The Assets just can’t get untracked, lumbering through its first two hours without any sense of purpose, style or urgency.

So far this is a dour, sour affair replete with uninviting characters. That’s generally not a good recipe for return visits.

This latest aliens-meet-earthlings sitcom is just too dopily executed for any long-term stay on this planet.

It’s a grindingly bad half-hour with some even worse finishing touches.

Marco Polo might best be utilized as a sedative or sleeping pill. All those dark to pitch black exteriors and interiors seem guaranteed to prompt an onset of heavy eyelids if not a complete conk-out. And if that doesn’t get you, the ponderous pace almost certainly will.

It all ends in thoroughly predictable fashion--and without any zip or pop.

This thing appears to be going nowhere fast. And it’s already taking way too long to get there.

Is it all a hoot to watch? Definitely, but probably not intentionally so.

Sometimes they’re [TV networks are] still smart enough to know when they have a stinker.

Body of Proof for the most part plays dead within the realm of plausible crime-solving, interesting characters and assumptions that Delany's once-promising career would do more than wither on this vine.

The resultant explosions look cheap and the cliche-pocked script keeps self-destructing--“We’re running out of time, Mac”--before the bad guys are neutralized. MacGyver deploys a few household items to make all of this happen, but not all that inventively or interestingly. Till’s acting remains a work in progress, if that.

Witches of East End is just not worth a viewer’s toils and troubles.

Flesh and Bone is to the art of the dance what the laughable Showgirls was to the Las Vegas flesh market. Except that the art of the dance in Flesh and Bone also includes stripping to help make ends meet. What emerges is a thorough mess on a grandiose scale.

It leads off the network's Thursday prime-time schedule, with the action originating in Miami and the scripts apparently bought from Godawful, Inc.

Its first half-hour comes and goes without providing any further reason to hang out with these guys.

Jack technically is a Gen Xer. But he might as well be the Quaker Oats man in the eyes of millennials getting the same broad brush treatment. It’s a wonder they can even feed themselves in a comedy that force-feeds its concept and swallows McHale whole in the process.

Suspect Behavior is in every way a grind, with even the usually very capable Whitaker looking lost at sea with his halting, stumbling, keep-pausing-for-effect portrayal of crime team head Sam "Coop" Cooper.

Vice Principals can be coarsely amusing in fits and spurts. But when it’s bad, it’s horrid.

Episodes are one hour each, requiring ample manufactured "drama" to keep this thing percolating.

This is a show without any nutritive value, innate appeal or sense of purpose. It slogs through its muck until the buzzer sounds.

Mind Games just doesn’t work on any level.

Everything in Chelsea seems painfully forced.

It’s all cut and spliced to the point where any real “jeopardy” involved is anyone’s guess. The weekly competitions on Survivor are far more convincingly presented.

Darkly shot and dimly plotted, the premiere episode never comes close to firming its grip. It instead plods and meanders, inviting viewers to invest elsewhere rather than buy into this poorly put-together jumble of something or other.

The Purge comes to television at exactly the wrong time. Not that there’s really a right time. The fact that it’s also clumsily made and rife with mediocre performances seems almost beside the point in the context of how pointless this thing is in the first place.

The whole thing comes off as uncomfortably clownish and insulting to viewers of any color, let alone African-Americans who have every right to cringe at such off-putting, clownish portrayals in times when FX’s immeasurably superior Atlanta has charted such bold new territory.

Stalker at best is an unsavory blend of violent crime, voyeurism and by-the-book preachments just in case you aren’t getting its “messages.”

Drescher still looks good a dozen years removed from the last season of The Nanny. But the lines coming from her mouth are too obvious for words.