Showtime

Californication is good, not great. If it were a book, it'd be a "page turner". Based upon hearty recommendations from reliable sources, I thought it was going to blow me away. Early indications seemed to reinforce this notion. Really rough around the edges, and chalked full of gratuitous nudity, this show seemed too good to be true.

Well, to be sure, there's plenty of nudity, but Californication is only rough around the edges on the surface. At times, I really like some of the ideas they play with, but all too often I feel like I'm watching Showtime's appropriation of Entrourage, as the heady cynicism that lured me in is showcased less and less as the season wears on. In the process, it becomes more and more apparent the minds behind the show either inadvertantly bestowed such a promising beginning, lost their ambition after writing only a couple episodes, or were successfully pressured into increasing the frequency and decreasing the relevance of lavishly ridiculous plot developments. Or maybe the novelty of the first couple episodes has simply worn off.

After a book of his is picked up and adapted for the big screen, David Duchovny's character uproots from New York to LA LA Land to assist with the film's production. Walking, talking wish-fulfillment with a good heart and a poet's soul, he lacks any hint of self-restraint. This often makes for some viscerally pleasing exchanges: He casually and unflinchingly punches a man at a charity event after having been told the man referred to his ex-girlfriend as a 'cunt', he sleeps with anything that moves (apparently, in LA, everything that moves is 6 ft tall and 120 lbs. with C cups), and he can't he resist the wiles of his ex-girlfriend and mother of his precocious daughter, the transparently still smitten though engaged to be married to another man, Natascha McElhone.

That said, I will likely Netflix season 2 once it becomes available.