By Tom Gliatto Mark Dagostino Mike Lipton
February 06, 2006 12:00 PM

UPN (Wednesdays, 8 p.m. ET)


Oh, great lolling Atlantic, your waves sigh deep, as if knowing the vanity of the humans onshore. Especially the ones in Miami. South Beach, a pretty dopey show significant chiefly because Jennifer Lopez is an executive producer, follows a couple of guys down from Brooklyn and into some glamorous messiness. Matt (Marcus Coloma) becomes security head for a hot hotel and its nightclub, while Vincent (Chris Johnson) becomes an oddball adjutant, something between a gofer and an enforcer, for a local criminal (Giancarlo Esposito), a snappy dresser who surrounds himself with mementos of Santeria mysticism. The hotel, on the other hand, is run by Vanessa Williams, still beautiful and, whether she knows it or not, inching toward Falcon Crest power-lady camp. The younger performers aren’t cast in any way that makes their roles distinctive, although I did feel a twinge—call it empathy—when Odette Yustman, as an aspiring model, felt sad over a lack of bookings.