I’ve seen a couple of episodes of Private Practice, and I have to confess that I have really, really wanted to like it. I’ve loved Grey’s Anatomy for a couple of years, and this seemed so natural, loving the spin-off.
But it just . . . doesn’t grip me. I knew within the first 10 minutes of last night’s episode that, had I only an hour to sit and watch TV, this show would never be my first choice. I’ve seen it before, and it was called Judging Amy.
It probably doesn’t help the show that Grey’s is losing its magic for me, too, so there’s very little to carry over for Practice. It’s just that, when the actors are great (and they are), and the people are pretty, and the plotlines are wacky, there’s no reason for me to get bored.
But I was bored. I’m pretty sure that’s a cardinal sin in primetime, right up there with broadcasting spoilers or making fun of women for being in the dugout while mic’ed on live TV.
Practice doesn’t have the urgency of Grey’s, which makes sense since it’s not set in a hospital. But even the character representing the hospital, Dr. Charlotte King, your typical type-A overachiever, can take several days off to be treated at Practice’s Oceanside clinic and not seem to have missed anything important. She talks about being stressed, but we don’t really see any stress. It’s more like the white elephant hiding in the corner.
What to do with this show? I’ll continue watching Grey’s from time to time, because I’m invested in the characters. I suppose I’ll treat this the same way: I’ll drop in on Practice every once in awhile, just to see how they’re all doing, but I’m not going to stick around for too long.
The place is too neurotic, and I’m afraid it might rub off on me.