Alex McLevy

Servant may have dialed back the inspired wackiness of its second season, but by stripping away the campy bells and bizarro whistles, it’s found a nice mix of silly and sinister—a show that gets in, gooses the audience repeatedly with an acidic smile, and gets out.

In the era of explainer videos for every subject and stylized true-crime reenactments on a hundred channels, the only real difference here is slightly better production values. ... Slim but mostly engaging docuseries.

It’s a terrific documentary portrait, but strangely, it might have benefitted from there being somewhat less of it.

This season stumbles a bit, especially in the early episodes, going over the top with a commitment to shock-value one-liners and gonzo predicaments that grows wearying. (At one point, Nick even calls out his old-man hormone monster, Rick, for being exceptionally disturbing.) But once it finds its groove around episode four, the series’ endearing mix of true-to-life relatability and absurdist extremes returns.

Does it make much sense? No. But it’s fun to see it play out with a mischievous sense of anything-goes silliness. Mancini and Dourif have been doing this for so long, they seem to have nailed down an understanding of what makes Chucky fun. And when Chucky [the series] follows suit, it is too.

Doom Patrol has learned the lesson that pathos not need require a morose tone. The show is at its finest when these flawed and funny people are allowed to be uproarious even when they’re in pain.

Ultimately, Kin isn’t going to reinvent the wheel, or offer much beyond some solid direction and the familiar beats of a mob potboiler. (There is a wrinkle to Cox’s character introduced in episode three that suggests there may be at least one semi-novel element to this story.) Instead, it’s simply an opportunity to watch some gifted actors do what they do, very well, with a story that glides along in entertaining but unoriginal manner. ... The performances keep Kin engaging.

For those who don’t mind the loopy, meandering not-quite-real-ness of it all, Cherry Flavor makes for an engagingly offbeat affair. And no, that title is never once explained nor justified.

It’s not for everyone, but for those with a passion for songcraft, or a love of McCartney’s music, McCartney 3, 2, 1 is a source of wonder, compelling and compassionate.

A lot of this feels like prologue to the real story, a first chapter to a much broader, more fleshed-out tale that has all put all the pieces in place that it takes the concluding episode of this season to reach. Luckily, the charismatic cast and a sure-footed command of story beats keep it on the right side of plodding. With a winning (and occasionally brutal) approach to its darkly fantastical imaginings, Sweet Tooth find a nice balance between its sugary and bitter elements.