It’s still hard to believe that a show focusing on the idiosyncratic behavior of a rich lay about could have so influenced the course of television history. But Larry David’s “Curb Your Enthusiasm” has had a remarkable influence on television since its debut on HBO in 2001, and has become one of the most imitated of series formulas. If only anyone could truly deconstruct the secret of its success, it would be even more remarkable, but its wondrous and inexplicable weirdness is part of its appeal That’s probably why those who have tried to imitate its mix of reality and comedy have fallen flat; Mr. David’s unique blend of annoying and endearing behavioral tics have made his show an addictive pleasure, while those who’ve tried to copy him have failed in humiliating fashion.

Foremost among those is Howie Mandel and his new series, “Hidden Howie: Public Life of a Private Nuisance,” whose shameless attempt to borrow Mr. David’s unique sensibility fails completely. Ostensibly, the bald, goateed comic – who began his career playing a doctor on the 1980s classic drama “St. Elsewhere” – has taken a regular bit he performs on “The Tonight Show With Jay Leno” and expanded it to the half-hour form. The “bit” involves annoying innocent people with his oddball behavior, like going into a car dealership and honking horns until he’s thrown out. Thanks to Mr. Mandel’s relative lack of fame, he’s able to interact with “real people” (as identified on screen) without being recognized. After this series, he will certainly be able to continue this practice.

In the Bravo series that debuts this Thursday night at 11 p.m., he has stolen a key element of the structure of “Curb Your Enthusiasm” by giving himself an attractive and understanding wife who indulges his erratic behavior, even when it results in public humiliation. He has had the good fortune to cast in the role a lovely actress named Julie Warner, who some may remember as Michael J. Fox’s girlfriend in the 1991 film “Doc Hollywood,” and whose presence here keeps “Hidden Howie” from being a total waste. Her comic timing and infinite patience bring to mind Cheryl Hines from “Curb,” of course, but Ms. Warner does the near-impossible – bringing to Mr. Mandel a measure of humanity he doesn’t deserve.

The comedian has committed the unpardonable sin of casting his own real-life son as his fictional teenage son here; in the first episode, he decides he wants his son to be gay – it’s a better life, he theorizes – so he goes to a toy store to buy him male dolls to play with. A subplot in the second episode puts Mr. Mandel in contact with his son’s high school principal, who takes a hard line against perversion only to be found in a public men’s room stall making an obscene phone call – and, in pure “Curb” fashion, the incident causes Mr. Mandel to be wrongfully suspected of inappropriate bathroom behavior himself. And was it merely for purposes of homage that Mr. Mandel cast Estelle Harris, who played George Costanza’s mother on Mr. David’s “Seinfeld,” as his mother? You make the call. Whatever the reason for Ms. Harris’s presence, I felt sorry for her when she had to devote the better part of an episode to declaring, to anyone who would listen, “I can’t smell my feet.”

Mr. Mandel has saddled his persona with numerous defects; he’s mortally afraid of germs, to the point where he won’t shake hands, and seems incapable of driving himself anywhere. Contrast this with Mr. David’s hilarious deconstruction of hand-shaking on “Curb” regarding the appropriate number of pumps, or the wonderful “Curb” episode in which Mr. David’s driving gets him hopelessly lost on the way to a dinner party. Should Mr. David be flattered by Mr. Mandel’s flagrant theft of his ideas? I suppose. But the rest of us should cross Mr. Mandel (and perhaps even Bravo, which has allowed this criminal behavior to pass unnoticed) off our list of performers who warrant our respect. Not that we’ll need to bother: The mere existence of “Hidden Howie” will destroy Mr. Mandel’s future in television comedy without any assistance from the viewers at home.

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I stuck with ABC’s “Hooking Up” to the bitter end last Thursday night, having relished the first four episodes. I was hoping for a wrap-up that took its characters – most especially Amy, the 28-year-old real estate broker who’d become its central focus – to some kind of emotional resolution. Instead, executive producer Terence Wrong failed to deliver what “reality” programming and dramatic series provide: a story arc with a beginning, middle, and end. His characters faded away with no promise of lasting love or conclusions to their painful quests for lasting love. Perhaps limited by the five hours he’d been given by ABC, Mr. Wrong left us hanging; threads still dangled without any clear conclusion, and some characters from early episodes never even returned. If ABC gives Mr. Wrong another shot at a summer series next year, it should require of him the same commitment to storytelling it demands of its other producers – and give viewers the wrap-up they seek. It was a drag to see “Hooking Up” end up with no one hooked – including the audience.