Something like Entourage without the manic, kick-start fury of Ari Gold, Sons focuses on three privileged Hollywood dudes trying to make a go of it in the entertainment industry. We have actor-producer Randy Spelling, son of the legendary Aaron Spelling (whose long life is ebbing to a close in the opening episodes); rocker Rod Stewart's son Sean, a sometime model and also a musician (and an admitted substance abuser in recovery); and David Weintraub, their friend since boyhood and now their manager. (His father, if you want to know, was a dentist.) The camera tends to pick out Stewart, the most volatile presence in the gorgeous, glass-fronted house the guys share: He has a slacker's sunniness that doesn't disguise a deeper cloud of irritability. And he has his father's distinctive fox nose. You have to wonder if Sons would have been better, sharper if he were the sole scion under consideration. The show feels sort of dazed as the boys party, take calls and meetings and, in a sense, puzzle out when life will finally begin. This isn't necessarily a bad existence, by any means, but it's limbo.