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Profiler tries hard to create a similar aura of ceaseless tension, but it doesn't pull it off. The show is too pat and tidy to make you check under the sofa during the commercial breaks. Sam Waters, a sort of Jenny McCarthy with a doctorate, is a forensic psychologist who went into hiding after one of her targets, a serial killer named Jack-of-all-trades, murdered her husband. For the past few years she has lived in the Georgia woods with her little girl Chloe (Caitlin Wachs) and an arty roommate, Angel Brown (Erica Gimpel), who says things like, "I wish I could find a man as interested in my sculpture as he was in my legs.'' Bent on keeping her daughter out of harm's way, Sam manages to steer clear of chalk outlines until a former colleague at the fbi persuades her to help track a killer who has been murdering Atlanta beauties and placing black tape over their sexual parts.
Now that Sam is--however reluctantly--back in business, Jack resurfaces. Each episode has the faceless stalker sending her creepy reminders of his interest. You are supposed to be scared for mother and daughter--like Millennium, Profiler switches between images of evil and serenity--but Sam flips her voluminous blond hair back and forth with such perky assurance that you know she will elude the nut by the time the credits roll.
Moreover, when Sam declares that all she really wants in life is a safe place for Chloe to play, the FBI hunkers her down in her very own empowerment zone: a secret apartment in a firehouse in Atlanta that the agency has thoughtfully decorated with an indoor playground, some tasteful French country-pine furniture, steel doors and an entry system that requires a fingerprint reading for admission. When Sam sees the apartment for the first time, a not very ominous Rickie Lee Jones song fills the room. You can make the world a safer place for your kids--all you need is a good CD collection and a crackerjack security system.