Television is testing the public’s appetite for scary this season, with a range of explicit and implied frights.
Sometimes the terror lurks unseen, sometimes it’s shoved in our faces. Sometimes it’s from outer space and sometimes from under the sea. But most often it derives from deep inside and our collective need for a good jolt.
NBC’s “Medium” prefers to haunt us with psychic oddities, extrasensory spookiness and inexplicable phenomena, especially around dead people.
Weird coincidences count for more than shocking special effects in this series based on a real-life psychic medium and crime-solver. The fright is in our natural curiosity about the great beyond. The hour doesn’t go in for the big gasp but tantalizes with the incredible possibility of a woman with a talent for talking to dead people.
“Medium” is for viewers who prefer to be unnerved by the ineffable, rather than shocked by the monster mania of such newcomers as “Threshold,” “Supernatural” or “Night Stalker.”
Since its premiere in January, “Medium” has grown to become one of the few strong performers on NBC. It banks on the audience’s acceptance of the medium’s rare powers to dream or channel or somehow tap into dead people and faraway places and things in stunning (digital) detail. Most self-described psychics and mediums wouldn’t presume to achieve such detailed dreams, complete with crime-solving revelations on a weekly basis, but that’s poetic license for you.
Tonight’s episode, “Time Out of Mind,” at 9 p.m. on KUSA-
Channel 9, is a good example of the way creator-executive producer Glenn Gordon Caron (“Moonlighting”) plays with the unknown to string viewers along. Throw back a shot of willing-suspension-of-disbelief, and enjoy. In fact, make it a double.
Patricia Arquette, fresh off her Emmy win for lead actress in a drama series, is Allison DuBois, Arizona wife, mother of three and gifted psychic medium who works part time for the district attorney’s office, often hearing from the deceased about their murders.
Most weeks, when Allison dreams she sees dead people. This time, however, she sees herself as a woman who is trapped in a mental institution in 1959. Vintage cars, medical equipment and period hair and clothing on the surrounding characters all attest to the date. But the doctors and orderlies insist on calling her Beverly.
Eventually, Allison learns that Beverly was real, that the woman was in a mental institution – it looked just as she dreamed it! – and that she was subjected to electroshock therapy by the doctor Allison saw in her dreams. As seen on films made at the time, Beverly told the doctor that she was Allison DuBois, a woman living in 2005. Whoa.
Admittedly, there’s more than the usual amount of hocus-pocus on this episode. If you’re skeptical, as I am, it may all seem too woo-woo. But the show is entertaining and certainly less harmful than those sales pitches from the crossing-over crowd.
All “Medium” is selling is a diversion.
“Close to Home” is selling insecurity: You think your affluent suburban community is safe?
A procedural crime drama from the Jerry Bruckheimer factory, “Close to Home” premieres on CBS Tuesday (at 9 p.m. on KCNC-Channel 4). The fright here is our terror about what lurks beneath the surface of the seemingly placid suburbs – or on a less-conscious level perhaps, the fear is domestic terrorism. This is intentionally tough to watch. Locking someone in chains in the basement on “Desperate Housewives” is bizarre, but the grim abuse that goes on in a basement on “Close to Home” is never played for laughs.
Jennifer Finnigan is instantly likable as Indianapolis prosecutor Annabeth Chase, crusading for justice against those who commit unspeakable domestic crimes. But the vulnerable woman-in-jeopardy theme may get old. Opposite “Law & Order: Special Victims Unit,” Finnigan has a tough caseload. Yes, the audience has demonstrated affection for pulling back the curtain on suburban motherhood. That doesn’t mean suburban moms will flock to a deadly serious hour about the most violent aspects of domestic crime.
TV critic Joanne Ostrow can be reached at 303-820-1830 or jostrow@denverpost.com.
