DRAMA
I'm a sucker for lavish costumes, British accents and people eating roast pig by the fire. And yet this series, returning for its second season, doesn't quite work for me—and that's despite the presence of Jonathan Rhys Meyers, he of the royally divine bedroom eyes, who smolders as a young King Henry VIII. I think it's all the talk of bishops, taxes and succession, which tends to have the drowsing effect of a mug of mead. There's still a scintillating dose of the series' steamy sex scenes, but the stiff dialogue can be a buzzkill.
