I love the television procedural. It’s a stalwart of the medium, a type of storytelling that understands TV’s inherent episodic structure and fills it keenly. It’s comfort food of the sturdiest order. When a good chef prepares it, as they did in shows like “Homicide: Life on the Street,” “Law & Order,” “The X-Files” and “Poker Face,” it’s good for the gut, head and heart. And as our examples of “prestige television” lean more into ultra-serialization and movie-sized stories stretched into limited series, I yearn for the procedural’s self-contained taste.
I came into “Found” ready to love. But you can’t serve me burnt leftovers and expect me to compliment the chef.
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