Was it the J. Lo connection? Was it the time slot? Was it the marketing and promotion, or lack thereof? Despite critical acclaim, it seems that America’s not ready yet for a smart, independent, single U.S. Marshal and her doting private-investigator father, Marshall. God speed, Karen. Have a bourbon on Kim.
We’re happy this show took Kathy off the D-List; just wish it knew what to do with her once that happened.
Kell is not other people.
We were ready for it; America wasn’t. Damn those child-endangerment laws.
Jeremy Sisto played Knapp, a man who excelled at finding people. It’s a shame that he couldn’t use those powers to track down an audience for this well-acted, well-paced show about retrieving the abducted son of a wealthy New York industrialist. All the Sisto- and Delroy Lindo-fueled bad-assery in the world couldn’t stop NBC from giving producers the “wrap it up” sign and exiling the show to the broadcast Siberia that is Saturday night. Mr. Sobell chronicled the first three episodes; sadly, Saturday is his canasta night.
All filler, no killer. Tricia Helfer’s post-BSG purgatory continues.
It was a Salem’s Lot of crap they asked us to swallow: an artist-type who isn’t Stephen King getting clocked by a van on a rural stretch of Maine road. A dutiful wife who couldn’t act her way out of her husband’s colostomy bag while she tended to his frozen frame in a hospital haunted by fallen stars of yesteryear. Andrew McCarthy as a cocky doctor. Ed Begley Junior as maybe a doctor who really enjoyed buttons. And then there was the haunting, a bone-chilling mix of boredom and hospital bureaucracy sure to bring any dedicated couch baron to his feet and reconsider the whole “going outside” thing. It was that level of viewing excitement — coupled with swiftly declining ratings — that got this show canned by TWoP before any recapper had a chance to write about it twice.
What’s wrong with a world where a show that featured drug-runners, man-eating tigers, hypodermic-needle-wielding hookers, dog assassinations, voodoo, hints of homoerotic incest, anal rape, strippers, drug busts, opium dens, torture, and Sean Young can’t get renewed? Search for the answer in Permanent Hiatus.
Le roi est mort, vive le roi… peut-Ãªtre sur DVD.
We woke up.
The credits themselves pinned down the problem with this show: a little less conversation, a little more action. The mindless antics of Las Vegas’s prettiest hotel staff weren’t sufficient to keep anyone’s interest.
Who will be named “the funniest person in the world”? Maybe you’ll watch the whole fifth season and find out; we won’t.
Just as we were really getting hooked on this increasingly compelling submarine drama, ABC torpedoed it.
Failure to launch.
What the WGA strike giveth, the end of the WGA strike taketh away. Dick Wolf’s immortal franchise will go on, but not on TWoP. (Unless, of course, there’s another strike and we’re desperate for shows to cover.)
In the end, the culprit was boredom.
Perhaps it was the pre-season comparisons to My So-Called Life and Freaks and Geeks that set our sights a little too high. Or maybe it was just the time slot of death. Whatever the cause, no one wants to know about the lives of three teenage boys in Seattle, especially when so much of their lives seemed to be rehashes of other teen dramas that have come before.
“So I turned myself to face me / But I’ve never caught a glimpse / Of how the others must see the faker / I’m much too fast to take that test.”