I liked Parenthood the movie. I liked Peter Krause in Six Feet Under, Dax Shepard in Employee of the Month, and Craig T. Nelson in Poltergeist. I like Erika Christensen’s rack in anything. And I loveLauren Graham. But after six weeks of Parenthood the series, I’m ready for emancipation.
Part of the problem is the apparent aesthetic for treading the middle path of drama, resulting in a monotonous tepidness that keeps even comedy slam-dunk topics like masturbation from ever being more than almost interesting. (Indeed, the show is so consistently almost in everything — almost interesting, almost funny, almost charming — it should be renamed “Oulak”, after the hero’s nickname in Apocalypto.) There are no real highs or lows to any story line or character in the show so far, and as it’s the extreme that makes an impression, an hour of Parenthood always feels like an hour unaccounted for ten minutes after the show.
While I’m as grateful as any guy for the rare (and brief) glimpse at Erika’s décolletage, it profits me little if I’ve already fallen asleep when it happens.
Then there’s the monotony of formula: every episode, after ascending the gentle slope of its climax, ends with the same sort of protracted sentimental montage that plays like a “childhood is calling” ad for Rice Krispies and so facilely resolves all problems as to confirm that nothing much was going on in the first place.
It’s heartbreaking to say this, if only because I’ve missed seeing Lauren on the tube since Gilmore Girls came to an end, but despite all the talent they’ve assembled for the show, Parenthood — while not truly sucking — is so disappointing that it may as well suck.
