’t expect any style points or departures from the straight ahead Wolf playbook.

Just don’t expect much more than Boreanaz’s command presence in Seal Team. You’ll see where it’s going long before it gets there, no matter how far off the missions might be.

Young Sheldon ends up having a mind of its own, even if it’s a prequel to a long-established hit. Armitage and Perry in particular are a perfect pair as precocious son and protective but not overbearing mom. There’s an awful lot to like here, with high expectations not only met but exceeded.

Me, Myself & Irene appears to have boxed itself in. The opening episode is pleasant enough to watch, although not really very amusing. But the prospects for a sustainable series seem highly limited by all that unfolds here.

Highmore plays his lead role to near-perfection amid all the considerable medical jargon and jockeying for position among his supposedly more enlightened colleagues. The Good Doctor engagingly drops Dr. Shaun in their midst as both a lamb and a lion with a muted roar. The story possibilities are readily apparent on a number of fronts in the best broadcast network medical drama since Hugh Laurie contrastingly bruised his way through House.

The opening hour ends with an unexpected, big boom of a cliffhanger designed to bring viewers back for more. In that it’s unique. Otherwise The Brave is broad-stroked and pro forma in highly volatile times both at home and abroad.

A reasonably fond look at some of country music’s most celebrated and talented self-destructive forces, most of them now dead.

In its scope and a mostly impeccable selection of images, quotes and anecdotes (Ho Chi Minh once worked as a New York city pastry chef), The Vietnam War boldly and bravely stands its ground and almost assuredly will stand the test of time. Its story is told in affectingly human terms by the mostly unheralded men and women who bled, died and survived.

The Orville needs considerable work to accomplish whatever it wants to be--assuming that MacFarlane and company even have that answer. For now it’s boldly but very unsteadily going forth, with its jokes working here and there while the action and “messages” bump along at best.

Each hour’s blazing horns, during the closing credits, are a weekly must-hear. The dialogue is sharp and suitably dicey ... There’s nothing pretty here. But in the eyes of this beholder, you’ll otherwise know great drama when you see it.

Not everything entirely adds up during the very winding course of China Girl’s six hours. ... The performances, however, are uniformly on target. Kidman, part of the recent ensemble in HBO’s Emmy-nominated Big Little Lies, is even more impressive here as the possessive, high-strung Julia while Dencik completely inhabits the role of thoroughly oily “Puss.” Moss again is impressively nuanced as the unsteady Robin, whose flaws and needs are palpable.

Through it all, Peters again excels--performance-wise, at least--as a Trump acolyte whose fires burn white hot from election night on. His full investments in deranged characters remain a wonder to behold. But as Kai’s manipulations thicken, so do AHS: Cult’s overall misfires and excesses.

Based on the limited evidence provided by Netflix, Disjointed is also discombobulated and too often dim-witted. There’s some cleverness amid its clutter. But Bates was better served as the bearded lady in American Horror Story: Freak Show.

Don’t expect to take any ha-ha showers. Marlon isn’t up to that task either. Instead it over-blows everything in service to a star who doesn’t know how or when to stop.

In short, a lot is very right with Get Shorty, which may well come calling again during next year’s awards season.

Pullman and Biel are solidly in charge of their pivotal roles in a drama where “close-ended” presumably means a firm conclusion and no Season Two. So at an economical eight episodes, all this gloom and doom at least has the benefit of also being foreseeably finite. Expect your tolerance to be tested, though, particularly in the first half of Episode One. But if I were you, I’d proceed.

A surprisingly assured supernatural saga with at least a little something for everyone, plus non-stop eye candy for one and all.

Ozark makes its bones via Bateman’s solid work, another reliably strong performance from Linney and an intriguing if sometimes over-populated immorality play that tantalizingly firms its grip.

The initial two hours move along at a fairly crisp pace, complete with skulking and several close calls but next to nothing spent on special effects.

The Bold Type in fact seems to have one type in mind--and it isn’t anyone with even a remotely plain face or a few extra pounds. Whatever points it labors to make are blunted by all its beautiful people.

Precious little, beyond his storied and enduring plays, is known about Shakespeare’s personal life or even his sexuality. So TNT is making him up as he goes along in a rousing, colorful drama that signifies more than nothing and indeed can often be quite something.

Snowfall is competently made and acted. But its images are just too destructive all around.

America In Color is by no means the full story. But its overall artistry breathes new life into these two incredibly eventful decades, with three more yet to come.

In the end, the only open question (from a crime solving standpoint) is whether this indeed is the finale for Broadchurch. Creator, writer, executive producer Chris Chibnall emphatically says that it is. If that’s really so, Season 3 acquits itself exceedingly well.

An entertaining, amusing and at times poignant first season that also has some wretched excesses and predictable turns. But there are more than a few little unexpected delights, ranging from Ruth’s impression of Audrey Hepburn winning an Oscar for Roman Holiday to Sam’s learning that a just released real-life movie has upstaged his plans to direct a surefire crowning masterpiece titled Mothers and Lovers.

The new Gong Show set is a suitably gaudy mix of reds and oranges, Which proves to be perfect for Married with Bananas (don’t ask) and Uncle Clutch, a fright mask-wearing slayer whose thorough commitment to character is quite hilarious.

Based on just the pilot episode (no others were made available for review), it doesn’t look too bad for re-starters. The acting is no great shakes but the special effects and overall atmosphere are overriding plusses.

Be assured that answers will be forthcoming before Loch Ness comes to a halt. Still, there are several too many side trips and attendant altercations before the big reveals.

Claws never lacks for energy, and its premise and cast composition are somewhat novel. But what it too often lacks is dexterity and texture.

I’m Dying Up Here convincingly recreates both a period and the primal scream existence of would-be star comedians who seem to most enjoy trading very barbed insults during frequent gatherings at a local diner.