Television | 2019

Everybody covets the ’90s rom-com version of romantic bliss. You’re the Worst suggests, with equal parts candor and sleazy absurdity, that that’s not possible, while not ruling out the possibility for achieving some sort of happiness. It does that while totally hammered, and with a middle finger lifted triumphantly to the sky.

Not everything ties back to Trump, but this choice feels carefully considered for the culture of our times. Happy endings aren’t guaranteed; injustice is still rampant. It would be easy for everyone to fall into despair, and Goor’s series recognizes as much through Holt’s initial reaction. But the joyful spirit of “Brooklyn Nine-Nine” is distinguishable from other sitcoms in that it even though it delivers laughs in droves, it also provides a bit of a pep talk. Viewers need to see Holt lose because they need to see Holt fight back. They need to see persistence so they can emulate it themselves. They need to see “The 99,” and NBC is giving it to them.

But in time, Ali’s performance is the only thing disguising how rote this all feels, and how much the series keeps repeating itself, within seasons as well as across them. There are periodic moments that pulse with life — or, at least, that feel like clichés done right. (Deadwood and NYPD Blue creator David Milch co-wrote the fourth episode with Pizzolatto, and there are several scenes where it’s easy to imagine Al Swearengen or Andy Sipowicz delivering the dialogue. In a good way.) And then there are others where it all feels like antihero-drama karaoke in an era when TV has mostly moved away from these overused tropes.

There’s hope yet for “Black Monday,” whose first three episodes are carried across with confidence if nothing else; even when characters are delivering long and clumsily written chunks of exposition, they carry it off like tightly crafted David Mamet dialogue. But the show badly needs to crack the Mo character. We know, from the early going, that he’s a rapacious shark who needs to win every financial and conversational exchange. But there’s only so much amusement to be had reveling in bad behavior and naughty jokes. An entirely amoral trading floor, with nastily barbed banter and master schemes whose floaty insubstantiality is the point, is a fun enough place to visit. But at a season’s length, I can’t imagine wanting to live there.