Dexter

Until now. I’m happy to report that after the epically horrifying death of Dex’s wife in season four and the soft-serve departure of Stiles last season, Cupid’s arrow is no longer pointed towards the Miami homicide bureau’s best blood splatter expert. Unfortunately, the demise of Jordon Chase (Jonny Lee Miller), season four's heinous motivational speaker/rapist, appears to have inspired this drama's showrunners to go really big game hunting and -- it seems -- forget what made "Dexter" so appealing in the first place. Now it's wall-to-wall Faith, God, Fate, and Redemption Through Christ. Everything and everyone else -- even Dexter as we’ve come to know and strangely love him, and his relationship with Deb -- are secondary to a laundry list of big themes.

Which brings us to the season six premiere, "Those Kinds of Things," wherein a series that once deftly balanced of dry wit and pulp opera becomes paralyzed by chatter, and the most memorable scene involves a floater’s gut leaking CGI snakes. This season opener is so off-pitch, so resolute in its baffling urge to make "Dexter" the show and Dexter the character snotty, snarky, slapstick, zany even. It's an hour of almost constant facepalm.

Things start promisingly, with Dexter in one of those industrial parks he’s so fond of. He's bleeding, so he calls the emergency hotline. The police are arresting hundreds of protesters; it's really something. Once in the EMT van we find that the gut wound is a ruse: he neatly stabs both techs in the neck with his trusty needles and voila!, he's committed double homicide before the five-minute mark. This is the cable showrunners’ version of “Back in the Saddle Again”, I guess -- a way of reassuring viewers who feared that the unseemly humanity etched so beautifully last season made the series go soft.

Next up--a ray of Latina sunshine in the form of Dex’s new nanny, Jamie (Aimee Garcia), sister of detective Angel Batista (David Zayas). Jamie’s there to give Dexter’s wee son Harrison the light, joy and spiritual openness Dexter never had. Get comfortable with that sentiment, because you’re gonna be hearing it a lot -- emphasis on hearing. Another thing you'll hear a lot about is Dexter’s spirituality, or rather his lack of it, which will supposedly be the focus of season six, and which explains why Dexter tries to enroll Harrison in a Catholic pre-school where a nun grills Dexter on which faith he subscribes to. When Dexter says none of the above, she’s appalled. Later he returns, fully chided, and apologizes for his atheism, and Harrison is allowed entrance. Finally, a "Dexter" episode that'll pass muster with Michelle Bachmann.

Dex and his sister Deb discuss their belief systems. Deb is appalled by Dex's belief in nothing more than not getting in trouble (a weak joke we don’t laugh at).  Later Dex discusses his lack of belief with Angel, who regards the wayward Dex warmly as he explains the ways of God and Christ and suggest why Christianity might matter to a kid just out of diapers. Dexter finds this interesting, and asks him to please explain some more. Angel happily explains the catechism haltingly; in voice-over, Dex makes obnoxious, witless remarks.

Why, show, why? In a world where most good series follow the the most golden of rules — show, don't tell -- "Dexter" in its dotage has become cocky about telling and telling but rarely showing.

At some point, we see Lieutenant Maria LaGuerta (Lauren Vélez) being promoted to Captain. Yay, right? Not so much. About three minutes later, she tells someone else about how she rigged the gig through blackmailing and general skulduggery. Chicks, man, right? But then, finally! A plot point! Mon Dieu! Alas, it’s just more bait and switch for more epistemological yada-yada. Dex finds out that a high school douchebag jock is probably a wife- killer. He must find him and score some blood for a DNA match so he can justify clearing space for said jock on his table. So he attends his 20th high school reunion, where a new and incredibly ill-advised element is added to the "Dexter" universe: slapstick humor.

But not just yet. Another shock cut throws us back into the bayous at night, revealing a wild-eyed Edward James Olmos and a creepy, inbred-looking Colin Hanks. They're talking about snakes. Yes, snakes. In the bayous. Seriously. And then, just as abruptly, we return to Dexter’s high school reunion. Anyone who ever ingested hallucinogens might have wondered if some terrifyingly random flashback had just crawled into their TV. But no—this is how late-season "Dexter" plays, like a random cover-band version of a show whose weird originality we'd grown to love. 

Back at the reunion, Dex rules. The guys dig the cool blood- spattered dude they see on TV all the time. The gals can’t resist the combination of Dex's steely, detached demeanor and proximity to death. Actually, I totally made that last sentence up—I have no idea why the women dig him. Dexter’s Dad’s ghost (James Remar) appears to explain to Dex that what is occurring is “popularity”, and that Dex must carpe diem the hell out of it. So Dex goes out there and brags for the benefit of the dudes and eventually scores a blow job from a dumb blond named Heidi. Then he dances.

Dexter Morgan. Dancing. It’s Hammer time!

You may have a few questions. For instance: What happened with Quinn (Desmond Harrington) and the awful tension between his well-earned mistrust of Dexter and his love of Deb, to say nothing of the creeping sense that Deb may have seen Dexter do something unseemly in last year’s finale? Hey, I was wondering that, too. But no—this version of "Dexter" ignores such things so it can spend several minutes setting up a justification for introducing a bleach blond indie hipster girl to work with Masuka (C. S. Lee). The whole point of the jock imbroglio is to get him on Dexter’s table, where Dex can notice some Christian tats on his chest. And then--you got it: discussions of whether God forgives us our trespasses, if evil is real, whether we can gain redemption, how God’s wrath manifests itself. The episode ends with that CGI snakes-on-the-beach moment, wherein a floater body’s stitches break open to reveal black wigglers where his intestines used to be.

It’s an old school "Dexter" gross-out gag that has Deb yelling, “Holy-Franken-fuck!”  Carpenter can really sell a goofball obscenity. Unfortunately the premiere doesn't end there, but with the baffling sight of Dexter claiming happiness and Olmos intoning, “It’s begun.” Here’s a prayer to next week’s episode not making that sound like such a gloomy pronouncement, to renewed emphasis on the core strength of Dex and Deb, and to "Dexter" behaving like "Dexter" again, for God's sake. 

But plenty of awesome rose from the ashes of the "eh" this morning. I was fairly certain I heard Triumph the Insult Comic Dog poop on Jay Leno's "Tonight Show" when Conan O'Brien's version got the nod for outstanding variety, music, or comedy series. The entire main cast of "Modern Family" submitted their names in the supporting categories, and it paid off for almost everyone. The supporting actor in a comedy field is 66 percent gay, or acting gay, with nominations for Jesse Tyler Ferguson and Eric Stonestreet ("Modern Family") Neil Patrick Harris, and Chris Colfer from "Glee," which was one of the most surprising and delightful developments of the morning. Add to that NPH's guest star nomination for playing has-been Bryan Ryan on the Fox musical, Jane Lynch's double nominations (Sue Sylvester, of course, and a guest spot on "Two and a Half Men,") and the nom for Ian McKellen's turn as Number 2 in the otherwise-dreadful AMC "Prisoner" remake, and you get a better-than-usual representation of the LGBT community this year. We were also spared, thankfully, the torture of Charlie Sheen being nominated. As for the rest...

Today's big winners:

• "Glee." Lea Michele and Matthew Morrison were recognized as lead actors, Jane Lynch and Chris Colfer were deservedly recognized, and the show itself is up for best comedy, among 19 total nominations.

• Funny women: Tina Fey and Amy Poehler will go head-to-head in the lead actress in a comedy group, and Kristen Wiig is up for her myriad memorable "SNL" characters in the supporting actress category. That girl is gold, and deserves it, but Jane Lynch will be tough to beat -- Sue Sylvester would chop Gilly into little tiny pieces and blend her in a smoothie.

• "Lost." I felt that series finale, "The End," while poignant and worthy of seven hankies, wasn't quite on the level of the series premiere, "LAX," since I much prefer the bafflement, but Matthew Fox's portrayal of Jack Shephard was impeccable, and I'd love to see him take home the lead actor trophy. Terry O'Quinn could've taught a master class in menacing eyebrows, and belongs at the top of the supporting field, and Michael Emerson (last year's winner) is right there with him. The best drama series nomination was welcome, and if "Lost" wins, it'll be emphatic validation for an oft-derided yet fervently loved program.

• "Friday Night Lights." This show about high school football in Texas has been operating under the "underrated" mantle for so long it almost seemed like it would go the way of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," with rabid critical praise but no Emmy love to shore it up. And while there was no room in the crowded best drama series group ("True Blood," "Mad Men," "Breaking Bad," "Lost," "Dexter" and "The Good Wife" sucked all the air out of the room), lead actors Kyle Chandler and Connie Britton were given a chance to represent their show, even though Chandler's chances are between slim and pigs-will-fly-out-of-my-butt. He's up against Bryan Cranston, Jon Hamm, Hugh Laurie, Michael C. Hall and Matthew Fox -- although it'd be a bookie-immolating upset if he did take the trophy home.

• The women of "Mad Men." January Jones is up for lead actress, and Betty Draper's complete and total meltdown last season was a study in human-being-as-pressure-cooker. Elisabeth Moss and Christina Hendricks are both in the running for their supporting roles, and their diametrically opposed character arcs make for a lively comparison. Peggy slept with a rival, gained confidence in the workplace and generally found her voice, while Joan Harris (nee Holloway) thought she had it all figured out by marrying a doctor and playing Holly Homemaker until she saw the monster she was in bed with and had her idea of "perfect" get its ears boxed.

Today's big snubs :

• Josh Holloway. Sawyer's arc in the first half of "Lost" this season was wrenching to watch, the complete undoing of a man who lost the love of his life, and Holloway was never, ever better. A terrible oversight.

• "True Blood." Yeah, it's great that the series was nominated for best drama, but not one actor stood out enough to garner an individual nomination? Are you kidding me? Nelsan Ellis alone should have a shelf weighed down with accolades. Boo.

• Ed O'Neill. The actor-formerly-known-as-Al-Bundy seems to be carrying quite the Emmy curse on his back -- he's arguably the star of "Modern Family," yet he was the only one who didn't get nominated for his work as the grumpy patriarch. O'Neill's gruffness and good-old-boy back slapping as Jay Pritchett successfully masks his creamy center, and after 10 Emmy-less years on "Married With Children," well, it's looking like someone's got a voodoo doll with his face on it.

Watch NBC on Aug. 29 to see how this all turns out, but please consider the "Breaking Bad" video I've included here before you believe a single prediction that doesn't include Aaron Paul pillaging the awards. It's the last scene of the captivating third season, and you must watch the whole thing (the setup -- Bryan Cranston's character is in steaming heap of trouble with his meth distributor, who is about to replace him permanently with another chemist):

Personally, as much as I once craved a dark tragidramedy back when every channel was filthy with hugging and learning, these days I find myself repelled by the unrelenting nihilism of a handful of the darker-than-thou cable shows: "Dexter," "Sons of Anarchy," "Breaking Bad," all well-written, imaginative dramas with wonderful casts that nonetheless present us with the same scenario, week after week: Things go from bad to worse to unthinkable, lead characters flinch and cringe and sweat and sigh deeply and then dig themselves in deeper, and everyone around them suffers.

And that's not to mention the bad guys. Since these shows revolve around likable but deeply flawed, not-very-good guys, the actual bad guys have to be very, very bad, indeed, straining during most of their time on-screen to embody pure evil. In fact, the narrative arc of these shows is propelled mostly by the looming threat of what these Very Bad Guys are capable of: We see them torturing their underlings or their wives or their dogs; we watch as one Very Bad Guy forces a woman to jump off the side of a building to her death, then witness another Very Bad Guy verbally taunting the man whose wife and daughter he stole, hinting that he might molest the girl. Then, as the tension mounts, the Very Bad Guys make spectacular displays of their cruelty: One decapitates his enemy, then uses explosives to blow his head to smithereens when the DEA finds it; another slits the throat of a pretty wife and leaves her baby sitting in a pool of her blood; another pulls a knife on a baby then absconds with him as he cries piteously and his father panics and then crumples into a heap.

See how, in the fallout of these hideous acts, we're meant to gasp and shake our heads at the unthinkable cruelty of it all. I can't wait to see how our Not Very Heroic Hero will respond to this one, we say to ourselves and each other.

Now that the Dark Cable Drama season is just beginning, we can look forward to the same opening scene on each show: Stunned, shaken, guilty, devastated Not-Very-Good Guys sit around, staring into the middle distance, trying to come to terms with the wreckage around them. We can guess that Jax (Charlie Hunnam of "Sons of Anarchy") will be despondent over the loss of his baby son, shaking his head and wondering how he could've let it happen, then snapping unnecessarily at Tara (Maggie Siff). Presumably Dexter (Michael C. Hall) will stumble, aghast and detached, through his new reality in the wake of his wife's murder, struggling to figure out how to take care of his baby and explain to his stepkids the nightmare that their waking lives have just become. Likewise, Walter (Bryan Cranston) spends the third season premiere of "Breaking Bad" (10 p.m. Sunday, March 21, on AMC) reeling from his wife's discovery of his gig cooking meth, not to mention the midair jet collision that he basically caused -- you know, the one that sent bodies flying to the ground in his neighborhood?

Oh, but don't worry, there's comic relief ahead! Walter goes to a high school assembly where the kids are asked to share a few words about the horrible tragedy they endured when the jets crashed over their heads. After listening to the kids say emotionally tone-deaf kid things, Walter takes the microphone and tells everyone to look on the bright side.

"First of all, nobody on the ground was killed and that ... I mean, an incident like this in a popular urban center? I mean, that's got to be a minor miracle. Plus, neither plane was full." This is exactly the sort of thing a scientist who doesn't know himself and walks around in a state of confused alienation might say, of course. This contrast between Walter's circumstances as a meth "manufacturer" and his polite, professional manners, the gap between his lying and ethical lapses as a husband and his insistence that he loves his wife and that they have a great marriage, form the tension that gives "Breaking Bad" its unique spark. But the intelligence and cleverness of this picture doesn't make up for an overriding feeling that creator Vince Gilligan and the other writers are hell-bent on torturing us with maximum bleakness and horror. After each blow to the gut, we wonder, Must I endure this purgatory, just to find out what happens next?

And if we aren't bothered by this running habit of serving up the most spectacularly devastating, soul-crushing moments possible, if we aren't unnerved by the fact that we're meant to chuckle or marvel at clever moments as the human suffering is at an all-time high, if we can still appreciate the artful, sly approaches to people fucking up their lives flatter than hammered shit (as "Deadwood" creator David Milch might put it, always leavening his particular flavor of darkness with so much charm and flair that you found yourself drawn into the picture rather than continually repelled by it), then that must mean that we're just as confused, alienated and detached as Walter himself is.

I'm not suggesting that blood and gore and tragedy and darkness don't form the core of plenty of dramatic works of art. From Hamlet to "The Sopranos" to Charles Dickens' novels, tragicomic explorations of the human condition have always helped us to navigate our own tragicomic lives. Nonetheless, there's something different about the Dark Cable Drama: Maybe it boils down to shocking CGI effects, or the supreme alienation of its lead characters, or the ways that the misery sustains itself over the course of several long, drawn-out seasons, or those peculiar strains of ironic distance and macho posturing, which insist that, despite making one messed-up choice after another, despite actively cobbling out his hellish fate, our distinctly UnHeroic Hero is a hero, just the same.

And in the context of a culture that loves its horror movies and savors two hours of creepiness and gore and pained screams, maybe the Dark Cable Drama can be viewed as a relatively thoughtful and richly layered and suspenseful exploration of the darkness that lives in human souls.

Nonetheless, there's an enormous difference between, say, "The Sopranos," and "Breaking Bad" or "Dexter." Even though all of the Unheroic Heroes of these shows, just like Tony Soprano, are constantly struggling with their humanity, always trying to find some way around their hideous responsibilities, always trying to emancipate themselves from the ignorance and cruelty of their worlds, the grim core of the Dark Cable Drama is pure agony, where escape is futile and hope is a mirage. There is no wider perspective offered, there are no insights into regular, everyday life reflected in these depraved scenes, there's nothing to learn about hubris or ignorance or greed here.

Or, as Jesse (Aaron Paul) tells Walter in the third season premiere of "Breaking Bad," "You either run from things, or you face them, Mr. White. I learned that in rehab. It’s all about accepting who you really are. I accept who I am."

"And who are you?" Walter asks him.

"I’m the bad guy," says Jesse.

This is the heart of the Dark Cable Drama, the rotten core of its swooning love affair with horrific murders and big flashy plane crashes and splintered marriages and traumatized children and a cascade of terrible mistakes piled on top of more mistakes: In the end, no matter what glimmers of humanity or sweetness you might encounter, you're a fool to do more than surrender yourself to your own worst instincts.

No one is aching for another Big Moral Lesson, but the slightest hint of a wider perspective beyond bewilderment and learned helplessness would go a long way. Simply training a camera on heartbreak and gore and destruction and never pulling back, except to tease out the inept and uncomfortable and utterly insufficient ways that human beings handle despair? As Livia Soprano would say, "It's all a big nothing."  

I figured that the fourth season would end with Dexter Morgan avenging the Trinity Killer, then flying off to meet his wife, Rita, for a long-delayed honeymoon. After all, Dexter had married Rita in a relatively upbeat Season 3 finale, right?

Wrong. On Sunday night, Dexter did finish off Trinity Killer Arthur Mitchell, but when he came home to grab his bags for his flight to the Florida Keys, he retrieved a message from Rita on his phone, saying she forgot something at home. Panicked, he dialed her number, but her phone rang a few feet away. 

Suddenly we hear a baby crying. Dexter runs to the bathroom. There's his baby boy, Harrison, sitting in a giant pool of blood. And there's Rita in the bathtub, dead. The Trinity Killer's last victim. 

Shocking? Yes. A twist? Yes. A twist so shocking, in fact, it'll make you feel sick to your stomach. A twist so shocking it's enough to make you throw your TV set out the window.

Yes, yes, I know. What did I expect? But somehow, despite several nihilistic seasons before it, the fourth season of "Dexter" felt more like a cross between a murder mystery and a very, very dark comedy. For Dexter, balancing work and family against his extracurricular acts of murderous vengeance was becoming well nigh impossible. But even as his treacherous hobby seemed to serve as a metaphor for the darkness and alienation that lurks at the edges of even the most conventional lives, Dexter seemed to be changing his stripes, making choices that were less about his own homicidal compulsions and more about an abiding need to serve the other people in his life.

And the tone of the episodes during the first half of the season was unabashedly comedic: Dexter makes awkward attempts to talk to his stepkids, hurls one of them into the pool -- for fun! -- but it just creeps her out! Dexter joins his neighborhood watch group! Dexter wakes in the middle of the night with the baby, falls asleep behind the wheel and can't remember where he hid his victim's body! Da dum dum, chhh! The whole show started to feel like an off-kilter procedural slapstick comedy. Plus, wasn't Dexter ultimately trying to do the right thing by ridding the world of killers who were roaming free, looking for their next victims?

"Dexter" has always been a bleak show that still managed to balance its darkness with light -- and the light came mostly from Rita. Somehow, in spite of great flaws, Dexter managed to maintain a relationship with this little ray of sunshine. She was so cheerful, so hopeful, so effusive, trussed up in her flowery dresses, that she gave Dexter's whole life this surreal cast, like he went to sleep in hell and woke up over the rainbow. While shows like "Breaking Bad" tend to wallow in unremitting gloom, forcing depressed and/or despicable characters in our faces until we can't take it anymore, "Dexter" walked this strange line between despair and an almost desperate, happy-go-lucky, live-for-the-moment cheer.

Yes, it took effort for Dexter to endure Rita's relentless optimism. Who couldn't relate to his flat affect in the face of Rita's senseless exuberance? Watching her burst onto the scene was sometimes a little bit like driving to work in the rain, then turning on the radio to hear some half-crazed person singing about all-you-can-eat fried shrimp or barking happily about the next Toyotathon. Somehow that feeling of pop cultural vertigo is an essential part of the American experience. Rita embodied that flavor of buoyancy that can either lift you up or drag you down lower, depending on how low you're feeling at the time.

Without Rita, though, "Dexter" is just hell.

But that's not my main problem with the finale. "Dexter" without Rita is just an artistic choice. Sure, everyone's cooing over the endless possibilities for the next season of the show. Will Dexter raise his stepkids all alone? Will he father Harrison alone? Will he get meaner and start killing without following the code or even limiting himself to murderers? This is television, after all. You can't just end a chapter, you have to think about the next season's plot.

But you know what isn't an artistic choice? Pouring a gallon of fake blood on the floor and then sitting an infant down in the middle of it. I'm still struggling to get into the minds of the writers who could stand around on the set that day, snickering to themselves and shaking their heads and saying, "Oh, this'll get them! They'll never forget this one, no sir! No one has ever seen anything quite so shocking as this before!"

Tune in next season when Dexter lops off a dog's head and eats it, and then Debra unknowingly falls in love with Pol Pot. I'm sorry, but provocation on this level is as artful as hurling shit with the chimpanzees.

Subtlety really is dead, isn't it? Remember those promos for the fourth season that showed Dexter holding his baby, both of them splattered in blood? They were on buses all over L.A. a few months ago. An ad like that is sort of odd and disturbing and funny, really, as long as the baby is never actually splattered in blood.

But once you set the baby into a big pool of his mother's blood? Personally, I'm out. Because not only did the show snuff out its last ray of sunshine, it did so in a way that felt like a direct act of hostility against the audience itself.

Maybe we deserve it for watching in the first place. Or maybe this is the price those of us who can't chuckle at absolutely everything under the sun will be forced to pay, over and over again in this spectacle-driven nightmare culture, for still having some shred of humanity deep inside us.

Obviously it's cooler to think that provocation is, flat-out, worth the effort. It's cooler to appreciate the horse in the tank of formaldehyde, to appreciate the cliffhanger where the bad guy pulls a knife on the baby.

What can I do? That finale just made me feel sick. I can't believe someone thought that was a reasonable way to end the season. Good job, it really was shocking. In fact, I’m still in shock. 

Quiet as a spouse
Being a good spouse isn't easy. We're supposed to be honest at all times, except when it's more prudent to lie. We're supposed to communicate openly, except when it's better to bite our tongues. We're supposed to be supportive and affectionate, except when our honey pie is vaguely repulsed by the sight of us and needs a little breathing room. We're supposed to be utterly committed to our sugar dumpling's happiness, except when that happiness requires half a bottle of Jack Daniels, an eight ball of fine Colombian, and a one-way ticket to Monte Carlo.

If being a good spouse is tough under normal circumstances, how do you continue to show your loyalty and support when you've been publicly humiliated and betrayed? That's the question Alicia Florrick (Julianna Margulies) of "The Good Wife" (10 p.m. Tuesdays on CBS) finds herself asking in the wake of her husband's political scandal. Peter (Chris Noth) was an Illinois state's attorney with a secret taste for girls on the side (but don't you sort of expect as much when you marry Mr. Big?) who left his wife and two teenage kids reeling when he was arrested and sent to jail on corruption charges. Alicia was taken by surprise, but she stood by Peter's side, looking resolute, as he announced his resignation from office. Margulies is very good at looking resolute, which makes this picture, repeated so often in recent years, worthwhile in spite of its redundancy.

But will Alicia's story reflect the typical media trajectory? The press usually starts out by portraying the wives of womanizing politicians as victims (Elizabeth Edwards during her baby-gate book tour), then they end up sniffing around for her tragic flaws (Hillary Clinton when the Lewinsky scandal was going down). Finally, the rabble joins in, pestering and shaming these women until divorce looks like the only possible way to save face.

Either way, though, we usually end up viewing these wives as survivors (Hillary Clinton today). Whether or not they stand by their men to the very end is often beside the point: It's how they stand by their men – what they say about it, what they tell their kids, how they get on with their lives – that makes the difference.

It's no wonder that ultimately, most of us have a lot of sympathy for the loyal, scorned wife. She's the ultimate underdog – a woman who bought into the dream of happily ever after with a charmer of a man, only to find herself confronted with a very different picture, all while the world points and jeers.

Even so, "The Good Wife" isn't as melodramatic as you might guess. This is the kind of story that might feature lots of teary-eyed visits to the prison, shouted accusations, and layers upon layers of ugliness unveiled. Instead, "The Good Wife" focuses closely on Alicia's attempts to build a life for herself and her children and to sally forth with dignity despite the sounds of snickering wherever she goes.

Alicia is forced to take an entry-level law position at the firm of an old friend, a great narrative choice that demonstrates just how dramatic it is to find yourself starting over at middle-age – and a great way to remind us what a big decline in status this woman has endured. On a less nuanced drama Alicia would've founded a law firm singlehandedly, or become an immediate star and senior partner at an established firm. Instead, Alicia is competing for a job with Cary (Matt Czuchry) a 20-something guy who's single, has no kids, and is willing to work 60-hour weeks to win the position.

Cary is also willing to bend the truth in order to make himself look good, of course, contrasting nicely with Alicia's quiet dignity and stubborn adherence to principle. And who better than witty, demonic Christine Baranski to play Alicia's foe at the firm, with Will (Josh Charles of "Sports Night") as her old friend and advocate?

"The Good Wife" proves itself much richer than a typical law procedural, thanks to the richness of its premise and the quality of storytelling demonstrated in the first four episodes. Each week the show is both intriguing and satisfying, as we watch Alicia piece together little victories while comforting her kids and confronting lurking demons from her old life. Despite the usual familiar courtroom shenanigans, the show's full, multilayered episodes keep us interested.

Seeing Margulies in this role reminds me of her great performance in the premiere episode of "ER," where Nurse Hathaway returned to her job in the wake of her suicide attempt. Margulies has a real knack for embodying this sort of down-but-not-out, straightforward self-possession. Something in her self-restraint and her quiet anger makes us want her to win.

The scenes with Noth, though infrequent, are particularly powerful. Instead of shouting, Alicia generally plays along with Peter's delusions but draws the line when he tells her that everything might soon go back to the way it was. Alicia needs for him to understand that this is wishful thinking, that nothing will ever be the same. In last week's episode, the extreme disconnect in perception between Alicia and her husband became even clearer during a particularly tense visit:

Peter: Are you having fun? That's the most important thing.

Alicia: Fun is Disneyland.

Peter: Well, I'm glad you're making a life for yourself. It gives you a break from this whole … situation.

Noth is the perfect actor to deliver such an arrogant line, as if Alicia's career and struggle to raise her kids by herself is just an amusing diversion from the nightmare that he created. Just as Alicia looks ready to set him straight with a few sharp words, his lawyer interrupts – he's been sitting a few feet away the whole time, which explains the polite smiles Alicia uses to mask her rage.

But even when they're alone on the phone, Peter and Alicia have trouble connecting. Neither of them really knows how to feel, what to say, or whether they'll be together once the dust settles.

The tension of an unresolved shattering of a marriage – it's a nice energy to build a show around. And after four episodes, it's clear that the show's creators, husband-and-wife team Robert and Michelle King, want to tell a subtle, thoughtful story. "The Good Wife" is worth tracking for this reason alone.

After all, if marriage is an inflamed bunion, then a marriage damaged by a political scandal is a gangrenous limb. Will Alicia stand by her man, or will she resort to the emergency amputation of a high-profile divorce? Stay tuned to find out!

'Til death do us part
But what if you have to live a double life and cover your tracks, because your spouse would dump you in a heartbeat if she knew who you really were?

This is Dexter Morgan's dilemma in the fourth season of Showtime's "Dexter" (10 p.m. Sundays). Having married his longtime sweetheart Rita at the end of last season, Dexter must come to terms with a whole new life trying to balance the demands of marriage and family against a busy job and the hectic extracurricular schedule of a serial killer.

Naturally, Dexter is finding it more than a little challenging to wake up at night with his new baby, answer the demands of his new wife, and serve as a reasonably decent stepfather to his two older children while holding down his job as a blood splatter analyst for the Miami Police Department. Earlier this season, Dexter's precarious homicidal apple cart was toppled when he fell asleep on the way home from killing a bad, bad man and crashed his car. He suffered a concussion in the crash, and at first he couldn’t remember where he hid the body. Did it topple out of the trunk of his car? Was he going to be dragged off to jail at any minute? It's easy to see why so few serial killers successfully raise families of their own.

Well, the fact that they're homicidal lunatics probably has something to do with it, too. But then, this is the beauty – or the ugliness? – of "Dexter": After a while, you start to forget that the lead character is even a bad guy – most of the time, anyway.

That's because, aside from his unfortunate habit of murdering murderers, Dexter is just like many of us on a bad day: He feels alienated at work functions and neighborhood barbecues. The whole concept of marriage and family sends a shiver down his spine. The values that lend other people's lives meaning just confuse and embarrass him.

"The danger of community is that the people who don't belong are looked upon with suspicion," Dexter tells us in a voiceover, as he surveys a backyard cookout with a grim look on his face. "Those of us who prefer to work by ourselves, the lone wolves, risk being singled out. So I become an expert at blending in, camouflaging myself, becoming one of the guys."

Watching Dexter endure the bubbly, enforced cheer of family life may make this the best season of the drama series to date. Who wouldn't feel a little crazy when his wife is driving him to work, singing "Karma Chameleon" to the baby at the top of her lungs?

This season, the absurd pressures of building a stable life with another person are at the forefront of the picture for Dexter's sister, Deb, too. She's feeling a little less enthusiastic about her live-in boyfriend Anton since her older ex, retired FBI agent Frank Lundy, came back to Miami to investigate some suspicious homicides in the area on his own time. Lundy is a lot like Dexter, unable to relax or connect with regular people and obsessed with his work. In contrast, Anton is a little bit too relaxed – in one great scene, he sits around his and Deb's apartment, noodling away on an unplugged electric guitar, while Deb huffily makes coffee for both of them.

The commitment phobia came to a head in last week's episode, when Deb gave Dexter a ride home after work one night, and Dexter just stared at his house instead of getting out of the car.

Dexter: It's so crowded in there.

Deb: Well, I guess so. A wife and three kids.

Dexter: They're always there.

Deb: Tell me about it. It was easy living with Anton when he was never home. I'd come back to a quiet apartment and unwind without having to deal with anybody. Now, as soon as I walk through the door, he's there, waiting to engage.

Dexter: There's no escape.

It's true, Dexter. Being a good spouse (or even a bad one) takes far more energy than most of us can muster, as evidenced by the divorce rate in this country. But what can we do? We strive to be better for our better halves, if only to keep them from boarding that plane to Monte Carlo for one more day.

 True, Dexter's new wife hardly knows anything about her husband's rich and disturbing shadow life. But then, the same could probably be said for lots of wives. Yes, Dexter has conflicted feelings about bringing life into the world, as an active purveyor of death. But don't all first-time parents suffer from mixed feelings? And sure, Dexter did end up killing his best friend, Miguel. But what could he do, really? They grew apart.

 Or, more specifically, Miguel, Dexter's first and only understudy in the careful art of unprosecutable murder, started to use his new skills for evil, not good. A common snafu, not entirely unseen by Dexter or his nasty-nice dead daddy Harry, who's been appearing to Dexter all season to warn him against bringing Miguel into his confidences. But Dexter couldn't help it; it felt so good to show someone the whole ugly picture, to admit that he's a bloodthirsty monster in ordinary nerd's clothing.

 This is the delicious and awful trap of "Dexter," a drama that, even in its third season, still may qualify as the strangest and most unsettling show in the history of television: Even at his darkest hour, even when he's watching events in his life unfold from a great distance, without feeling much of anything, Dexter is undeniably likable. And he only grows more likable each season, despite the bodies piling up around him. Some mix of humility, clarity about his own weaknesses, and alienation from the straight world around him combine to make Dexter easy to embrace. As much as we'd like Dexter to stop killing -- as if it's just an unpleasant bad habit or an inappropriate nervous tic -- most of all we'd like for him not to get caught.

It's true we feel a little bit sorry for Dexter's new wife and for his ball-busting sister Debra (Jennifer Carpenter), both of whom would be destroyed by the slightest knowledge of Dexter's indiscretions. Rita was battling pregnancy hormones and the challenges of her emotionally remote, socially inept fiance all season, while Debra's bad taste in men was on display yet again, as she alternately flirted with her loose cannon of a partner, Quinn, and slept with a confidential informant, Anton. (We were led to suspect that one of the two was secretly nefarious, but Quinn’s past troubles faded into the background while Anton turned out to be a stand-up guy, albeit one with no real career and a daily pot habit.) Even Lt. Maria LaGuerta (Lauren Velez) was thrown back into a traumatic spot after her budding friendship with defense attorney Ellen Wolf (Anne Ramsay) was cut short by Miguel taking his newly acquired skills as a murderer on the road without Dexter's consent.

Still, there was something satisfying about watching Dexter make a friend, even if we knew it could only end in bloodshed. As Miguel, Smits embodied the affable hothead and simmering maniac with such humor and restraint that it was easy to enjoy his place in Dexter's life, even as all signs pointed to the same inevitable, ugly conclusion: He was using Dexter for his expertise and access, just as the serial killer du jour, George "The Skinner" King, used his beef with Freebo as an excuse to torture and kill his steady succession of victims. Sooner or later, Miguel would have to go.

Yes, Dexter's world was filled with murdering monsters once again, a fact that always leaves Dexter looking almost human by comparison. But does Dexter really have anything but ice water flowing through his veins? Is he capable of being a remotely decent husband and father, given his utter lack of feeling for everyone and everything in his life, not to mention his tendency to disappear on nefarious errands with clock-like regularity?

On a show about a serial killer, particularly a show as smart and lively as "Dexter" was this season, the big moral questions may be omnipresent, but they're also determinedly unresolved. Instead of coming to the hard and fast conclusions of, say, "CSI" or "Law & Order," we're meant to linger with Dexter on that uncomfortable ground between self-interest and moral imperative.

Or maybe we were there already. Dexter makes it so hard to tell sometimes.