Just Legal

Episode Report Card
Jeff Long: C- | 554 USERS: C+
YOU GRADE IT
Pilot
In a hurry? Read the recaplet for a nutshell description!

Californian, sun-drenched bikini girls on rollerblades; graffiti; surfers; palm trees; frolicking; and the New Radicals apparently reuniting to create the intro music, singing "It's a good life, so why ya'll trippin'." So begins our journey into Jerry Bruckheimer's newest wonderland, Just Legal. Fast-mo to sunset, and then we cut to a house that looks mildly adorable, yet has been dirtied up to read "crack den." Yeah, maybe as envisioned by Nate Berkus. Inside, an '80s-era boom box is playing hard rock amidst empty beer bottles, pizza boxes, and a serene punk couple canoodling on the sofa. Suddenly, a group of guys in the breakfast nook hear screeching and see bright headlights. It's a raid. I wonder if it's Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. Wait! You guys, why are you running away? Oh, it's the cops. In Bruckheimer fashion, the guys inside perform confusing West Side Story-style choreography as they climb out of the windows. They have escaped. Odd that a raid would consist of flashing your headlights and honking, instead of maybe going to the door. I hear, though, that Mr. Punk is really difficult when you try to take Sally Punk on a date. He's totally intimidating. Better just to wait for her to come outside. They apparently change their minds as, accompanied by slow motion and a menacing background score, the police break the door with a battering ram and find a tattooed and wife-beater-adorned man, dead on the floor. Beside the man is a lovely crying girl with perfect charcoal eye makeup and pink lip gloss; she's holding a knife. Though she was only looking for something to remove the price tag from here new pair of 7 Jeans, it looks like she's going to be accused of killing the guy.

Roll the title sequence. It sounds like one of the surfer songs from the soundtrack to Pulp Fiction. More carnival shots, Don Johnson and Jay Baruchel separately arguing in court, surfers, the Santa Monica courthouse, the title, and Jonathan Shapiro's name. Okay, so you know the whole thing about "you never have a second chance to make a first impression"? Jonathan and Co. totally have dandruff on their sweaters, as my first impression of their show has included multiple clichés and improbabilities. Such is life on The WB, I suppose, but would it have been so hard to find a crack den that wouldn't easily fit in on Wisteria Lane?

Just Legal

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