When money gets tight, as it certainly is in Hollywood at the moment, industries default to dependable formulas. Which is probably why we’ve seen so many new shows set in emergency rooms. Reuniting producers of ur-ER drama ER with one of its stars, Noah Wyle, Max’s The Pitt, whose debut season unfolds in real time over a single shift, is the best and buzziest of the bunch. NBC sitcom St. Denis Medical gives emergency medicine the mockumentary treatment. Apple has a dry, German-language take on the familiar setting in Berlin ER.
Each of these series puts its own spin on the format. The same cannot be said of Netflix’s foray into the ER, Pulse, which arrives not only a bit late but also bereft of personality. Set at a hectic Level 1 Trauma Center in Miami, the soapy drama opens as a hurricane is rolling into the city. A staff charged with riding out the storm is at a distinct disadvantage because its popular and charismatic chief resident, Dr. Xander Phillips (Colin Woodell), has just been suspended pending a sexual misconduct investigation. The show’s protagonist is his accuser, Dr. Danielle “Danny” Simms (Willa Fitzgerald)—who is shocked when her intimidating boss, Dr. Natalie Cruz (Justina Machado), names her interim chief. As gossip circulates and flashbacks reveal that Danny and Xander’s relationship is more complicated than it looks, Cruz’s teenage daughter is brought to the ER, critically injured. To add to the list of coincidences and contrivances, Danny’s sister Harper (Jessy Yates), is also an emergency medicine resident working through the storm.
It might’ve been possible to extract a fun procedural from this setup, but with Pulse, the execution is even shoddier than the premise. The patients are a blur of slit-open chest cavities. A big supporting cast—including the two strongest actors, Machado and Néstor Carbonell (Lost), who plays a high-ranking surgeon—is wasted in one-note roles. What’s foregrounded instead is a misguided #MeToo plot in which the details of Danny and Xander’s story are milked for cheap suspense, as Danny’s tritely troubled backstory is played for sympathy. Fitzgerald is an adequate lead, but it would take a remarkable performance to save material this weak.
The only real surprise in this predictable potboiler is its provenance, as a collaboration between first-time creator Zoe Robyn and Lost co-showrunner Carlton Cuse. Twenty years ago, Cuse was reinventing network TV. Now, he’s harvesting its stalest chestnuts for a risk-averse streaming era.
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