…the new David Duchovny vehicle that follows "Weeds" tonight.
Its title lifted from the Red Hot Chili Peppers album of the same name, "Californication" follows the life and times of one Hank Moody (Duchovny), a cranky novelist who came to L.A. when his book was turned into a movie. Things did not go as planned for Moody. The movie was cheesy (although apparently a hit); Karen (Natascha McElhone), his girlfriend/mother of his child, has left him, and now, alas, he cannot seem to write.
Reaching for something vaguely Bukowski-esque, writer Tom Kapinos sends his hero into an alcoholic haze of self-recrimination and lots of casual sex, because this is apparently what happens to good writers sucked into the spiritual void that is Los Angeles. Drugs are done, breasts are bared, explicit references to sex organs and their grooming are made (even by the 13-year-old daughter), and you can practically hear everyone involved singing to themselves, "We love ca-ble, we love ca-ble."
None of which would be objectionable if it had meaning or reason. But it doesn’t. The only cliche more tired than Los Angeles as a spiritual void is the tortured writer.