The scores of promos for “Whitney” during last Sunday night’s Falcons game promised something awful. It delivered.
Our heroine is rather less randy, and the central scene of the Whitney pilot concerns her effort to reheat a sex life that has reached a cryogenic temperature. To spice things up, Whitney gets herself a naughty nurse outfit, with the little white cap and frilly red knickers, and she surprises Alex with a frisky show of medical-care coquetry, pouting that he needs to check in for an appointment. Committing to the role-playing, she establishes that preliminaries will involve his filling out a lot of paperwork, and you steel yourself to witness a hardcore S&M scene involving health-insurance bureaucracy. But, no, Alex, racing to the boudoir with his trousers at his knees, slips and falls and sustains a concussion, and the sassy black nurse at the hospital denies Whitney’s attempts to follow her beau into the ER: “You either married or you not.” The studio audience receives a little lesson, if that’s what it is, about commitment. There is a peculiar flavor to this cheese. If you caught a snippet of Whitney unawares, you would be forgiven for assuming that it’s one of those shows-within-a-show that exists to caricature bad television.