Dr. Gregory House hurts big-time -- disease wrecked his leg, and the love of his life took a powder. So this gravelly-voiced grouch pops Vicodin like breath-mints, while firing nonstop putdowns and potshots at colleagues and patients (nuns, kids, whoever). Unshaven, House gimps about in jeans and a rumpled blazer, hiding out from sick people (only exotic maladies engage him) and looking for an audience to stand still for his acerbic needling. (To head off shtick, House should find some folks who can match his wit and get into the game, instead of simply gawking at his cranky riffs.) Only superficially misanthropic, House is hell-bent on saving everyone, from his entourage of conflicted young docs to unlucky souls attacked by the most exotic diseases in medical history.