The Mentalist Case

THE MENTALIST comes off as “The Minimalist” in its capacity for primetime entertainment. I thought it would be a show of clues and intrigue, kind of like CSI, which allows the viewer to piece together what’s going on. Instead, the telescoping is so strong in THE MENTALIST, you’d better take caution if you’re watching it in HD.

The concept is solid—the idea of the main character who is NOT a genius, but suffers a severe case of synesthesia, with a side helping of sleight-of-hand. He’s interested in magic with a good looking smile, and has mischief at his elbow. He’s also good at flushing a rabbit from a hat. But he’d do equally well in a competing time slot against BLUES CLUES. Honestly, CBS has him scheduled in the wrong venue. It’s like mistaking NATIONAL TREASURE for anything but a kids’ movie.

I am interested in THE MENTALIST because he gives credence to picking up every single detail of a day. He harvests the smallest items and pours them into the purpose of solving crime. He justifies paying attention to the marginalia of life. I do that! I thought they’d made a show about me! Turns out I don’t have to sue for rights.

Opening episode the pilot crashes. The most effective way to weaken a story is to throw in a therapist. MASH did that to end eleven seasons. Bob Newhart could get away with it because HE WAS the therapist. Deanna Troi was tolerated aboard STAR TREK’s ENTERPRISE because she kept abreast on the show. But even on TWO AND A HALF MEN, the exploits of Charlie Harper flat line in scenes with his therapist. (Not when Rose plays unlicensed psychologist, or when Berta gives him advice.) So I will give the Mentalist credit for lying to his therapist, and yet the scene still lingers beyond the point of interest. AFTER the session, we learn that the therapist murdered the Mentalist’s wife and child! This would have been interesting to know BEFORE he went in and talked to the guy. “You’re late; draw your weapon!” encapsulates the pacing of the entire episode, before it denouements into circumstances so sappy that even Horatio (“H”) of Miami’s CSI couldn’t upstage the melodrama.

I’m trying to like THE MENTALIST, I really am. I figure he is like me: turbo attention to detail, unarmed.