What makes “Fat Actress” such a compelling new show isn’t its execution. The first episode was intermittently funny, the second even less so. But fortunately, it’s not devoted to making us laugh; its intention is to make us squirm. You can’t help but feel a little guilty as you stare at Kirstie Alley’s enormous figure (we’re talking Monty Python explosion levels here) and feel superior to her. I mean, what happened? In the first two episodes, it isn’t even explained how she managed to triple in size, except by the sequence in the pilot where she’s stuffing a cheeseburger into her mouth. Okay, so she eats cheeseburgers. That’s a little sketchy. A little more background might have helped us enjoy her humiliating journey through Hollywood.

But the central notion behind “Fat Actress” bears some attention, and will get it, in part because this probably represents the best Showtime series yet. It might easily have made the cut at HBO; it would have fit nicely into the quasi-reality improvisational niche now filled by “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” (There’s some crossover between the two shows. Sandy Chanley, a non-writing executive producer on “Fat Actress,” served as co-executive producer of “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” while Mel Brooks’s annoying lesbian secretary from last season appears here as one of Ms. Alley’s sycophantic Hollywood helpers.) Its freewheeling political incorrectness will remind viewers of “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” even if Ms. Alley’s weight plight seems more pitiable than Larry David’s neuroses.

The whole notion of oddball celebrity behavior isn’t anything new on television. Ricky Ricardo played a facsimile of himself as a famous band conductor on “I Love Lucy,” and several movie stars wandered through that long-running hit; I remember Chico Marx, as himself, in one particularly famous story arc. So the sight of John Travolta in the pilot of “Fat Actress,” trying to talk a possibly suicidal Ms. Alley out of killing herself, only takes the age-old concept to a new and more complicated level. That scene becomes truly hysterical when Ms. Alley starts begging her famous “Look Who’s Talking” costar to do yet another sequel. “We haven’t explored all the possibilities,” she pleads to her superstar friend. “We’ve never had talking cats. We’ll have Chris Rock be the cat!” The pilot focuses mostly on Ms. Alley’s desperate and tragic attempts to land herself back on network television, despite her weight.

“John Goodman’s got his own show!” Ms. Alley screams into her cell phone at her agent. “How about Jason Alexander? He looks like a freakin’ bowling ball. How about James Gandolfino [sic]? He’s about the size of a whale! He’s way, way fatter than I am.”

It hurts to watch. Among the more painful moments comes in the pilot, when Ms. Alley gets a meeting with NBC chairman Jeff Zucker – a meeting she has demanded that her agent get her that day, or risk losing her as a client. The response of Mr. Zucker and his henchman would only have been funnier if it weren’t so real. There isn’t an ounce of sincerity in Mr. Zucker’s body, and his venal, cutting comments about Ms. Alley’s size – some directly to her face – confirm way too much about the executive’s odious personality in real life. It also sheds a terrifyingly realistic (and almost nauseating) light on life in a television executive’s world. The self-loathing part of me wants Mr. Zucker to return as a regular.

The pilot represents a courageous first step, but the second episode doesn’t go anywhere plausible. We’re supposed to believe that Ms. Alley has been cast in a sequel to “Charlie’s Angels” – as an angel – and that the director, McG, has high hopes for the resurrection of a star. That’s a ludicrous premise made even less acceptable by how it plays out; Ms. Alley’s assistants, played by Bryan Callen and Rachael Harris, end up going postal on McG at a meeting over meaningless issues. So early in the game, the “Fat Actress” creative team should have kept its focus tight and real on Ms. Alley. “Curb Your Enthusiasm” stretches the definition of what’s real, but it’s always an outgrowth of Mr. David’s outsize persona. With Ms. Alley, that should not be a stretch.

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The real reason the Oscars were so bad this year – aside from Chris Rock’s sorry performance that has already been eviscerated elsewhere – was the extraordinary absence of star power. Where was Jack Nicholson? Tom Hanks? Mel Gibson? Tom Cruise? Nicole Kidman? Catherine Zeta-Jones? Yes, Clint Eastwood and Leonardo DiCaprio were there, but they didn’t look they were having much fun. Nor did Warren Beatty as Annette Bening’s date. The Oscars are all about celebrity, and when it’s as low-wattage as this year, it becomes beside the point. How many times must America endure cutaways to Morgan Freeman before something is finally done?

Ironically, Chris Rock railed against Hollywood for making movies with second-level celebrities instead of first-rate stars. Got Chris Rock, but you want Denzel Washington? “Wait,” Rock counseled. I understand what he was getting at, but I’m not sure that’s the best message to send to an industry already bloated by $20-million star contracts. Here’s a suggestion: maybe those contracts should require actors to show up annually at the Academy Awards whether nominated or not – kind of like Hollywood royalty. It’s just not Oscar Night without Jack Nicholson in the front row.