ThorB-3

What promised to be a cultural voyage quickly collapsed into a parade of self-regard. The show, ostensibly about travel, was in fact a study in clashing egos; none more overbearing than Rotem's. Her cultural insensitivity bordered on the performative, and interactions with locals often felt more like condescension than curiosity. For viewers hoping to learn something-anything-about the places visited, there was little on offer beyond awkward encounters and navel-gazing.

Lior, to his credit, managed to retain some semblance of humility, though he too was swept along by the show's inexplicable fixation on the duo's personal dynamic. Entire sequences were squandered on phone calls that added neither context nor drama just distraction. The real scandal, however, is what was missing: the countries themselves. Landscapes, people, stories, textures all left unexamined. In their place, an empty theatre of self.

The series kicks off with real energy; a tight revenge premise, strong chemistry, and just enough mystery to hook you. María Elisa Camargo is a standout: her face does most of the work, and it works beautifully. She and Brian (Nick Stahl) are electric together, and their scenes crackle with tension.

But what starts sharp becomes stretched. At 20 episodes, it could've landed hard. Instead, it wanders. Brian's character, while compelling, slips into inconsistency, part mastermind, part mess, and some of his decisions feel off-script.

Still, in its best moments, it's gripping. Just not as tight as it should've been.

Schitt$ Creek isn't television that dazzles. It doesn't try to. Its world is small, its arcs modest, and its punchlines often gently recycled. But somewhere between the arched brows and awkward silences, it earns something rarer: comfort.

The show's premise, rich family falls from grace, lands in a town as forgettable as its name, feels tired at first. But it grows on you. Slowly. Like an inside joke you're not sure is funny, until you find yourself laughing anyway.

Amid a cast that leans toward caricature, Annie Murphy as the daughter, Alexis, is quietly brilliant. Her lilting voice and oddly mesmerizing hand gestures give the show much of its rhythm; frivolous on the surface, but always one gesture away from insight.

No, it's not the best comedy ever written. But it doesn't need to be. It stays long enough to become familiar. And sometimes, that's more than enough.