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THE BACHELORETTE
Regular airtime: Wednesdays, 9pm ET (ABC)
Cast: Trista Rehn, plus 25 men

"Tonight was really tough. I didn't expect it." So begins former Miami Heat dancer Trista Rehn's online diary, lamenting the "unscripted" stress of the Rose ceremony on this third permutation of The Bachelor. This time, as the promos have it (and as Dave Letterman tirelessly ridiculed on premiere night), the girl is "in charge" and "ready to rock," that is, she picks among a bevy of men, seeking her one true love and continued celebrity (she was the runner up on the first Bachelor). When Christina Aguilera recently argued that her "stripping" (figuratively and literally) was meant to criticize the double standard regarding men's and women's sexual activities, people called her a slut (and she sold a lot of albums). Trista, whose premiere episode attracted some 17 million viewers, makes the same kind of argument, from another direction, so earnest about her husband hunt that she tears up when she rejects the losers, on whose faces the camera lingers. Chances are slim that one of these guys will tear up, even though the silly host's babbling on about how the gender "roles are reversed." For now, it's clear that the guys aren't emotionally invested, whether or not she's pretending (and women fake it every day, right?). The contestants declare a range of occupations -- fireman, salesman, cowboy, airline pilot -- but they all look alarmingly alike, like those slick young execs in American Psycho. That's the most distressing aspect of this sort of ratings-ravenous matchmaking -- the suitors (and the suitettes) adhere to the dullest of formulas, in order to appeal to some identity-less audience. The contenders and the producers all say they want to emulate "real life" choices, but if you saw all these guys lined up anywhere, you might be inclined to skip out.
      — Cynthia Fuchs

QUEENS SUPREME
Regular airtime: Fridays, 10pm ET (CBS)
Cast: Oliver Platt, Robert Loggia, Annabella Sciorra, L. Scott Caldwell, Marcy Harriwell, James Madio

Eccentric legal dramedies may have run their course, what with Ally McBeal and 100 Centre Street cancelled, and The Practice severely winding down. And so, comes the genre-salvaging "twist": rather than focusing on the lawyers, this show focuses on the judges. And they're just as quirky, just as needy and earnest and annoying as their tv precursors. Apparently, CBS decided to scuttle the first first episode of Queens Supreme, which introduced characters and situations, instead beginning the series with the second episode (directed by Tim Robbins), to hit the ground running, as it were. The series, which replaces the sadly cancelled Robbery Homicide Division, follows several New York State Supreme Court judges working in Queens (hence the title): Jack Moran (Oliver Platt), Thomas O'Neill (Robert Loggia), Kim Vicidomini (Annabella Sciorra), and Rose Barnea (Tony winner L. Scott Caldwell, who, of the primary cast members, suffers the least damage to her reputation here). The ensemble allows two basic storylines per episode, convenient when neither is interesting enough to hold viewers' attention: in the premiere, Jack, his clerk (James Madio), and a jury are held hostage by a juror who smokes (Oz's Lee Tergeson) who holds out against their otherwise unanimous judgment against a smoker; Jack is distracted throughout the ordeal by thoughts of reconciling with his estranged fashion designer wife (Kristen Johnston, who livens up the proceedings considerably, but is, alas, listed as a "guest"), before taking predictably quirky action. While they're held hostage, Kim grapples with a strangely uninteresting racial profiling case (which she resolves by considering the perp's designer track suit). The second episode concerns Rose's case, a suit to repress a soap actor's recently discovered porn tape, and Jack's, involving the Irish mob (populated by guys straight from Central Casting). The porn gimmick devolves into faux embarrassment over who's watching the "evidence" in the office, and worse, who's losing respect for the soap actor. The show doesn't push any potential questions -- legal, ethical, or emotional -- far enough to get past its superficial irrelevance.
      — Cynthia Fuchs

THE SURREAL LIFE
Regular airtime: Thursdays, 9:30pm ET (The WB)
Cast: MC Hammer, Emmanuel Lewis, Brande Roderick, Corey Feldman, Gabrielle Carteris, Vince Neil, Jerri Manthey

The story of MC Hammer's harem-pantsed rise and bankruptcy follows him wherever he goes. Even into the creepy recesses of the group house on The Surreal Life, where he's cooped up for 10 days in a $7 million Hollywood Hills mansion with one of the Coreys, Mötley Crüe's Vince Neal, Webster, Gabrielle Carteris, former Playmate of the Year/Baywatch lifeguard Brande Roderick (who brings Mercedes her dog, Anna-Nicole-style), and leader of Survivor 2's beef jerky rebellion, Jerri Manthey. Now, says Hammer, being a minister gives him "perspective," which doesn't begin to explain why he's on this show.

Unlike Big Brother or Survivor, it is not about attaining fame; rather, as Feldman says in an EW interview, each "has to defend ourselves in some way." Don't tell this to Brande, who gushes about living with stars she "grew up with" (Hammer almost grimaces when he hears this), and complains when she learns that Robin Givens will not be coming, and has been replaced by That Bitch Jerri. In the first episode, the group gets organized: though they aren't allowed cell phones, tvs, or newspapers, they receive $500 food allowance and go shopping (the fridge contains only Miller Lites). At this point, Carteris starts playing mother hen and never stops. After their turkey tacos, they divvy up bunks (Lewis gets the top one, over Hammer -- black men in a room of their own) and the next a.m., go round the neighborhood to give out brownies, so as to get to "introduce" themselves to their neighbors (it's not nearly so hilarious as it sounds). Soon, recovering sex addict/alcoholic Corey is missing his college student girlfriend so much that he gets grumpy. Worse, Hammer, Lewis, and Feldman won't eat the sushi dinner the producers arrange for the housemates to eat off on a naked woman, citing religious and vegetarian reasons (Corey gets into it with Gabby, because she points out he wears leather shoes). Brande mostly looks lost. And here's the surreal part: Jerri and Gabby look like the liveliest folks in the house.
      — Cynthia Fuchs