Four episodes in and I've already had to watch Courteney Cox using a vibrator twice. She plays lonely magazine editor Lucy Spiller, who runs a sort of "People" meets "National Enquirer" magazine called "DirtNow", which was actually two magazines at the season's beginning, one called "Dirt" and one called "Now", one respectable and one not.

Given its subject-matter, "Dirt" is your basic, predictable tale of Hollywood soullessness. Given that it's produced by Cox and husband David Arquette, it's also like watching a mother eat its young. "Dirt" tries desperately to be something of a poor man's "Entourage", taking an inside look at Hollywood. Unfortunately, there's no real affection for any of the characters and the dirt isn't really all that interesting. There is drug use, sex, murder - the usual. I'm sure upcoming episodes feature some actress or singer getting their twat shot while stepping out of a limo. Whatever. Am I supposed to care?

I think on the surface, the idea is sound. It's a show about all the crap that happens in Hollywood from the perspective of the "Us Weekly" staff. The thing is, those stories are only interesting when real celebrities are involved (and even then, for those with IQ's over 100, not so much). Seeing and/or hearing that "Julia Malloy (Laura Allen) goes on drug binge" has little or no interest for anyone because, well, who the hell cares about some fictional character unless we know specifically who she represents? Seeing and/or hearing something like "George Clooney sucks Brad Pitt's cock on Paramount backlot" is a lot more titillating. That's the basic difference between this show and "Entourage". Use real names or real actors in "Entourage" and everyone has a good laugh. Use them here and somebody gets sued.

Anyway, this show also tries to push that "Nip/Tuck", "FX" shock envelope with more male ass than anyone would ever want, except for maybe Larry Craig. It also features a photographer, Don Konkey (Ian Hart), who is a functioning schizophrenic and a miscalculated choice for a main character. Is that how schizophrenia works - victims imagining themselves having sex with pregnant, dead starlets?

I'll give it this, "Dirt" is properly titled. It culls the underbelly of Hollywood narrative, that's for sure, but by not naming names, it takes the easy way out.