Intent on breaking the mold of primetime's cookie-cutter comedies, ABC's "The Job" (Wednesdays, 9:30-10 p.m. ET, beginning this Wednesday) has no laugh track and shoots with a single camera that bobs and weaves like a middleweight boxer. But just as it eschews the standard sitcom formula, the series backs right into another clichéd TV format that does its promising cast a disservice.
   Picture "NYPD Blue" as a comedy; that's about as apt a description of "Job" as you can get. A motley band of  detectives trade bon mots at their precinct desks, in unmarked squad cars and even while they chase perps on the run.
   "Job" also sticks to cop-show conventions like jargon-heavy dialogue and lighting that would stay dusky even if the set were a lamp shop.
    Looking for laughs at the precinct isn't as original a premise as you might presume. Besides the prototype of "Barney Miller," there was the more recent "Battery Park," an NBC sitcom that failed miserably late last season, leaving a well-deserved blot on "Family Ties" and "Spin City" creator Gary David Goldberg's escutcheon. 
    By turning a precinct office into a sitcom living room, "Battery" died because it dared to bring cheer and light to a prolific genre that has conditioned viewers to expect gloom and doom. Anyone in need of a reminder of how unremittingly bleak "NYPD Blue's" countless imitators are should look no further than CBS's well-crafted new drama "Big Apple" (which will be renamed "Baked Apple" after a few more weeks of competing against NBC's "ER").
    Rather than fight the tone of cop shows like "Battery" did, "Job" smartly adopts their look and feel. Even its humor, at turns gallows and racial, feels right because police officers have never been known for political correctness (see Richard Belzer on "Homicide" reruns).
    But ABC may still be expecting too much from viewers by posting a comedy in dramatic territory.
   Then again, let's not underestimate the appeal of "Job" star Denis Leary, who plays the beleaguered detective Mike McNeil. Casting Leary as a combustible cop is a no-brainer; the comedian has developed a persona approximating a human geyser, exploding in a rush of steam and heat about every 10 minutes.
   In past performances like his memorable one-man comic monologue "No Cure for Cancer," Leary works himself into such a swivet that his bulging neck veins are visibly on the verge of triggering an aneurysm. And yet with every outburst, an ever-present cigarette never budges from his lower lip.
    The McNeil character is also a chain-smoking hothead, not to mention a philandering, pill-popping basket case. But instead of channeling his rage in the interrogation room like every other cop, he takes it out on his co-workers with constant verbal abuse. Leary gets some good lines off, but "Job" is really pushing it by presenting such an unsympathetic protagonist in primetime.     
   Scheduling the series right after the super-likable title character of "The Drew Carey Show" may make that decision all the more glaring.
    Another strange dynamic at play in "Job" is the steady stream of jokes about how poor McNeil's health is, yet Leary hasn't looked this fit and trim since his early days on MTV. When his partner Pip Phillips (Bill Nunn) points this discrepancy out, he suggests McNeil may be the devil. It's a weak joke to explain this thematic oddity, which seems all the more absurd considering there are several fellow cops whose ample waistbands suggest their beat is the counter at Dunkin' Donuts.
   The one exception is the only recognizable cast member besides Leary: the dazzling Diane Farr, formerly of MTV's "Loveline." Ordinarily casting a drop-dead gorgeous woman as a cop strikes a false note (remember Michael Michele on "Homicide"), but Farr is that rare blend of earthy charm and good looks. Hopefully she will go on to something better than "Job" in the future. 
    There's also something distractingly surreal about Nunn being cast as Leary's partner. The actor's best known role to date is Radio Raheem, catalyst for the violent outbreaks depicted in Spike Lee's "Do the Right Thing." On the other side of the law in "Job," Nunn provides an example of how a previous part can cast unwanted shadows on current work.
    It's worth saluting whenever a conservative network like ABC tries anything a little risky like "Job." And yet as hoary as the single-parent-with-kids sitcom is, one has to wonder whether Leary would have been better off with that kind of vehicle.
    His edgy stand-up act, much of which casts a jaundiced eye on raising his kids, might  have been a better basis for a show, sort of a crustier reworking of "Mr. Mom." Gutsy as its cop comedy is, ABC will probably end up regretting it.

-Andrew Wallenstein is the television critic for Media Life.

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