Scene one, episode one… self-loathing novelist Hank Moody (David Duchovny) seeks redemption in a church. He asks a nun if religion might help with his writer’s block, even though it seems like phoney-spiritual baloney? Uh-hu, she nods… “How about a blow-job?” Over 12 crisp, flab-free, half-hour episodes, Duchovny plays Moody like Mulder’s dark half; all bed-soiled bravado and man-child twinkle. Lurching from comedy-expletives (“Holy fucknuts!”) to caustic takedowns (“Nobody likes you, you’re ugly and your mother dresses you funny”), he’s Larry David à la Shane Black... with weaknesses for threesomes, sub-dom and – meshing cutely with his low self-esteem – women who punch when they come. It’s flawed, though. His relationship with his teenage daughter is hokey and the last episode doesn’t so much jump the shark as soar over it in a big dayglo jetpack, laughing.