'Magnum P.I.', 'Manifest' and the problem of the revision of new series

The bad shows have not disappeared, we just stopped talking about it as much. This is a way for critics in 2018 to cope with the bombardment of high television, selecting conceptually provocative or socially-oriented broadcasts and rejecting mediocre broadcasts. After all, there are only a few ways to say "meh".

Yet this approach undermines the idea that part of the work of a television critic is to warn readers of the real trash, especially when desperate broadcast networks arrive with their premieres in the fall. Never forget either how fun it can be to write (and read) a critique of a real stink.

So, "Magnum P.I.", what should I do with you? What is there to say about a show that nobody asked and that did not come out of the barrel of toxic nostalgia of pop-culture and that is happening today? ################################################################################### Monday on CBS? After your 30-year rest in the re-casting crypt, you have reached a new existence, Magnum – soaked in a brilliant shine and polished for a sparkle. The tires creak, things explode, the Dobermans bark. We still do not feel anything.

In spite of the calibrated charm of your star, Jay Hernandez (who assumes the determining role of Tom Selleck, knowing very well that a hint of unshaven goat does not make the weight against the "stache"), your pilot episode of misfires You are sprinkled with too many characters (this feeling of original camaraderie now smells of bromant) and preoccupied with ticking off a long list of things to do. Hernandez's incessant narrative, which does not explain much, makes matters worse.

You're not good at what you're trying to be, New Magnum, and instead of resurrecting a feeling, you ran it with this bright red Ferrari. Instead of declaring a creative or timely goal (like your friend network and exhumed colleague, "Murphy Brown"), you're just a piece of content placed between advertisements. Your existence is cold and cynical, Magnum, based on the previous success of restarts such as "Hawaii Five-O" and "MacGyver".

Perhaps the new "Magnum P.I." can be seen as the swagger's last trick that has defined CBS's long and lucrative reign over the recently ousted CEO (and on the so-called creepazoid). "Magnum P.I." is not back for the respect of the TV watcher. It's because it's a path to predictability, something we should never forget when we watch fall television.

Everyone does not have the regular flow from Netflix, Hulu and Amazon go with their HBO, Showtime and FX. In some parts of the country, access to broadband is still very scarce or insufficient, which makes it difficult for some Americans to follow the virtual water cooler around which we talk about premium television.

A solid market remains for television, which remains simple, broadcast in homes where prime time television is still prime time television, a no-cost diversion that accompanies a viewer in bed.

Predictability can be one's own comfort. The best television often asks us too much, thematically, with little consideration for the real pain and anxiety we feel all day: Imagine losing your loved ones. Imagine not knowing if you are in heaven or hell. Imagine that a theocratic dictatorship seizes the country and allows the rape of women. You call that entertainment?

Unlike their competitors, broadcast networks are colliding (we could also say privileged) with the mission to offer the widest range of viewers to advertisers. While the quality of our network has grown significantly over the last decade (highlights include CBS's "The Good Wife", ABC's "American Crime" and NBC's "This Is Us"), the network offers reflect a discouraging decline.

NBC's "manifesto," which was also presented on Monday, is a failure of textbook predictability, a flawed drama about an airliner that mysteriously reappears after vanishing five years ago. His passengers and crew are alive, unaffected by time and unaware that they are gone.

The premise is certainly alluring, which is why it is so discouraging to discover the lack of imagination or intuition of the "manifesto" for what could be, in the main example of the series, a family suddenly reunited. the old lovers have evolved; a young boy sees his twin sister grow old as a teenager. To this, add dozens of other passengers who experience similar shocks, while government investigators are trying to master this supernatural event.

The deep and complicated emotions involved here should be the best way to tell this story and support the show – and in the hands of more thoughtful outlets about cable and streaming services, they would be.

"Manifesto," alas, goes headlong toward his most exciting idea, when some of the returning passengers discover that they have acquired psychic powers. Just like that, a viewer who might have been interested in the human element is rather served a cold dish of mysterious meat – not the new "Lost" but a weak return to forgettable chess such as "The Event".

It's also a disappointment to listen to a new show that, for all appearances, looks like a decent (and potentially subversive) hospital drama, only to discover that it is a jerky doctor who rebels against the bureaucracy of health care.

"New Amsterdam" (aired on NBC Tuesday) stars Ryan Eggold ("The Blacklist") as Dr. Max Goodwin, the new chief of medicine at a state hospital in Bellevue, New York. the red tape and other hassles of American health care are to blame for taking lives.

Goodwin will blow with great and urgent animosity towards the system and its fans, which he has been experiencing for years, for personal and professional reasons. He is ready to dismiss anyone who disagrees with him or seems to oppose his arbitrary requests for change.

Remember Josh Radnor's dilettante drama teacher in the spring of NBC, whose lack of interpersonal awareness has made the show so sad? Same problem here: NBC may think she has created a hero of health care restructuring, bringing to Goodwin the disruptive power of big business.

But, in doing so, he forgot to add the compelling aspects of the hospital's exhibition, which "New Amsterdam" compensates with fleeting doses of pure sap. An attempt towards the end of Goodwin's first private humanization episode comes too late; "New Amsterdam" suffers from extreme organic failure, starting with an infection in the heart.

Sugar, however, can be a lot more deadly than the "New Amsterdam" version of salt. "God Friended Me", the fructose of CBS, released September 30, interprets Brandon Micheal Hall (the last time in the movie "The Mayor" ABC) as a famous podcasts host, Miles Finer, whose atheism Morton), a Harlem preacher.

When his account on a Facebook-like social network calls out to "God's" friends, Miles voluntarily decides to accept.

The theology of the prime-time network has always favored the concept of divinity personally involved, a God who sends angels or familiar angels, unlikely and unpredictable heroes to intervene on his behalf, saving the poor this week from disastrous consequences. The first meeting of Miles, arranged by God, consists in preventing a man from jumping in front of a suburban train.

What does this show tell us about atheists? Or privacy on Facebook? What does this tell us about the state of network television? What can I say to viewers who take great pleasure in something so simple, rejoicing in the pseudo-spiritual cheerfulness and absolutely predictable premise of this show?

The suicidal man was saved successfully, but the pagan television critic is left on track, considering what could happen if he touches the electrified rail presented by "God Friended Me."

Better not.