TV: Cane (CBS, Tuesday 10/9)

Another of this year's throwbacks, this one a multigenerational family/business soap in the mold of Dallas.

Instead of oil, it's sugar and rum, and instead of the Ewings, it's the Duque family, headed by patriarch Pancho (Hector Elizondo). Pancho and Amalia (Rita Moreno) have three children, but Pancho's heart belongs to foster son Alex Vega (Jimmy Smits); when Pancho gives control of the family business to Alex, oldest son Frank (Nestor Carbonell) is furious. Younger son Henry (Eddie Matos) isn't all that interested in the rum business to begin with; he's a club promoter with dreams of founding Duque Music. As for daughter Isabel (Paola Turbay), well, she's married to Alex, and together, they control the largest block of shares.

There is, of course, a rival family -- the Samuels clan. Joe Samuels (Ken Howard, making a stronger impression in his few moments on screen than anyone else in the cast) has also recently handed control of his business to his children, and Ellis Samuels (British actress Polly Walker, doing an ill-advised attempt at a Southern drawl) thinks she's found the way to defeat the Duques: She's having an affair with Frank.

Cane has a strikingly attractive cast; in particular,Turbay is a real beauty, and if she can act -- the pilot doesn't give her much opportunity to prove herself -- she should become a huge star. And it is certainly a good thing to see another show that provides opportunities for Hollywood's Hispanic actors; I'm especially happy to see Moreno again, and hope that she'll be given more to do than host family parties and mutter "Ay, Dios mio!" under her breath.

The problem, though, is that the show takes itself far too seriously. The most successful shows of this type -- Dallas, Dynasty, Falcon Crest -- have had at least a hint of humor and self-mockery; there's none of that in Cane, particularly from Jimmy Smits, who plays Alex with such ponderous gravitas and self-importance that he weighs down the entire enterprise.

Because of that, when Alex commits a particularly horrible act late in the pilot episode, it's impossible for him to keep our sympathy; J.R. Ewing could get away with the most outlandish villainy, because there was always a sly wink to the audience to remind us that it was all in the name of fun and entertainment. There's no wink here, just a stern glare from a show that refuses to have any fun at all.