'In Treatment'

After reading the 50 kajillion articles about HBO's new series, "In Treatment," in the New York Times (seriously, do their editors ever talk to each other?) this weekend, I downloaded the whole set on iTunes. For free! Thanks, HBO. But why can't you say "fuck" on iTunes?

Anyway. The series follows a therapist, Paul, as he talks to his patients. There are five half-hour episodes — Monday through Thursday features Paul's patients, and Friday focuses on the doctor's own session with his psychiatrist.

It really is a train wreck of a show. So far there are no redeemable people, no one you would actually want to hang out with. Except for maybe Dr. Paul. There's Laura (Monday), a breathy twentysomething who is in love with Paul; Alex (Tuesday), a Navy pilot (a totally compelling Blair Underwood) who is dealing with his role in the Iraq war; Sophie, a gymnast.

My favorite is Jake and Amy. Amy went through five years of fertility treatments, but now that she's pregnant she wants an abortion. He's a schlubby ass. She's a rich liar in a white suit. She may be having an affair. He may be emotionally abusive. They are horrible, horrible people. I have no idea why I like watching them, other than that it makes me feel better about myself.

The little things are really what make this show. After Laura tells Paul she loves him, you can hear his unseen wife upstairs. She stares at him as he unconsciously twists his wedding ring on his finger. There are almost no opening credits, no big "Sopranos"-style theme song + montage. When I got done watching, I thought, wow. That was really well acted. And: Thank God I'm not a therapist.