Jon Caramanica

Both the summer movie and Tuesday’s premiere feature plot points so severe and odd that they destabilize the show’s narrative.

This [third] episode is less narratively satisfying and coherent than the first two, but Simmons’s indiscriminate eye and his pre-existing comfort with West end up as assets.

“Janet Jackson” is a sanctioned documentary with the feel of a YouTube news clip aggregation. Jackson is interviewed extensively, but largely provides play-by-play, rarely color commentary.

“Country Music” moves with the signature even-keel tempo of other Burns documentaries, which makes the handful of disruptive moments — some lighthearted, some sad — all the more striking. ... “Country Music” makes it plain that the story of the genre is merely a pocket version of the story of the American musical experiment writ large.

"Of Mics and Men" has ample early-era video footage and photos that capture the group in its raw joy, taking in the world that was opening up to them. The disagreements among members — and over the years, there have been countless — don’t kick in until the third episode, and even then, they’re refracted through the lens of resilient brotherhood. That generosity of spirit is also embedded in the filmmaking, which is patient and lets people speak their piece.

Nothing has changed here--everyone is wiser, but not quite warier. Even if they’ve grown up somewhat--Ronnie jokes about GTB: “gym, tan, baby”--they’re experts at their jobs, happy to be hired once more.

On the new version, very little has changed. The bubbly Paige Davis is back to host, as are many of the designers and carpenters, including Ty Pennington, who is effectively demoted from his antic “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition” days.

Unsolved is equal parts appealingly pulpy and workmanlike, sometimes paced like a procedural and sometimes like a prestige drama.

It’s both appealing and distracting that the cast members are still learning how to have conversations on camera. The genre is mature enough to be unforgiving of such naïveté, but it’s refreshing to see unscripted awkwardness.

The Defiant Ones, a glossy, rapidly-paced, ambitious and often fun four-part biographical documentary.