Pilot

Dropped right into the credits, complete with distorted, kaleidoscopic images, abrupt cuts from color to black-and-white, and a warbly electronic theme song. We've got perspective shifts, we've got blurring, we've got doubling, we've got insinuating music; setting the stage for an incisive look into the minds of the mentally disturbed, or an edgy Gap commercial?

It's time for "Group," according to the title screen, where Dr. Neil Harrison (Martin Donovan) is leading a handful of patients in a discussion of "behavior that would confuse or frighten your loved ones." Confusing and frightening loved ones is, of course, a bad and naughty thing to do, and repeated indulgence in one of the two is sure to land one in the booby hatch. One patient reveals, "Sometimes I'll slap at someone, or stomp on their heads or something with my foot if I'm angry." In my book, stomping on someone's head would likely do more than confuse or frighten; I think we've moved well beyond that to "severely damage or maybe kill." Wow, crazy people are dangerous. Dr. Neil here employs years of crack medical education to opine that yes, in fact, violent behavior would be confusing or frightening to loved ones. Thanks for clarifying. "Anybody else?" asks level-headed Dr. Neil. "Bernard, what do you think?" Bernard, an older African-American gentleman, doesn't think much, apparently; after a few tormented stutters from Bernard, another patient breaks in, informing the gang, "I love my wife. You should never hurt, frighten, hit anybody. Be kind." Aha! Wife beater in Chair Four. Taking Wife-Beater's remarks as a personal attack, Head-Stomper blurts, "I am kind," and then proceeds to explain that part of sanity is listening to other people (of course, that's what drives many perfectly normal people round the bend in the first place). Predictably, Group then devolves into a shouting match, with Head-Stomper ranting about "tweety birds," "butt smacking," and "very bad manners" while Wife-Beater admonishes him for being "sensitive" and the rest of the patients sit around looking amused or, umm, disturbed. Dr. Neil, looking calm, cool, and collected (and just a little superior), observes this loopy microcosm of society, complete with conflict, miscommunication, and loud, annoying, opinionated people.

Now, says the title screen, it is "Morning." New York City, 7 AM. Kids sleeping. Older guy ambles into the bathroom and looks in the mirror, perturbed. Cut to young couple making sweet, sweet love. Cut to woman stepping on bathroom scale. Cut to sweet, sweet love. Cut to dog making whiny, panty noises in time with sweet, sweet love. Cut to scale and woman gasping, hand over mouth, as it hits 140. Cut to apparent culmination of sweet, sweet love. Cut to Staten Island Ferry. Enough with the jump cuts -- this morning sucks.

Still morning, and time to check in at the hospital. Wife-Beater does a bit of yoga -- and "Namaste" to you, too. (The credits are still rolling. Method Man is a guest star. Very hip, very now.) Oh, hell -- more jump cuts: weight-distressed woman still holding hand over mouth; male half of fornicating couple enjoying a post-orgasm cry in the mirror; woman kicking scale (bad, bad scale!) under bed; older guy gazing fondly at still-sleeping children, who, based on the last sixty seconds, can evidently doze through anything. Weight-distressed woman is pregnant; we see her in full now, and her swollen belly provides sudden insight into her scale-induced tantrum.

Moments into the show, this "drop the viewer into the middle of the action, as though we've all been watching for weeks" is fast becoming tedious. Yes, it conveys motion (and I'm getting sickness). Yes, it subtly puts us in the disoriented position of our the characters, breaking that pesky fourth wall and inviting us to participate, not just spectate; to feel, not just to watch. And, yes, it's a most annoying plot device: one-element, 2-D personality-building masquerading as edgy, "make them think" subtle character introduction. Ack. To clear things up: older guy is Dr. Robert "Bobby" Banger (Ted Levine, beloved by millions as the flesh-dressed serial killer from Silence of the Lambs). Pregnant lady is Dr. Lyla Garrity (married to Dr. Neil Harrison, who we met in Group, and played by feisty Michelle Forbes, from Kalifornia and Homicide, Life on the Street). Libido boy is Dr. Abe Matthews (puffy-haired Billy Burke, from nothing noteworthy).

More morning shots -- parallels between home and hospital. Guns? Hospital only. Tooth-brushing? Both places. Orange juice? Both places. Placing pieces of food individually on one's fork before eating? Hospital only. Pancakes? Home only. So different, yet so much alike. (And still more credits. Oh, good gravy, the theme song is by Madonna and William Orbit. Is Peter Berg doing penance for past indiscretions?)

We're in Dr. Bobby's kitchen, as he grills his two sons on the importance of discipline (or, the reason that Coach Parcells is a genius). Kid One interprets discipline as "When you have to go to your room for a time out," or "When you have to sit on your bed." Dad doesn't agree, but it sounds okay to me. Wait, isn't that the youngest kid from Malcolm in the Middle? Are there not enough child actors to go around these days? And what's with the dye job? Kid Two, bypassing the discipline debate altogether, whips out the non sequitur and announces, "I want one ear bigger then the other." Referring, we now see, to the Mickey Mouse pancake Daddy is gamely creating. Big kiss, corporate parent! Talk of big ears, more talk of Bill Parcells (I smell a manly sports fan); it's family time. The phone rings -- the estranged wife calling to discuss schedules. She: "Listen, I'm running fifteen minutes late. Can you please have the kids downstairs waiting for me?" Dr. Bobby: "Good morning." She: "Is that a yes, Robert?" Dr. Bobby: "Yes." She: Click. She's abrupt. She's icy. She must be a working mother.

Back to pregnant Dr. Lyla, checking herself out in the mirror. "Neil, do I, um . . . ?" "There's not one inch of your body that's anything less than perfect. You're a goddess and I love you." Brownie points for Dr. Neil as supportive husband. Too bad his remark sounds so canned. She worries she's lost her body; he calls it "add-on beauty." Lyla worries about the disappearance of her collar bones, while Neil shushes her into a kiss and a rather forced, "OKAY, well, thank you." And then a more heartfelt one, as she realizes that her caring, collected husband is at least trying.

As the camera pans along the firm backside of the female lovemaker, Dr. Abe says, "Hang out? I don't know what 'hang out' means." Turns out the lusty lady wants to "chill, go back to sleep maybe." Taken aback that she wants to do such a thing in his apartment, Dr. Abe tells her that if she wants to stay, that's cool, but "just for a little while, okay?" After informing the good doctor that she doesn't feel like a stray dog he picked up off the street since they've been doing it for a month, he cooks up a lame excuse about how it's not him, it's that his roommate, Court, has to be alone when he writes. She stands firm in her intent to loiter. To Abe's dismay, she goes for a cigarette. The smoke, combined with lolling about while watching monster trucks on TV (is it still 7 AM?) as Dr. Abe obviously tries to lose her and flits about getting ready for his busy, important day as a medical professional, pretty much hollers incompatibility. Silly woman, Dr. Abe has intimacy issues. At least he let you stay the night.

Dr. Bobby, hugging his two sons, waits on the curb for the wife. Mirth and tickling segues into a discussion of "what's going on today." Today there's a custody battle in progress and, according to pure, innocent Kid One, "The man's gonna tell us who's gonna win us." This kid is definitely edging out his brother in terms of lines. Pained look from Dr. Bobby. "No, not win. We're gonna try to figure out where you guys are gonna live. Are you gonna live with me or with Mommy." And they're still hugging. Probing for bias, Dr. Bobby haltingly asks if they want to live with him. Neither child sinks to answering this ploy for validation. Conveniently, Mommy arrives (in her Volvo station wagon, of course). It's Patricia Clarkson, looking only slightly less disheveled than she did as a German junkie in High Art. The hug finally ends, and Dr. Bobby herds the kids in the car, planting kisses on each. Dr. Bobby loves his children. He is a good father.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Dr. Abe shakes roommate Court, looking for an ally to help fix the "situation in my bedroom." Court couldn't care less, because he's sleeping. While Court may be a bit of a troll, he's got the right attitude, and suggests that Abe simply tell her to get out. Choosing instead to employ some non-strategic passive aggressive tactics, Abe instructs Court, "Do not be nice to her, okay. Don't be mean, just don't do anything that encourages her to do anything but leave." Wuss.

Finally escaping from the doctors' homes, we happen upon Lyla and Neil breakfasting in a coffee shop, discussing which nanny to hire. Lyla favors Patricia, the girl from Mexico City with "the cute little scar." Exactly what goes into interviewing a nanny these days? Neil disagrees, saying that she was "extremely inappropriately dressed." Lyla didn't notice; she thought the girl was confident. Neil takes issue with "the tube top. Breasts and thighs." Lyla senses attraction, Neil maintains that Patricia was silly. This could all be resolved if we knew where to find that little scar. Lyla wants a sip of coffee, but Neil, in his role as protective husband/father, gently takes away the mug. Impressed with Patricia's decision "not to have kids like all of her friends by the time she was eighteen," Lyla reminds Neil that she was instead "dead-set on getting an education." Brains, contraception and a tube top! The universally-acknowledged perfect skill set for wannabe nannies! Body-conscious Lyla advises Neil to "get your head out of the girl's breasts," maintains that the dress code is completely cultural (pardon me?), and reaffirms her confidence in trusting her spawn to a young woman with the presence of mind not to become "a teenage baby factory." Meow. Again, she wants more coffee, he takes away the mug. Kind, patronizing Neil. You know, I like Martin Donovan as much as the person, and he excels at playing milquetoast guys with hints of depth (no departure here, yet), but for the past several scenes he's been wearing the slightly surprised, slightly repulsed facial expression of someone who just smelled manure. What gives?

Oh, great. Back to Dr. Abe, in a session with his own therapist, discussing, I presume, his intimacy issues, since he seems to have no other qualities. Therapist tells him to "describe the feeling inside," Abe asks "Before or after?" and therapist tells him both. Inside what? That's what I'd like to know. Before, says honest Abe, is "deep, hot burning. It's some kind of brain hi-jack, control loss. It's pure caveman. I just want to bite and chew and consume." Very pretty. Then we move on to "the panic," which consists of "double-dates, 'honey, I'm home,' double-teamed answering machines," and blah blah blah babies and blah blah blah Wet Ones are the smell of death. Oh, don't get him wrong, Dr. Abe understands that kids are rewarding, but he "can't stomach the slow rot." As if undergoing a sudden epiphany, Abe says, "Mick Jagger was asked why he always slept with models. Because I can. Because I can." Dr. Abe is rapidly establishing himself as a complete idiot. And what's the big deal if he doesn't want to get hitched or have kids? Who cares? Work that Warren Beatty vibe for the rest of your life, buddy, just do us a favor and shut up about it.

Traffic. Land Rover. Dr. Bobby (there's a vehicle theme in the Banger family) rehearsing a rebuttal to potential statements from his wife concerning an inability to separate work and family. He plans to call for eliminating emotion and looking at the situation objectively. Back at the hospital, a lazy-eyed patient sits on a bed, staring at a fetching pair of plastic sandals, as a small rhinoceros slowly emerges from behind one of them. It shuffles along the floor, providing our very first peek at the hallucinations of the mentally disturbed. A mini-rhino? What a letdown.