It's an oxymoron: a show about identity theft with no personality.

--  Matt Zoller Seitz, Salon

If I were forced, at gunpoint, to choose a favorite actress in all the world (what? It could happen), certainly under consideration for that signal honor would be Sarah Michelle Gellar. For seven years of awesome, she was Buffy, in a way that simply nobody else could have been (no, not even Kristy Swanson), and throughout her triumphs and her tears and her bouts of industrial-strength angst, there was no actress who greater epitomized all the awakening girl power of the decade while simultaneously being so very, well, hot -- heavy eyeliner and occasional hair disasters notwithstanding.

Ever since her spectacular, ass-kicking debut on the then-WB back in 1996, I have followed her career with interest, and with the exception of her three year stint on All My Children and the occasional early guest spot on some obscure drama or other, I have seen pretty much everything she has ever done. I watched those horrible Scooby Doo movies for her. An array of thrillers and horror flicks, the likes of which I would never have contemplated assaying otherwise. Plus the adaptation of the best-selling, soul-crushing novel Veronika Wants to Die, which had me questioning the point of all existence for at least a week afterwards.

Dude. I watched Harvard Man.

And now here we are. It is eight years since the conclusion of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (on TV, anyway; it’s still going strong in comic form), and Sarah Michelle Gellar has made a much-heralded return to the small screen with the CW’s newest show about Manhattan socialites and the idiot things they do: Ringer.

For those who have not yet seen the show -- which debuted to an unenthusiastic reception on Tuesday, September 13 -- let me give you a little taste. Actually, no, just to keep things fair and impartial, let me give the CW the chance to entice you into hopping aboard this thrilling rollercoaster of suspense and intrigue:

Sarah Michelle Gellar stars as a woman who, after witnessing a murder, goes on the run, hiding out by assuming the life of her wealthy identical twin sister – only to learn that her sister's seemingly idyllic life is just as complicated and dangerous as the one she's trying to leave behind.

Bridget is six months sober and starting to turn her life around when she is the sole witness to a professional hit. Despite the assurances of her FBI protector, Agent Victor Machado, Bridget knows her life is on the line. She flees to New York, telling no one, not even her Narcotics Anonymous sponsor, Malcolm.

In New York, Bridget reunites with her estranged twin, Siobhan. Wealthy, pampered and married to the strikingly handsome Andrew Martin, Siobhan lives what appears to be a fairy tale life – a life where no one knows that Bridget exists. The sisters seem to be mending their frayed relationship, until Siobhan disappears overboard during a boat trip, and Bridget makes the split decision to take on her sister's identity. She discovers shocking secrets, not only about her sister and her marriage, but also about Siobhan's best friend, Gemma, and Gemma's husband, Henry.

And when someone tries to kill Bridget in her sister's penthouse, she realizes she is no safer as Siobhan than she is as herself.

Um. Right. Okay, CW. Thanks for that. Apparently, in addition to airing adaptations of YA fiction -- L. J. Smith novels (The Vampire Diaries, The Secret Circle), Cecily van Ziegesar novels (Gossip Girl) -- you have also decided to go with basic mashup plots of the trashiest, most groan-inducing 80’s chicklit that was ever left rotting on the 10c table at the end of garage sale. I mean, Danielle Steel would have been ashamed of producing this nonsense. Barbara Taylor Bradford would have chided herself for its very implausibility. Hell, even Jackie Collins would have drawn the line at this one. And yet, here you are airing it. In prime time!

Is this a joke? A prank of some sort? CW… did you finally get a sense of humor? (Quick, tell the writers of your abysmal sitcoms. Maybe they’ll start trying to be actually, you know, funny.) Because why the hell else would you even contemplate greenlighting something so appallingly god-awful in its very concept? Let alone the execution!

Twins at sea...

Let me tell you a little about how the first episode went down. For a start, the split screen one-person-as-twins special effects were about on a par with that of the original Hayley Mills Parent Trap movie -- and that was pretty shoddy, even back in 1961. There were long, lingering shots of SMG and her costars (of which, more anon) staring meaningfully, if maddeningly, into the distance for no apparent reason and more insane plot-devicing than in an entire year of any given soap opera. We were given to understand that Bridget, SMG’s recovering alcoholic and apparently reformed stripper/hooker, is able to step into her twin sister’s hectic, pampered life with barely a stumble and that said twin sister, unhappy and entangled in a dizzying array of betrayals and vicious cruelties, has evolved into some kind of Machiavellian sociopath in the six years since last they met… and then, I think we’re supposed to, like, care.

I won’t even mention the scene on the boat, except to say I am pretty sure I could have created a better simulated marine environment with my basic copy of Microsoft Movie Maker, and I know nothing about such things. I’d just Google how to do it, though… which is something that those in charge of Ringer’s special effects apparently didn’t think to do.

Episode 2 of Ringer piled on more of the dreary, adding into the mix the beautiful Jaime Murray (Dexter, Warehouse 13) as yet another cliché -- the sexy man-eating business partner with the hots for our heroine’s man -- and amping up some not-at-all interesting serial-killer/Siobhan-is-evil subplots, while also piling on some mawkish sentimentality over Bridget’s bonding with Andrew’s wayward daughter, Juliet (Zoey Deutch, who’s actually pretty terrific, in a petulant, spoiled-little-rich-girl kind of way) and the fact that Shiobhan is -- are you ready for this? -- pregnant. (Oh, and Bridget killed a guy. An assassin who was after Siobhan. Then stuffed him in a trunk… from which he then disappeared! Oooh, the drama! The suspense! The… stupid.)

From Mr Fantastic to this?

Despite the script’s utter suckiosity, however, my major problem with Ringer so far is probably its massive waste of talent. Aside from Gellar, the cast features the dynamic Ioan Gruffud as “the strikingly handsome Andrew Martin”, with whom our heroine finds herself cohabiting. Well, sure. After playing Horatio Hornblower, Lancelot, Reed Richards and Tony Blair, why wouldn’t he want to play some random financial planning guy locked in a loveless marriage? On the fricking CW!

Elsewhere, the luxuriantly-lashed, suspiciously-eyelinered Nestor Carbonell plays “her FBI protector, Agent Victor Machado”, and despite his background in sexily-accented comedy (Suddenly Susan, The Tick, Kim Possible) and a real presence about him, he has so far come across as a tiresome straight man, and not a little creepy with it. It takes real directorial talent to turn someone of Carbonell’s caliber into a soulless, sexless automaton, but somehow the Ringer folks have managed to pull it off.

Then there is Kristoffer Poloha, late of Life, Unexpected, as “Gemma's husband, Henry” -- with whom Shiobhan was, of course, having an affair. He is simply terrible in this, and there are no two ways about it. Attractive as sin, of course, but that is neither here nor there. His character is such a cliché that it would have been hard for Poloha to bring anything but a kind of bored weariness to the role, anyway... and that is exactly the approach he seems to have taken.

And… er. Well, I almost hesitate to bring this up, but SMG is just not very good here, either. No, I take that back. It’s not that she’s not good. It’s just that’s she’s too Buffy.

She tilts her head or wrinkles her forehead, and it’s the Slayer, all grown up, that we see, not this hateful Bridget/Siobhan person. She voices some lame attempt at a quip (really, writers; take some tips from the newly-humorous CW and learn to make a joke) and it is said as though what drips from her pink lips is a witticism of Jossian brilliance. Instead of being Bridget/Siobhan (BridgShiv? Has anyone bothered to come up with a name for this charade of hers, or does no one care enough?), Gellar, while adorable and watchable and emotive as ever, is just kind of… there. For which we can hardly blame her, since she -- along with the rest of the cast -- has assuredly not been given a character that is even remotely worth inhabiting.

(Seriously Bridget would have to be the dumbest person on television at this moment -- and in that I am including Brittany from Glee. She is dumb, dumb, dumb. And I just have no patience for it.)

So, who are the geniuses behind this piece of utter imbecility? Well, they are series co-creators Eric Charmelo and Nicole Snyder, neither of whom have helmed their own show before now -- with good reason, it would seem. They previously teamed up on a couple of forgettable TV movie rom-coms (one even starred Jennifer Love Hewitt!), and a triumvirate of quite entertaining episodes of Supernatural’s sixth season, of which I would have to go with “Mannequin 3: The Reckoning” as my fave. I mean, the title alone… One thing I will note about their work with the Brothers Winchester is that not a one of his episodes had a remotely happy ending. In one, Dean discovers that his brother is no longer human and beats the living crap out of him (also, a hot pagan goddess chick eats a guy’s tongue). In another, a much-beloved former regular of the series is resurrected briefly, only to be returned to her grave by episode’s end. And in my aforementioned fave, not only does an innocent girl die, but a few of the douches whose cruelty caused the whole thing are actually saved. Which is, needless to say, not how our denim-clad paladins against the darkness usually roll.

Based on this, some would say limited success, however, these two somehow magically got themselves a trip to television’s Major League big time -- or, at least, as big time as the CW gets -- and one really has to wonder just how bad the slush pile of scripts is over at network HQ for this to even have gotten past the pitch stage.

When beautiful people make terrible decisions: The cast of Ringer. (Comforting, isn't it?)

Will I keep watching? Oh, probably. And as much for Gruffud, Carbonell and Poloha as for SMG, though my respect for all four of them has taken a very steep downward turn. I also find myself quite taken by the flame-haired Tara Summers (as “Siobhan's best friend, Gemma”) and the smoothly handsome Mike Colter (Bridget’s “Narcotics Anonymous sponsor, Malcolm”) here, and so may even tune in for them, as well. But mainly I’m going to keep watching this show to see just how bad it can possibly get. Because, oh, it’s going to get worse, I can feel it in my bones; and when it does, it is going to get even funnier. (Though probably not funny-ha-ha. Just funny-sad.)

And then, when this experiment in banal idiocy is mercifully put out of its misery by a network that finally gets over the joke (which, considering the show premiered to a mere 2.8 million viewers, and subsequently lost over a third of them by episode 2, could really be any day now), I will cheer with the rest of a much put-upon viewership, surely as puzzled as I by the fact that a) this show was ever made and b) that we ever wasted our time watching it.

As for SMG… well, it will be a long time before I can absolve her of her poor taste in projects, which thereby compelled me to witness this televisual debacle. And yet… she is still way up there on my list of favorite actresses, and it will take far more than a little stumble -- okay, a major pratfall -- like this to oust her from it. Seven years of Buffy goodness goes a long, long way with me, I guess.

I mean, if I could forgive her Harvard Man, I can forgive her anything. Right?

-- Rachel Hyland