Filled with indistinct and bland characters, The Paper's lifeless ensemble has less chemistry than Alka-Seltzer. Worst of all, there's not a solitary even mildly amusing moment in any of the three episodes I managed to force myself to sit through. The Paper should be classified as a Hague crime because it killed comedy.

The first three episodes of The Paper are among the most joyless and insipid hour-and-a-half of television ever produced. Domhnall Gleeson, who is best known for the disastrous Star Wars sequels and as Ron Weasley's older brother, leads The Paper's colorless ensemble. A talented actor who seems unable to find his place in Hollywood, whether the weakness is directorial, the milktoast script, or his own comedic deficiencies (probably all of the above), Gleeson is completely miscast as the unqualified yet earnest editor-in-chief of the failing newspaper.

However, Gleeson isn't the only one guilty of enervating the life force of those unfortunate enough to watch this blobular miasma. The rest of the cast is equally a complete zero. The anti-charisma, their fungible and homogenously idiotic characters, are as painful to watch bumbling through the script's first-year improv-class dialogue as they are fumbling the dog piss (not hypobole) physical "comedy."

After the series is inevitably canceled, each of The Paper's unfortunate performers should petition to have all evidence of their participation clean-slated, like a Nolan Catwoman.

The Paper should be rolled up and smoked until only a pile of lifeless ash remains, even if that is only a lateral move.