That's right, I went to the I-am-female-hear-me-salivate place. I'm human. These things happen every once in a while. The only way I could be more on board with a show that I know in my gut is going to fail expectations is if it was starring David Duchovny circa 1997 (his addiction obviously led to too much face-melting sex, cause it melted right off his once glorious jawline around 2004). But back to the actual meat of the show. Wait . . . nope, sorry, I need just a another moment to stare at Dylan. Ok. Ok. I'm done. For now.
Watching the preview was such a mixed reaction. One part of me was thrilled to see Toni doing TV, and my little political-thriller-loving heart adored the premise. But the unavoidable second thought after squeals of glee was: so . . . how is this a series? Sure, this would have been absolutely perfect as a season of 24. It would be a killer BBC miniseries, full of intrigue and twists and tension. But the fact that it's going to be on CBS actually kills any chance of real drama. Why? Because CBS's track record of giving their shows a run of a decade or more doesn't lend itself to this type of story at all.
It's called Hostages, for cryin' out loud. This initial premise, even with as many double-backs, triple-crosses, and fleshed out back stories, is going to run out within sixteen episodes. I just don't see how they can simultaneously keep my attention and give me a reasonable structure for the narrative.
So, while they made it pretty and they cast even prettier people for us to feel nice and conflicted about (although Toni really needs to eat a cheeseburger), I don't know how this approach got pitched and accepted as a serial with no firm end date.