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.

Breslin and Prattes are more or less adequate in the pivotal lead roles, but certainly no match for the smoldering chemistry that Swayze and Grey displayed both on and off the dance floor.

Twin Peaks is rambling on anyway, providing little morsels of enjoyment amid all the numbing nonsense.

Downward Dog obviously could have gone very wrong. Instead it gets almost everything irresistibly right, whether it’s Martin’s simple yet challenging life (“I’m only human,” he reasons) or the accompanying two-legged human endeavors that shift his mind into overdrive and this series into the realm of the near-sublime.

I Love Dick very much shows as well as tells. ... A series that is completely willing to offend sensibilities while also engaging them.

It can be heavy-handed at times while also being overly tethered to somber narration from the renamed Offred (series star Elisabeth Moss), who used to be June.

The series repeatedly bounces around, but coherently so. And in the early going at least, Flynn’s performance is the more interesting and affecting while also consuming considerably more screen time.

A surprisingly solid sitcom that for the most part keeps its balance amid one absurdity after another.

Winfrey’s performance, as Henrietta’s tormented youngest daughter, Deborah, is jump-off-the-screen terrific. ... Director George C. Wolfe (Nights In Rodanthe) has a tough story to tie together--and at times ties himself in knots.

The main characters also aren’t clicking on all cylinders yet, save for the dastardly Varga and his bitingly delicious way of putting things. ... This latest Fargo likely will be quite a trip, with its principal creative force, Noah Hawley, not to be discounted in terms of coming through in the clutch.

Absent the trappings of official power and high-stakes infighting by Selina and her team, the very blue banter at times seems both juvenile and excessive. ... The open question is whether Veep can sustain itself as a comedy about a festering ex-president who’s desperate to remain relevant in civilian life. But it seems likely.