Time for a quick straw poll of you readers out there in Non-Column Land: who out there doesn't want some true love in their life? (Sorry, Mr. President. Your vote doesn't count.)

See? I thought so. If you don't got it already, you sure as shit want some. The hunger for true, enduring love is as pervasive as underpants and Madonna. Or Madonna's underpants, even.

It's that hunger which makes Ally McBeal such a popular show. An easy connection is made: Ally wants love, and I want love, therefore I should be interested in Ally's exploits. With the tug of a super-short skirt and a flip of too-cute hair, loneliness is suddenly next to godliness. It's glamorous to be forlorn. Of course, it doesn't hurt that most of the time, the show is exceptionally written and performed by some of television's finest actors. But what keeps us all coming back, we who tear our hair out at every slip of Ally's outspoken tongue? Luuuuuuv hunger, baby. We want to see Ally find true love, and we want to see John Cage find true love, and Fish, and even the abrasive Elaine.

Can I make a confession? Lately, I sorta wish that Ally would just find the damn love and make a baby or two and get the whole thing over with. Every recurring show is built on some kind of formula, but even the most repetitive of series knows when to alter the formula somewhat. The formula for Ally has never changed. The firm of Fish and Cage never loses a case. Ally is never poised and calm around men. John Cage is never normal in tense moments. Above all, Ally McBeal, feminist pariah and oh-so-nineties woman, NEVER NEVER NEVER finds enduring, true love.

Based on that fact alone, it seems to these two tired TV viewing eyes that Ally McBeal is stagnating big-time. That's a sad statement to make about a true innovator, pioneering the hour-long romantic comedy television genre and creating some of the best on-air sparks since Moonlighting. Sadly, it's sad and sadly true.

The stale flavor of the show's writing of late shouldn't come as much of a surprise. What's the nature of romantic comedy? Tension and release. Two start far apart, they wrangle and spar verbally, then they come together and live happily ever after. This incarnation just happens to require endless tension to survive and fulfill the show's successful recipe. It's When Harry Met Sally... every week, but only because this Sally never finds a Harry.

The creator and sole writer of Ally, David E. Kelly-also a double Golden Globe winner for best series, scoring statuettes for both Ally and The Practice--must think that without desire, there can be no tension, and thus no humor or connection for the characters. So these sad twentysomethings wander about unfulfilled, suffering loneliness to satisfy the narrow-mindedness of their creator. Why couldn't John Cage have indulged in wild, dirty sex with Nell Porter on her desk? Why can't Ally keep a man for more than three or four consecutive episodes? Why can't Fish and Ling get married and make some babies? The only reason I can see is that Kelly is afraid to "go there." He must fear leaving the strict comedic confines in which he's brought these characters to life. Until he gets over that fear, his viewers are doomed to chase their own tails every week, observing characters that never really grow and plots that never really change anything. Like that prehistoric bug trapped in amber in Jurassic Park, Ally and her lawyer friends may as well go to that damn bar and dance to Vonda Shepard every night for the rest of their lives...or at the very least, until the show's loyal viewers get fed up, depart in droves, and doom Ally to cancellation.

Ally McBeal sucks lately because though the characters move around and speak funny lines, nothing really happens. Fortunately, that's not a problem for Dawson's Creek. It changes more often than a toddler's diaper. As I write this, the latest episode pushed the teen horny angst up a few notches with a clever "who-screwed-it" storyline focused on which of the show's three major couples-Andie and Pacey, Dawson and Jen, and Joey and Jack-had shared a horizontal mambo. (In case you missed it, it turned out to be Andie and Pacey. Sorry for the spoiler.) There's always a fulfilling trashiness to the proceedings, to be sure, but it's also sharper than you'd expect. And MAN, does shit ever happen. Characters mature or behave childishly; arguments have lasting effects beyond just an hour of TV. It's got a sense of momentum that Ally has largely lacked since about five episodes into this second season. As a contrast, Dawson's hasn't stopped moving since the season premiere: new characters, new situations, even a new controversy or two.

Dawson's Creek and Ally McBeal have little in common, but they're both at heart the same genre of show: hour-long, character-driven episodic television. To be honest, I'm a lot prouder to state that I watch Ally than I am to declare my love for Dawson's. But that might not be a problem for long, if Ally doesn't let go of its obsession with the status quo and inject some enthusiasm and momentum into the proceedings. I'm one viewer who's had enough of situation television; I'm ready for a new order. Give me trashy, exciting television over intelligent, boring television any day.