Tremont‘s Hometown News Site

COVERT AFFAIRS belongs to a very specific USA Network era, back when cable dramas could run on charm, stunning settings, case-of-the-week plotting, and a lead actor strong enough to smooth over a lot of convenient writing. That isn’t an insult. For viewers who miss that version of television, the series can feel like a time capsule from a period when shows didn’t need to be grim and mythology-heavy from the first episode. They could simply give you a capable protagonist, a steady supporting cast, a few secrets, and enough danger to keep the next hour moving.

A show built on grunts, screams, roars, blood, and silence has no business being this deep or emotionally intense, but GENNDY TARTAKOVSKY’S PRIMAL has spent three seasons making that contradiction feel like it fits. The third season comes after an ending that seemed to close Spear’s story with enough finality to leave the series in a difficult position. Bringing him back could have felt like a desperate reversal that weakens what came before. Instead, the season turns resurrection into a wound that won’t stop opening. I didn’t know what to expect, and the season blew all of those thoughts away.

Hoku’s track “Perfect Day” has always felt inseparable from LEGALLY BLONDE, not just because it’s attached to one of the most recognizable openings of an era, but because it captures the fantasy of Elle Woods. The sun is out, the world feels open, and her confidence moves like it has a soundtrack of its own. That’s the shadow ELLE has to step into, and honestly, that made the series a little scary going in. A prequel to LEGALLY BLONDE (and its sequel) could’ve easily become a parade of easter eggs, a pink checklist of future traits, or a younger version trying too hard to make us forget Reese Witherspoon. Thankfully, Lexi Minetree’s portrayal doesn’t do that, and that’s why this works. She doesn’t erase Witherspoon’s Elle; she gives us the girl who could grow into her. ELLE is absolutely part of the same larger story. It also becomes its own story, finding room for high school ambiguity, family, heartbreak, and the early signs of a woman learning that being underestimated might someday become her greatest strength.

IT’S GETTING LATE WITH OWEN REED understands that nobody has enough time, money, or emotional stability, and everyone somehow still believes the next decision might make everything work. Ryan Dougall’s 44-minute episodic pilot is built around a failing late-night show, though the talk show itself is almost less important than the people around it. The cameras follow Alex Teller, a first-time showrunner trying to rescue a chaotic workplace from cancellation, bad instincts, inflated egos, and the terror of being the person everyone expects to know what to do next.

ADVENTURE TIME grew into something much weirder, sadder, and more emotionally complicated than its early episodes suggested, which makes ADVENTURE TIME: SIDE QUESTS an interesting kind of revival. It doesn’t try to outdo the original. It doesn’t chase the heavier mythology of later seasons or the more mature ache of FIONNA AND CAKE. Instead, it looks backward toward the goofy, monster-punching days when Finn and Jake could wander into trouble for reasons that barely mattered, then leave behind a joke, a weird little creature, and a feeling that Ooo had more depth than anyone knew.

Peak View has the kind of small-town appeal that makes even the worst trouble feel manageable, heartbreak feel temporary, and wine production look only slightly less stressful than hand-to-hand combat. UNDER THE VINES: SERIES 2 really dives into that contrast from the start. It doesn’t try to reinvent the show after its first season. It lets Daisy Monroe and Louis Oakley settle deeper into Oakley Wines, then gently starts pulling at all the emotions they hoped might loosen on their own.

KOKUM & DOT knows something many modern children’s shows seem to forget, younger viewers don’t need to be overwhelmed to be moved. They need clarity, warmth, purposeful repetition, and a world that makes them feel like they’re part of it, rather than being forced on them. This live-action/animated children’s series, centered on Kokum Dorothy and her inquisitive puppet friend Dot, works because it treats learning as a shared experience. It’s gentle, but not empty. It’s simple, but not without impact. Most importantly, it places the Cree language, knowledge, memory, imagination, and emotional expression at the center of a children’s format without making any of those elements feel secondary to commercial expectations.

By the time the 2021 version of I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER ended up coming out, the franchise had already had a long history. The original 1997 film never reached the same level as SCREAM, but it still became one of the defining teen slashers of that era. Jennifer Love Hewitt running down the street, screaming, Freddie Prinze Jr. trying to keep everyone together while falling apart himself, Sarah Michelle Gellar getting one of the genre’s most memorable sequences, the fisherman with the hook, the rain-soaked atmosphere, all of it cemented the movie into late-90s horror history, (oh and my uncredited cameo in the parade scene!) whether critics embraced it or not. Then came I STILL KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER, which leaned harder into camp and slasher insanity, followed by the mostly forgotten direct-to-video reboot attempt I'LL ALWAYS KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER.

A KNIGHT OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS: THE COMPLETE FIRST SEASON comes at us with the kind of confidence that doesn’t need to declare itself through size. After years of Westeros being defined on television by royal houses, dynastic collapse, dragons, massacres, prophecy, and people turning every scene into a battlefield for power, this series does something that feels almost strange at first. It lowers the gaze, not out of ambition, but out of perspective. It follows a knight without a lot of money, a large conscience, and a young squire who knows far more than he lets on. That is exactly why the season works so well.

SURVIVING EARTH has such an interesting premise, offering up an irresistible feast to anyone fascinated by prehistoric life, mass extinction, climate turmoil, and the long, brutal accident of existence. NBC’s docuseries looks back across hundreds of millions of years, using CGI to recreate vanished worlds and creatures that lived through environmental disasters so extreme they reshaped the future of life itself. The ambition is easy to appreciate. This is a series about fire, rain, collapse, adaptation, and the persistence of life on a planet that has repeatedly tried to wipe the board clean. The first two episodes offer enough scale and accessible storytelling to make the series watchable, even if the execution doesn’t always match the concept's scale.

The easiest mistake this version of CAPE FEAR could’ve made would’ve been leaning into nostalgia. Recreating the infamous moments, taking the shortcut of familiarity, or, worse, treating the series as a scene-by-scene remake, or even trusting the legacy to do most of the heavy lifting. Instead, the series drags the material through the dirt, catches it on fire, and lets it come out the other side somewhere far more somber and far more vile. This isn’t a prestige-thriller remix of a recognizable title. It’s psychological horror with its hands wrapped tightly around the audience’s throat for nearly every second.

I’ll be the first to admit, I’m not a big soccer fan, and I’m pretty reserved on what anime I like. So to say that this series has won me over so far is really saying something! DRAGON STRIKER asks viewers to buy into magical soccer matches, dragon-powered attacks, ancient prophecy, and emotionally overloaded kids screaming across glowing stadiums without flinching for a second. What keeps the series from collapsing under all of that is its sincere commitment to the material. A lesser version would’ve relied entirely on chaos and sensory overload. This show understands that the action only lands if the characters treat every victory, rivalry, and emotional breakdown like the most important thing in the world. That sincerity gives the chaos real momentum instead of reducing it to empty visual clutter.

New York has always been one of television’s favorite lies. Not because the city itself is fake, but because so many series built around young professionals treat exhaustion as a personality trait and financial survival as a quirky inconvenience. The apartments are impossibly clean, everyone lands dream jobs by accident, and emotional collapse usually arrives wrapped in a perfectly timed punchline, only to reset the following week. NOT SUITABLE FOR WORK understands that fantasy well enough to weaponize it against itself. The series still delivers the glossy Manhattan chaos audiences expect, but beneath the polished surface lies something noticeably more bitter, anxious, and emotionally restless than the marketing initially suggests. That edge carries the show!

I have to start by saying that this was one of the most easily bingeable shows I’ve ever watched. Most series built around chaos like this want you to choose a side. They might pretend to operate in morally gray territory, but eventually they start nudging viewers toward a favorite, easing one character’s arc while sharpening another's flaws. ALICE AND STEVE never pretend to do that. It commits to the ugliness of the situation from every possible angle, then keeps finding new ways to make everybody involved look slightly worse than they did five minutes earlier. That could’ve turned the series into an exhausting exercise in cruelty. But there was something about Sophie Goodhart’s writing that understood something vitally important! People don’t become irrational because they’re evil; they become irrational because humiliation screws with their judgment. That distinction gives the show a spine unlike most dramadies made for streaming.

THE CREEP franchise works because Josef (The Creep/Peachfuzz) doesn’t feel like a traditional horror villain. He feels like the guy who sets off alarm bells the second he starts talking, but everyone around him keeps trying to convince themselves they’re overreacting. That has always been the real source of tension in these stories. Long before anything violent happens, Patrick Brice and Mark Duplass know how to make a simple conversation feel exhausting, invasive, weird, and unsafe. Season two understands that formula well enough to keep finding new ways to make ordinary interactions spiral into genuine discomfort.

Raccoons, and foxes, and bears… oh my… There’s a version of MATING SEASON that could’ve been completely unbearable. The premise alone practically invites disaster, taking the idea of shows like BIG MOUTH and its spinoff HUMAN RESOURCES, an adult animated comedy about sexually frustrated forest animals trying to find love, connection, and someone to reproduce with. It sounds like the kind of concept designed entirely around shock value and memes, something built to survive for a week online before disappearing into the endless content void. Instead, the series turns out to be much deeper, stranger, and more self-aware than its setup suggests.

MAXIMUM PLEASURE GUARANTEED feels like the kind of show where one terrible decision should logically end everything, but instead it opens another door. Then another. Then suddenly, somebody’s lying in a parking lot, somebody else is hiding information they absolutely should’ve shared hours ago, and Tatiana Maslany is trying to hold herself together during youth soccer practice, like her entire life isn’t actively collapsing.

Season two doesn’t open by reminding you where you are. It assumes you remember, and more importantly, it assumes you’re ready to go further. That confidence defines the season, pushing outward instead of reintroducing the rules, and trusting that the audience can keep up with a world that’s only getting more complicated.

She doesn’t argue her way into control; she assumes it. By the time anyone starts pushing back, Ellis has already moved past them, already decided what matters, already reshaped the investigation around her instincts. That quiet takeover defines this second series, and it never once feels forced. What makes ELLIS work isn’t originality in structure, it’s certainty in execution. The show knows exactly what kind of detective it’s building around, and it doesn’t dilute that with unnecessary character theatrics or forced vulnerability. DCI Ellis isn’t there to perform. She’s there to do the job, and the writing trusts that approach enough to let it carry entire episodes.

Trying to bring something this iconic back without overthinking it sounds simple, but it rarely is. Most revivals either chase the relevance that made the original great or get stuck honoring the past so rigidly that they forget to entertain. What this series does differently is sidestep both traps. It doesn’t try to modernize the characters in any meaningful way, and it doesn’t pretend it can recreate the exact conditions that made the originals untouchable. It just gets to work.

Eight episodes, thirty minutes each, and not a single second drags. ALL IN moves fast, but it never feels rushed, which is a harder balance to pull off than it looks. ALL IN builds its entire identity around that idea, and it’s what keeps the series from feeling like just another inspirational sports documentary. Tyler Turner isn’t chasing validation here. He’s chasing something unfamiliar, and that makes all the difference.

There’s something almost surreal about sitting down with a show this old and realizing how little it’s aged, and how little would need to be changed to be relevant in today’s world. No recalibration, no “for its time” caveats, no need to excuse pacing or style. I LOVE LUCY doesn’t feel like a relic you’re revisiting out of respect. It feels alive in a way that most modern comedies struggle to replicate, let alone surpass. That’s in large part thanks to the cast, Lucille Ball, & Desi Arnaz, along with Vivian Vance & William Frawley, who were so far ahead of their time that they still can hold the attention of almost any fan of comedy.

Etta Tiger Jonze (Shannon Gisela) isn’t introduced as someone who is in control, and the series makes sure you feel that before anything else has time to take shape. What starts as ambition quickly turns into survival, and the line between those two ideas keeps shifting the longer the season goes on. M.I.A. builds its foundation on that uncertainty, letting every decision feel reactive. That choice gives the entire series a sense of tension that never lets it settle into anything predictable.

There are a lot of animated shows that are “random,” but THE AMAZING WORLD OF GUMBALL is one of the only ones that actually understands what that means. It isn’t just throwing chaos at the screen and hoping something sticks. Every cutaway, every shift in animation, every unhinged joke, every bit of pure pandemonium feels intentional. The show knows exactly how far it can push something before it breaks, and then it pushes a little further anyway.

There’s a moment early on, before the story really settles in, where the camera lingers just a little too long on an ordinary street in Derry. Nothing jumps out. There's no sudden scare. No clown in sight. But something feels off anyway. That unease sticks with you, and it ends up defining the entire season more than any single appearance from Pennywise. That choice says everything about what this series is trying to do.