For the sake of honesty, I was unable to reach the end of the five screeners that were made available before the entire season of Gypsy was released (it's on the Netflix platform since June 30).

This drama, created by Lisa Rubin, has its main actors, movie star Naomi Watts and a terribly wasted Billy Crudup as its only appeal, even if that doesn't work as a redeeming characteristic. Sam Taylor-Johnson (Fifty Shades of Grey) directs the first two episodes, the first of which is quite interesting as Taylor-Johnson is able to convey a lot by the way she places the camera and frames people and things. The first episode may be the very best one of the batch I saw, due to the opening scene, which features a reflection of Watts that keeps disappearing, conveying the barely-holding-on aspects of her character. It's also the best episode because it lacks the incongruous although fittingly-named opening theme, Stevie Nicks' 'Gypsy', in a piano/stripped down version that seems at odds with the visual and narrative trappings of the story it's trying to tell.

And the story being told probably belongs in 2007, as Todd VanDerWerff writes. Jean Holloway (Naomi Watts) is a therapist who begins to, very unprofessionally, stalk the people that are the objects of her patients' obsessions, developing a weird double life. She is presented to us less as someone dangerously overstepping professional and personal boundaries, and more as Don Draper-esque, struggling to keep up a double life with the use of a passcode-protected iPhone.

This is a show that probably encapsulates everything that's wrong with the Netflix model: from the green-lighting of anything with a even-if-remote niche appeal (all those people that are going for the "sexy thriller" category mentioned above), to the bloated narrative, which drags on for the 10 hours the show got obviously and thinly stretched to.

The would-be psychological guessing game starts with Jean creating a "double life" as journalist Diane Hart in order to get close to an ex-girlfriend of one of her patients, Sidney, and finding herself irresistibly drawn to the girl. For 5 episodes, these two characters talk about their attraction instead of acting on it because the narrative needs this "tension" or "teasing" to last until the series' midpoint, in the most contrived fashion possible, rendering the whole courtship extremely tedious instead of exciting and titillating.

In her life as Jean, she has a well-to-do husband, Michael (Billy Crudup), and a 9-year-old daughter that seems to have some sort of gender-identity confusion which her apparently dotting (and therapist) mother appears to simply want to ignore, whilst sabotaging her perfectly seeming marriage. The whole of her Connecticut life emerges more like a display of a drool-inducing lifestyle than anything resembling something lived-in and real - which, granted, could be the entire point, but neither the narrative nor the filmmaking possesses the necessary gumption to make that point.

As Jean/Diane begin to collide further and further, there really isn't a sense of danger or suspense, but cringeworthy embarrassment of all involved. The problem is beyond the narrative bloat and sits squarely not on the actors but on the thinly-sketched characters that seldom deliver anything that doesn't feel sticky with clichés. The tempting setup, on paper, ends up not delivering on its prestige-paint promise and the entire first season functions more like a pilot episode than as a whole journey. If ever a television show embodied coitus interruptus, this is it.