Harlan Coben's Lazarus

It’s a mess but, like the famous Eton pudding, hard to resist.

Lazarus is far from faultless and all too easily falls into the “watchable but forgettable” genre that nearly all Coben-verse shows fall into.

The show reveals motives and suspects come out of crevices that feel so engineered to surprise you that they often stop making sense, losing the supernatural edge that initially set it apart from even other Coben properties.

Lazarus is woefully badly paced and deeply repetitive: characters tell each other things we have just seen, many, many times, and tread endlessly over old ground to stretch the thing to the mandated six episodes (there are flashbacks to flashbacks). Altogether this is thin, thin stuff.

Lazarus is a lazy psychological drama that uses its supernatural conceit as a crutch, its therapy setting as a plot device, and any and every kind of violence as mere fodder for the self-actualization of a central character we never really get to know in any meaningful way.