{alltv} Laura Linney's the best thing about 'The Big C'

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With so many fine actors turning to TV, it's inevitable a few of them would find their way into clunkers.

What a pity it had to be Laura Linney, a wonderful performer who has gone from being the best reason to watch HBO's flawed John Adamsto being the only good reason to watch Showtime's even more flawed The Big C. Indeed, when you see how good she is in this forced and faulty comedy — how naturally she exudes warmth and easily she reveals depth — you can't help wishing she were in a show that came close to matching her efforts and effect.

Created by actor Darlene Hunt and run by Sex and the City's Jenny Bicks, Big C casts Linney as Cathy, a repressed Minneapolis schoolteacher whose life is shaken by a terminal diagnosis: stage 4 melanoma skin cancer. (Hence, the title.) Having been told she's dying, she decides, finally, to live — which in the pilot involves replacing her lump of a man-child husband (Oliver Platt) with a backyard pool.

Because Cathy refuses to tell anyone she has cancer, her sudden change in attitude shocks everyone around her. That milling crowd includes her toxic-teen son (Gabriel Basso); her bitter next-door neighbor (Phyllis Somerville); her homeless brother (John Benjamin Hickey); and the overweight student she takes on as a reclamation project (Gabourey Sidibe).

Cathy's rejection of treatment and lack of interest in support groups is sure to raise a howl from some in the cancer community. But the issue for the show isn't whether most cancer patients behave in this way or whether it's a wise way to behave; drama can't survive if limited to functioning as a public service announcement. The issue is whether it's possible to believe this woman and these people would interact in this manner — and the problem is, the answer too often is "no."

The Big C goes wrong in so many ways and so many scenes that it's hard to keep track. Cathy's son can't just play practical jokes on her; he has to pretend to cut off his finger or, even worse, throw her to the floor in a fake home invasion. Her brother can't just be homeless, he has to be "colorfully" homeless — cursing passersby and dropping trou in public. Her husband can't just be an overgrown boy; he has to be the type of boy who refers to onions as "stinky poo-poo." If, indeed, it's even possible to imagine such a person.

Throw in a bit of nudity and a few masturbation and erection jokes and you have a show filled with annoying characters stumbling their way through ridiculously exaggerated situations. Platt is a particular deal-breaker, but beyond Somerville — and the basset that plays her dog — no one is offering Linney much help.

Yet there's the rub: Even without help, Linney is so good, she single-handedly makes The Big C worth saving. (Her lecture on the link between fat and jolly is reason enough to watch tonight's premiere.) Underneath all the excess and that premium-cable drive to be more-clever-and-shocking-than-thou, there is a core of truth in the story of a mother desperate to reconnect with — and actually raise — her son before she dies. Give us that show, and we might be willing to accept the wacky-but-wise neighbor and the tough fat girl with the soft heart.

You brought a great actor to TV, Big C. Use her or lose her.

The Big C
Showtime, Monday, 10:30 ET/PT
* * (out of four)