Dirt is going to be more fun

Sometimes, you just shouldn't take yourself so seriously.

Sadly, though, the folks behind Dirt, an F/X-produced show that begins airing tonight on Bravo, didn't get that memo.

Starring Courteney Cox as magazine editor Lucy Spiller, Dirt is set in the world of celebrity-crazed tabloid magazines.

Ambitious, of course, Spiller will do anything to keep Dirt and sister magazine Now relevant and profitable. She even publishes pictures of dead people. Well, dead famous people, of course.

But this isn't to say that she is without integrity. No sir. During one of the many speeches -- yes, there are many -- she gives staff a refresher course in how to get a story.

"There is actual reporting in what we do," she says, after a staffer suggests they use third-hand info. "Our readers want to know people actually screw. That they actually sleep with hookers. That they lie. No, a friend of a friend is gossip and gossip is what lands us in court."

Oh really, no gossip?

That's funny, considering at one point during the pilot Spiller takes the word of a washed-up actor that a young, hot, drugged-out starlet is pregnant.

There are no doctor's-office photos. No baby bump. Not even signs of late-night trips to Fatburger for a Kingburger with extra-extra pickles. Just one person saying something about another person.

As far as women go, Spiller is Cruella de Ville, but without the warmth. She is driven, ruthless, cold and -- surprise, surprise -- unable to have a normal personal relationship, never mind a simple booty call. The latter she ends with high-voltage flair as she Tasers a guy she thinks is using her for her connections. I guess the post-coital devouring of the mate is so yesterday.

Her only confidant seems to be a determined and demented paparazzo by the name of Don Konkey (Ian Hart). A functioning schizophrenic -- when he is on his meds -- Konkey stops at nothing to get the photo.

It's Konkey's dogged determination, devilish mental breakdowns and noir-like lifestyle that make him the more interesting member of the cast.

But, unfortunately, he's not interesting enough to get us past the other textbook performances of self-involved, publicity-craving celebs and ambitious journalists.

It's too bad, really, that Dirt disappoints, as the idea of a discussion, albeit fictional, about the media's obsession -- or is it the public's? I can never figure that out -- with celebrity is a fitting one. After all, who hasn't weighed in with some opinion or another on the fate of poor, screwed- up Britney or looney La Lohan?

But sadly, here the dialogue of the Matthew Carnahan-created show, which lists Cox and her husband David Arquette as executive producers, is humourless, preachy and, oddly, for the most part lacking in any real insight.

Add to that the fact that Cox is as stiff as a paparazzo's telephoto lens and you've got a show that has missed the joke and is frankly as dull as, well, dirt.