Pop Vultures

It is that magical time of year again, when the U.S. networks roll out the best of the best, the shows that made the cut after countless meetings between paranoid executives, determined talent and artificially earnest agents. Millions upon millions of dollars have been sunk into these shows. For months now, they have been paraded before focus groups and critics, tweaked and and doctored and polished until they shone. Which, of course, begs the question: Shouldn’t these shows be, you know, GOOD?

Forget about the recent legal woes of your favorite Hollywood starlets, for nowhere is there more proof of Hollywood’s continuing dependence on illegal substances than a quick perusal of the 2007-8 television season. First, we have an over-reliance on shows featuring ordinary people gifted with superpowers, a marketing choice seemingly based around the fact that if people like Heroes, then they will love Reaper’s story of the teenager with the magic Dirt Devil that vacuums up the damned. Sadly, I did not make that up.

Failing that, they are offering shows based on films from the 80s (The Sarah Connor Chronicles, coming early 2008), TV shows from the 70s (The Bionic Woman), spin-offs from existing shows (Private Practice), and, yes, insurance ads (Cavemen). In some cases, like The Bionic Woman, the networks managed to display a stunning gift for predictability by combining the two themes of this season into one: familiarity and superpowers. If this doesn’t turn people away from the Internet and cable, then…well, I’ll sit with a self-satisfied smile on my face and say, “THIS is what you get for canceling Veronica Mars, you bastards!”

Perhaps the most painful example of the fall television disaster is CBS’s vampire-with-a-soul offering, Moonlight. Now, I could offer plenty of commentary on the premise, but I’ll let the straight description from TV.com speak for itself:

Moonlight follows Mick St. John, an immortal vampire and private investigator and his struggle to exist after he was bitten 60 years ago by his vampire bride on their wedding night. It also follows his internal torment as he falls in love with one he should not, one who is mortal named Beth, a news reporter, as well as his dealings with the woman who made him a vampire, his sire Coraline.

Ah, yes. A vampire-with-a-soul who is also a private investigator who also loves a mortal woman but is NOT Angel. They are completely different shows. On different networks. And, indeed, there is absolutely no place for comparison because, while one of those shows was good, the other…well, sucks, to use the unavoidable description. Really, really sucks. Rather than waste more time on this review than the writers spent coming up with the premise, I offer you five reasons why you should not, under any circumstances, watch this show.

1. The dialogue. Oh, the dialogue. The lead helpfully says, “When I became a vampire, my senses went up to 11,” offering his fresh take on vampiric abilities through the always-topical Spinal Tap reference. Not enough? How about his line when confronting an enemy: “I know she was here, man!” Yes, man. Next, he will be threatening him with, “Dude, I’m so going to drink your blood!” and “That’s a groovy crucifix, baby.”

2. The character’s name is Mick St. John. Enough said.

3. The cast. Alex O’Laughlin plays the lead character with such a general lack of emotion (save smugness and a cooler-than-thou attitude) that the viewer roots for decapitation. Sophia Myles continues to promote her specific brand of sleep-inducing acting by barely seeming to appear on screen, even when she is the only person in the frame. If I could bear to watch this show again, I would be looking forward to her first scene with Shannyn Sossamon, a scene which would only be notable for containing less interest or charisma than you would find at a city council discussion of traffic lights. The only bright spot is Jason Dohring, but his ability to actually make the banal lines sound interesting is quickly smothered by the charisma vacuums with which he is surrounded. On the plus side, however, so long as the other three actors are kept busy, they won’t be turning up on any shows I actually like.

4. The plot. The red herring is so obvious that the actual killer is clear to anyone who has ever seen an episode of Murder, She Wrote. This, sadly, leaves the viewer with only the cast and the dialogue for entertainment. It was a very long hour.

5. The altered mythology. Now, I have no problem with a show creating its own universe, so if they want to say that vampires don’t die from a stake to the heart or direct sunlight, I’ll accept that. However, since they clearly rewrote the traditions as an excuse for the lead to preen while wearing black wrap-around sunglasses and skulking artfully in the shade, I call foul. Next week: St. John is forced to wander about shirtless on the beach with a ’sexy’ glower on his face.

There is a tiny little sliver of hope for the show, as Dave Greenwalt has taken over show-running duties, and his experience with Angel suggests he has some gift with this preposterous premise. However, unless he plans on having the vampires attack all the writers before setting themselves ablaze as penance for their crimes, I don’t think he has a chance in hell.