Take a mid-list British actor — not a character actor exactly, but not traditional leading-man material either. Slap him with a permanently sour expression and a four-day beard, then cast him in a Fox TV pilot: a procedural drama, with a new mystery to investigate each week. Make him a sort of monstrous genius — possessed of an almost preternatural insight, but so brusque and tactless that he alienates both clients and colleagues, even as he makes himself indispensible to them. Surround him with a young, attractive entourage of protégés, and cloak his past in mystery and hints of tragedy — a backstory, to be teased out in time. And premiere the whole thing in the plum timeslot after the Super Bowl, and wait for the Neilsens to pour in.
But enough about Lie to Me. Let’s talk about House.
House is, of course, a monster hit, and because imitation is not only the sincerest form of flattery but also (per Hollywood) the cheapest form of creativity, it’s hardly surprising that some enterprising network would reassemble some of its elements — none of them, individually, original to House — in hopes that lightning would strike twice, the better to be captured in a bottle, mixaphorically speaking. What is surprising is how thoroughly and blatantly Lie to Me (currently wrapping up its truncated first season, Wednesday nights on Fox) apes the particulars and structure of its model, right down to its musical score, with near-subliminal percussion and keyboards subtly upping the tension even in quiet scenes. Even Tim Roth’s stumpy, splay-toed walk seems mandated by House’s gimpy stagger. Misanthropic antihero must have distinctive gait; new rule. (The camera on Lie to Me continually emphasizes Roth’s compactness, as well, making him — visually, at least — a notional Jeff to Hugh Laurie’s Mutt.)
On Lie to Me (a terrible title; I could come up with a half-dozen better off the top of my head*, and I imagine you could, too), Roth — probably still best known for his work in Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction — plays a consulting behavioral scientist who is, in essence, a human lie detector. Dr. Cal Lie-to-Me — sorry, Lightman — has trained himself to read and analyze “microexpressions,” tiny involuntary changes in features and posture that can betray the real attitudes of even a skilled liar. Lightman’s curse is that, having become exquisitely aware of deception in all its forms, he finds himself surrounded by it. The average person, we learn, lies three times in ten minutes of conversation. The thousand white lies, the insincerities and tactful evasions that carry us through an average day — Lightman sees them all, and it makes him crazy. (more…)
