Black Box

A show so deeply flawed and absurdly derivative you will wonder if you, like the main character, are experiencing a manic episode.

Casting Vanessa Redgrave as Dr. Black's therapist is a sign of how seriously Black Box takes her condition--and itself--but even Redgrave can't raise this above the level of a not very good medical procedural.

Black's condition is no joke--except when it is. The series is severely manic-depressive itself and emotionally manipulative in both modes.

In short, it’s a well-intended mess of a show with preposterous medical emergencies and a few flickers of ingenuity.

Put it all together, and Black Box simply isn’t worth seeking out.

No, you won't and shouldn't laugh at neurological disorders, but there are enough writing disorders to keep you in stitches until someone issues a DNR order on Black Box.

There are laughs to be had in this inept series from Amy Holden Jones (Indecent Proposal), but they're all of the laughing at--not with--variety.

The unusual medical cases feel like a way of marking time until Dr. Black can once again go off her meds and turn into a sex fiend in a show that might as well be called “Fifty Shades of Grey Matter.”

[An] insufferable, mindlessly contrived and wretchedly acted medical melodrama.

Black Box’s biggest flaw is that it has zero intuition for its own (apparently unintentional) acts of camp, attempting to say something meaningful about the stigma of mental illness when everything about the show is pure crackpot.

With lame flashbacks (her mother really wanted to kill herself--just you watch her say it, repeatedly) and crazy-people re-enactments, Black Box is just beyond silly. Add in Reilly’s ill-fitting performance and a need to spin around like a ballerina--free from those restrictive pills!--and you’ve got a recipe for never wanting anyone to find this Black Box let alone watch it.