Forgive shows their pilots

The series premiere of Aaron Sorkin's Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, broadcast on NBC last night, suffers from that affliction endemic to pilots: their multi-purpose agendas -- introducing a host of new characters, teeing up the series itself, giving the audience a flavor of what subsequent episodes will be like and maybe even resolving a simple plotline or two -- are so steep that they can't be wrangled into a natural, compelling narrative. (This is one of the reasons that I, hoping the series will settle into some sort of stride, generally give a new show with a sufficiently appealing premise, creative pedigree, cast or some combination thereof no fewer than three episodes in which to hook me for a more extended commitment.)
I never watched Sorkin's other show, The West Wing, which also aired on NBC, in much more fortunate days for the network, before or after the highly publicized termination of his involvement. It is unfair to judge that now-cancelled show on the basis of a couple moments in isolation (as opposed to three episodes, for instance), but on the rare occasions I decided to check it out, I would catch it in the middle of some character's speechifying or a snatch of too-cute-by-half banter, usually exchanged while rushing through some corridor of power. Such dialogue, in either case, struck me as smug or preachy, and I would quickly turn the channel. But again, I never gave the show a chance. (Repeatedly robbing my beloved 24 of its Dramatic Series Emmy had nothing to do with it.)
I will afford Studio 60 the chance I never gave The West Wing, but it better pick up considerably. In the interests of fairness and full disclosure, I had previously seen an extended trailer for this pilot, a sampling that, in retrospect, was a highlight reel that had culled the key developments of the premiere. Moreover, I had had several margaritas before watching the episode, but drinking, if anything, relaxes my critical faculties (such as they are), making these shows better. Last night's premiere involved the return of a creative team, played by the exceptionally bland duo of Bradley Whitford and Matthew Perry, to the helm of a sketch comedy show (not Saturday Night Live, we're supposed to believe) from which they had been fired by the network (not NBC, we're supposed to believe) a few years back. This rehiring occurs in the wake of the former producer's (Judd Hirsch) Peter Finch-like on-camera meltdown, in which he tore into NBC, er, NBS and its pathetic programming slate. Although its decision to broadcast such a thinly veiled critique of itself may be thrilling evidence of the current depths of the real NBC's ratings-induced self-hatred, such a Network rehash is no less derivative when the characters themselves repeatedly acknowledge it (e.g., Amanda Peet, as a ballsy programming exec, on the ensuing media coverage: "At least they’ve heard of Paddy Chayefsky, and that’s a step in the right direction.") To retain my interest, the show must demonstrate virtues beyond its by-smarties-for-smarties self-congratulation and tell an involving, dramatic story. As it is, my favorite moment of the hour came during a commercial break, as part of the teaser for the local 11 o'clock news: "I'm Colleen Williams. He struck again today -- Is the Orange County flasher accelerating?" Sex. Crime. Fearmongering. MOMENTUM. Now that's good drama.

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* Actually, vomitoria, as commonly understood, did not exist.