The Mentalist: Pilot

Mike says who knew Psych had a sequel? I like how the Mentalist takes the simple idea of Psych and turns it into a very cool and believable premise, yet dark around the edges.

The character of Jane immediately comes across as sad, quiet, and very introspective--he's careful to observe and see everything. I liked his introduction very much: you see him for nearly three minutes, just doing what he does, before he even speaks. He's observant, he's thorough, and as you can tell from the hilarious sandwich and tea, he doesn't mind breaking the rules of his profession or of personal space. The outcome of the "intro case" also very clearly communicates who he is: he is guided by his own moral compass, even if things don't always turn out the way he expected.

The pilot does a very good job of establishing the main character and his motivations. I admit I'm curious about the rest of the team; while you get a very good idea about their characters, why they do what they do is a mystery.

I liked that there was an intro story and a main case--loved even more that the main case introduced the idea of a villain for the series without prematurely focusing on him or capturing him--this is a wound that's going to be allowed to fester for a bit, and in drama, that can lead to very good (for the viewer, that is) things.

I recently watched Sanctuary (a great show in its own right), and was bugged that they established an observant character with the same gimmick as Psych: highlighting the clues. Mentalist handles this better; they've figured out a way of focusing on what Jane is seeing without saying "Here's the answer!" and also without ripping off another concept. It's a simple concept, and it's theirs.

I am slightly bothered by the current trend in television of portraying religious peopled as fanatics or as naive. Some of the most brilliant and informed people I know are deeply religious. The idea that a "truly enlightened" person like Jane would not believe in God is kind of insulting. But, it's TV. There's bound to be SOME stupidity.

All in all, I really enjoyed it (despite watching it while dressing for work!), and I think I'll continue to give it a watch. Tea, anyone?

Kate says before I continue I must confess that I consider Simon Baker an unbelievably sexy man. Would the show be as fun to watch without him in it?

Frankly, probably not.

Having laid my cards on the table, I do think the pilot, although it has a weak mystery, does an excellent job introducing the viewer to the main character. Jane is a complex character with a fascinating, if unsettling, back story.

And I like the scoobies. The choice of Robin Tunney continues to impress me, she's such an unlikely second lead, but she's quite good. If you just-can't-quite-place-her, she was House's first patient—well, his first patient on House.

And I find Agent Cho incessantly amusing. I love deadpan humor when it is done right, and Tim Kang does it right. I also find him a believable friend to Jane, possibly his only friend-friend (not counting Lisbon who doubles as Jane's watcher and security blanket). He seems one of the few people who can take Jane as he is, partly because he doesn't let himself get too invested in Jane's motives.

The only snag to the show—and I'm not sure if this is a snag or just a reflection of my personal preferences—is that Simon Baker is too good at playing damaged people.

This was the same problem with The Guardian.

Granted, a lot of heroes and heroines are damaged this day: House, Monk, Dexter. But there's this underlying hope or dream that they will, at least, be occasionally happy. Simon Baker, in an extremely understated way (it's even more understated in Season 2 than in Season 1), leaves you thinking, "There's no way this guy will EVER be happy."

Every smile is an effort; every crazy antic is a game; every step is a step closer to Red John and the ultimate fade-out. It's practically Norse in its fatality, and, on one hand, I admire it.

On the other hand, it doesn't make for terribly relaxing television.

It's one thing to not believe that a relationship would work in real life (say, between Scully and Mulder); it's another to know that a relationship isn't even possible. Despite the occasional sweetness between Jane and Lisbon, there's no there there. Jane is way too damaged; Simon Baker does play him that way.

And he is very, very, very good at it. In Season 2, when Jane gets the Red John file back due to the slaughter of several police officers, Baker plays Jane's reaction as guilt and anger mixed with relief and satisfaction. The reaction is very subtle, but it's there. Baker was equally good at this sort of thing on The Guardian. You really believed that the protagonist was one snort away from being a user again.

Call me Touched-By-An-Angel but this can be difficult to watch. It also turns the story into a revolving door narrative: he's in/he's out/he's in/he's out/he's in/he's out.

Where does a narrative go from there?

It will be a pity if it doesn't go somewhere. All the material is there, ready to be used.