For Cox, the role of Lucy Spiller represents a stark departure from the flawed but generally good-natured Monica. Spiller runs roughshod over a newsroom bent on scooping the competition at any price—financial or moral. Derivative of National Enquirer, her rag, Drrt, is described by Spiller as "a chance to shape the culture." So is this show.

Dirt on the Surface
If you guessed that a drama following tabloid journalists following hard-partying celebrities would feature a certain amount of coarse language, you would be right. Almost every personality we encounter is foul-mouthed or otherwise brazen. Dirt's characters drop the s-word, collectively, about every five minutes and resort to many other vulgarities (including "b--ch" and "a--hole"), usually in the spirit of hot-tempered name-calling. One Hollywood type closes out a scene with an obscene gesture. Lucy is especially quick to misuse the Lord's name. Most characters offer up crude sexual references.

The barrage of sex talk is consistent, unfortunately, with characters whose sexual behavior can only be described as perverse. Dirt's pilot episode opens with a black-tie affair where we see a woman standing topless in a swimming pool, her back to the camera but her front in plain view of the party guests. This shot establishes the show's view of sexuality as a boundary-free, selfish endeavor long on acrobatics and short on commitment. Lucy herself is open to the occasional partner, but favors a mechanical gadget she keeps in her nightstand. Others often indulge in lap dances in strip joints, steamy one-nighters, gay (oral) sex poolside and "hooker parades." Pasties and sly camera angles are all that "protect" viewers from the most graphic details.

While some of these trysts serve to advance the plot (as if that makes them OK), most offer smut for smut's sake. Case in point: a hot tub sex scene featuring sexual movements, ecstatic moaning, just-shy-of-complete nudity, implied sodomy and former L.A. Laker Rick Fox.

Many characters supplement their hard living with substance abuse. Dirt details late-night calls to drug dealers, an ecstasy party in full swing and a fatal cocaine overdose. Drrt reporters' drug of choice, meanwhile, is blackmail—with a chaser of deception.

Ugliness Underneath
To try to cut through the show's vast objectionable content in the interest of story is to miss the whole point of Dirt. Indeed, the series's essence can be better characterized by its stylized raunchiness than by its narrative. Plot developments, modeled mostly on real-life celebrity gossip, are clichéd and unlikely to surprise you. And those hoping for a serious study of 1) the ethical dilemmas facing today's tabloids or 2) America's fascination with celebrity shouldn't be watching cable TV to begin with.

The closest thing the show has to a conscience is a dead woman who materializes in a self-described schizophrenic photographer's hallucinations. And even there the messages are confused. Before she kills herself, this woman decides against an abortion because she is "so totally Catholic."

Just Gimme Some Truth
Shock for shock, Dirt comes off just as plastic as FX sibling and cosmetic-surgery drama Nip/Tuck, leaving few questions about the Rupert Murdoch-owned channel's programming blueprint. In fact, watching Drrt's reporters sitting around the newsroom hashing out sleazy celebrity stories, I couldn't help but picture Dirt's scriptwriters sitting around brainstorming the outlandish muck that would serve future episodes. Is this an unfortunate example of art imitating life, or vice versa?

In the opening theme a singer offers, "The truth will set you free," as if announcing that what follows will somehow be valuable, even enriching. One minute of viewing, however, is enough to reveal how utterly the show's creators have missed the point of John's New Testament passage.

Want the "true" recipe for Dirt? Spoon in equal amounts of Nip/Tuck and The Shield. Add two shoe-fulls of The Devil Wears Prada. Smother with a sludgy layer of HBO's Entourage and display on a platter of Friends. Serves nobody.