We @modernmonsters are concerned for your wellbeing, so here is the second issue of our Life’s Too Short guidance manual. So here’s a question: do you wanna go through seven seasons of poor drama to find about the meaning of life? Think twice before answering: that’s 283 days of your life, 40 weeks, the best of one year, following the inner turmoil / superiority complex of the less charismatic character of late: Britney Spears. Well, that’s how he presents himself in the pilot. Haha.
All false intensity awkwardly set on light comedy music and weak one-liners, not to mention artificial tension between the two leads, The Mentalist is garbage of the first order, judging by its pilot (and what is it to judge but that in the first place?).
Simon Baker looks like a jerk and acts like one, an ex-phoney psychic shamelessly built up to be the hero through family massacre by a serial killer nicknamed “Red John”, drawing smiley faces in blood on his wake AND proving that someone at least got fun in this clenched-jawed, useless, uptenth crime drama about unlikely partners, rhubarb rhubarb rhubarb.
Pilot promises endless Sheraton Junior Suites and medium frames on TV actors doing the best at emoting, the female lead (what’s her name?) being the most unlikely and needy uninteresting character possible. Since it’s a “clever” series though, they say “Eureka” instead of “Bingo”.
Appealing to a desperate demographic who will watch the thing right after (or before) TV evangelism, The Mentalist‘s ambition is to get into your head. Evidently, if you get one, you will see it as it is: condescending ethnology, easy-watching and visual crap. Life’s too short.