The first streaming service series ever broadcast in the United States was Netflix’s dark, no-holds-barred political drama “House of Cards.” Its arrival seeded the idea that these new platforms could offer stories and execution that rivalled that of cable stalwarts like HBO and Showtime. Prime Video had an uneven start, with series like “Bosch” and “Alpha House,” but won accolades and acclaim for “One Mississippi” and “Transparent.” For a time, the collective output of Netflix, Hulu, and Amazon did provide television that seemed beyond the scope and interests of broadcast television.
It gives me no pleasure to report that the confirmed death rattle of that era has been recorded, in the form of the astonishingly generic “Countdown,” created and written by Derek Haas, now airing on Prime Video. Haas is best known for his Windy City-centric NBC franchises, including Chicagos “Med,” “Justice,” “P.D.,” and “Fire.” In this new, Los Angeles-based effort, Haas has created something so dull that it took two tall glasses of strong, undiluted cold brew to get through a series with no discernible story, character development, or sense of purpose. Haas has received creator/story/written by credit on over 800 episodes of broadcast television, so it’s difficult to say which is worse: that he, after all this time, can’t write dialogue or characters worth a damn, or this is the best he can come up with.
Get your bingo cards ready, we’re entering police procedural stereotype land: “Countdown” is about policing, but not everyone is a cop. Some are DEA agents, some are FBI agents, and everyone is a badass. Mark Meachum (Jensen Ackles) is a cocky cowboy, unafraid of going undercover in state prison, but dodges treatment for his glioblastoma, discovered nine months prior. Not to worry, though, his cancer isn’t damaging his luscious hair, nor is he unable to rev and crash his SUV during car chases. DEA agent Amber Oliveras (Jessica Camacho) is introduced in a montage where she beats up some bad guys holding her hostage, all while a (terrible) heavy rock song blares in the background: “Girls can’t play guitar/it’s biologically impossible.”
Eager, inexperienced Evan Shepherd (Violett Beane) is the desk jockey—sorry, cybercrime expert—from Quantico who receives exactly ten total minutes of character development in 10 hours of TV. But she fares better than Luke Finau (Uli Latukefu) and Keyonte Bell (Elliot Knight); the former’s backstory is nonexistent, but he’s got a beautiful wife and two adorable children, while the latter vaguely mumbles about his father’s legacy. All five are recruited by Nathan Blythe (Eric Dane, saddled with absolutely nothing to do) into a federal task force that must track down the cartel members who murdered a border and customs agent.
Said cartel members do a lot of menacing and glowering but little else; the other bad guys, with preposterously convoluted and nefarious plans for revenge against the United States, are all Belarusian, who never miss a chance to stride away calmly after setting fire to/blowing up a car, apartment, or building. No one gets anywhere near the chief bad guy until the season is almost over, so for 8+ hours, the cast is merely chasing one suspect to the next. In case this doesn’t sound boring enough, the story shifts back and forth between present-day investigators and the past sins of the villain, which only amplifies the confusing and aimless nature of the narrative.
Since the writing is execrable—one set-piece is stolen directly from the first season of “Slow Horses” and the sterling dialogue includes gems such as, “I’m his life preserver, and I let him drown”—what are the actors to do? Everyone’s perfectly coiffed hair dances around their faces as they recite inert dialogue that is always structured the same way: first, two characters talk business, about a lead, method of inquiry, or suspect, and then hesitantly reveal a personal anecdote, to indicate that these cops are humans, after all. If I’d had any energy left, I’d have gouged my eyes out.
As for the music, imagine the worst dive bar you’ve ever been to, or think of those DIY vintage car repair videos on YouTube—that’s where “Countdown” pulls its music cues from. Loud, raucous, but utterly empty rock and metal needle drops somehow amplify the hollow nature of the writing and direction. The production design doesn’t exist; much of the series is shot outdoors in different LA neighborhoods, and when it does go inside, there is almost no set decoration to speak of; the task force HQ could be an accountant’s office, or even the staff rooms at a Kumon center. Viewers who are familiar with “NCIS” or “CSI” will quickly realize there’s not a single beat here, visually or musically, that any of us haven’t seen before. (The average Boomer will be unable to distinguish between this and the broadcast series they nod off to each evening.) Sometimes that’s fine if it’s done well. But “Countdown” is lazier, but also more bloated, than the slow-low zombies from “28 Years Later.”
None of Haas’s creative decisions make sense to me. If Prime Video were cutting me a check to make a TV show, I’d run myself into the ground to ensure it was the best it could possibly be, and certainly none of my effort would be spent creating TV that felt fresh in 2002. I often liken TV series to entrees on a restaurant menu. My ideal plate of food/TV series is delicious, life-changing, something that challenges my perceptions and causes me to look at the world differently. I know this won’t always be the case, so at a minimum, I expect flavor, flair, and some nourishment. “Countdown” makes Soylent Green look like a Michelin-starred feast.
Entire series screened for review.
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