By Jeff Girod
Hart of Dixie, Free Agents and I Hate My Teenage Daughter: Are we really supposed to watch this dreck or did a CW producer lose a bet?
Here are three better ideas off the top of my head: Cat with Tape on Its Paw, Celebrity Dental X-Rays, and Will That Fit In There? See, anyone can invent an awful sounding TV show. Here’s more proof:
Whitney, 9:30 p.m., Thursdays, NBC: NBC wants you to know that critics have called Whitney “sharp-witted,” “grade A,” and “primetime gold.” Then again, those critics work for InTouch, Life & Style and the Salt Lake Tribune. (The Salt Lake Tribune . . . really? Way to scrape the bottom of the barrel for TV promos, NBC. Was the Topeka Weekly Reader too busy giving the farm report?)
The one thing Whitney has going for it is it airs on Thursdays right after The Office. And I’m usually in a paralytic mozzarella stick coma on Thursdays at 9:33 p.m. So thanks to The Office, Whitney could coast for years. (Or until T.G.I. Friday’s stops making such deliciously frozen snackables.)
The Playboy Club, 10 p.m., Mondays, NBC: Murder mystery in a swingin‘ gentleman’s club? I’m listening. But here’s the difference between The Playboy Club and Playboy magazine: Nude naked women—on almost every page.
Something tells me nobody is getting nakey on NBC’s new show, mainly because that’s what pay channels are for. And if I wanted to watch women with beehive hairdos hopping around in animal costumes, I’d go back to staring through my neighbor’s window.
Pan Am, 10 p.m., Sundays, ABC: What’s better than a 12-hour transcontinental plane flight in narrow polyester seats that don’t recline? How about a TV show about stewardesses starring some lady who vaguely resembles actress Christine Ricci (after one-too-many face lifts from a Tijuana plastic surgeon).
The Playboy Club and Pan Am are both described as 1960s dramas similar to AMC’s Mad Men. For the record, Mad Men is the back-to-back-to-back-to-back Emmy winner for Outstanding Drama Series and arguably the best show on television during the last decade.
It’s fun comparing things to other things that are vastly, laughably superior. Some people think I look like a more handsome, classier Brad Pitt.
The X Factor, Wednesdays, 8 p.m., Fox: America went an entire 5 seconds without a reality show filled with talent-less, singing nobodies being judged by three equally irrelevant, over-the-hill weirdoes. Thankfully, Simon Cowell, Paula Abdul and Randy Jackson are back with The X Factor.
Wait a minute, you’re saying that third judge is not Randy Jackson? It’s just some random black dude they hired to make it feel like the old cast of American Idol? Oh dawg, you can’t be serious!
Say this for Simon Cowell: He’s richer than Paula Abdul is insane. And Cowell should just keep inventing singing contests for Paula to judge. (It keeps her out of the house and away from sharp objects and the stove.)
House, 9 p.m., Mondays, Fox: Back for its seventh season, House is more shocking and surprising than ever! I haven’t seen an episode since 2005, but don’t let that stop me from predicting the entire 2011 season. (Spoiler alert!)
Someone will be admitted to the hospital with a seemingly innocuous illness. Strep throat, a hangnail, the clap? Order 20ccs of penicillin—stat!—and send them on their clappy way. But wait! The patient isn’t improving. This is the worst case of strep throat/hang nail/the clap the hospital has ever seen! Call in the pain-pill addicted gimp with the unshaven sourpuss.
Since it’s an hour-long show, House will have to waste the first 20 minutes trying all sorts of hoodoo medical concoctions that will nearly kill the patient. Then, just when every janitor, orderly, security guard, hospital administrator, the governor, the CIA and all five living presidents threaten to throw House in jail if he doesn’t cease and desist, House will find a way to save the day. Hooray! (You’d think someone in the hospital would have spotted this pattern after seven years.)
Contact Jeff Girod at email@example.com.