'Pains': Where Does It Hurt? In the Lap of Luxury

If you hoped, as we did, that "Royal Pains" was going to be a reality series following the torturous "shedjules" of those hunky House of Windsor princes Willie and Harry, do not be completely disheartened. You at least get to go to the Hamptons, with their own version of royalty.

The scripted show, premiering tonight on USA, introduces the concept of the "concierge doctor," whom the super wealthy turn to in order to keep news of their overdosing party guests off Page Six or because, well, would you wait in an emergency room full of sick people if you had that much ready cash?

"Pains" is a sort of Dr. House-goes-to-the-Hamptons. It's escapist and beachy, with a high disregard for reality. And that's a good thing. Best: It stars sparkly-eyed charmer Mark Feuerstein, whom you may know as that guy from that-one-show ("Good Morning, Miami") or that-one-guy from that Mel Gibson movie ("What Women Want").

Here, Feuerstein is Dr. Hank Lawson, whose world is coding. He's lost his job, his fiancee dumped him, and he's so broke his Netflix account has been suspended. At the prodding of his goofy brother, they head to the Hamptons for a weekend break. There, they crash an Austrian gazillionaire's bash, where Hank identifies a model-hottie's collapse as not the drug overdose we all thought it was, but a reaction to pesticides from the flowers she was smelling in the garden. (Watching "Pains" will only heighten summertime hypochondria.)

Suddenly, Hank is the Hamptons' go-to concierge doctor, as well as part MacGyver; he saves the life of a hemophiliac (rich people inbreeding!) with a baggie, a ballpoint pen and duct tape.

The main fun of "Royal Pains" is the real estate porn: pretty pools, peachy beach houses and the occasional Ferrari. Lead-coated dialogue may slow down the opening emergency room scenes, but once the show hits the beach, the tone gets lighter, campier, more suitable to Feuerstein's rom-com talents.

Campbell Scott is fun as the wealthy party-hosting Austrian whose name sounds like Boris Keister von Jergens Crack Dip, and who offers Hank a house on his property. He also gives him a bread-loaf-size gold brick in a suitcase.

So now Hank has a gold brick, a job offer, a hot woman whose life he's saved knocking down his motel door, but, eh, "Sorry, guys, I just don't think I can do this." He doesn't want to be the Hamptons concierge doctor. And then we all throw sunscreen caps at the screen and yell, "Dude, get over yourself, we're in a recession!"

The upper crust is portrayed as per usual: Poor little rich kids; vain pushy women in full-length furs (on a summer day?) with too much plastic surgery. Women are mostly presented as vapid gold diggers (though the party scene montage of woman after woman fleeing Hank after his frank admission that his shirt is from Costco -- "What?" "Cost-co," "Eeeee" -- is a hoot).

The premiere isn't laugh-out-loud funny, though Paulo Costanzo as Hank's brother tries (and tries too hard). The supporting cast is uneven, though Hank's down-to-earth love interest, played by Jill Flint, is his equal in charm. Between "Pains" and the winky, shorts-sporting spy drama "Burn Notice," USA network could end up being the basic cabler you're most likely to turn to during your summer staycation.

Royal Pains (75 minutes) premieres tonight at 10 on USA.