ORDER IN THE COURT ... OF THE FUTURE.

Byline: David Kronke Television Critic

CBS' NEW legal series ``Century City'' is not speculative fiction because it imagines what life will be like in the year 2030, but rather because any dramatic impact it may have is purely speculative.

``Century City's'' future is one in which cloning is legal in Singapore but nowhere else, where America's vice president is gay yet homophobia still persists, where boy bands can consider touring at age 70 but their music still stinks, where virtual secretaries compliment their oily bosses and never file sexual harassment suits. Attorneys grapple with cases that tend to involve all manner of genetic tampering. And yet the lessons - and boy oh boy, are there lessons here, imparted to treacly music that's not just heart-tugging but heart-throttling - are determinedly, simplistically humanistic.

Yes, despite technology's efforts to eradicate us, human beings are still precious commodities, and so apparently are cliches. A quarter-century into the future and attorneys still say things like, ``This is an emerging area of the law - we could build our reputation with a case like this,'' and, ``Remember when you had that kind of passion?''

The cast of characters is fairly generic. There's the gruff but kindly elder statesman of the firm (Hector Elizondo), the earnestly idealistic yet searching attorney (``Horatio Hornblower's'' Ioan Gruffudd), the scuzzy narcissist (Eric Schaeffer), the mildly impassioned head of the firm (Viola Davis), the blandly slick new guy (Nestor Carbonell) and the genetically enhanced beauty (Kristin Lehman) who has a history with the idealistic guy but is pursued by the scuzzy one.

Tonight's episode concerns a cloned child in dire need of a liver transplant and a father who wants to use some stem cells to create a suitable liver. (A plot twist suggests that the obvious solution would be far easier.) A future episode involves a doctor who aids in the creation of genetically modified children who neglects to tell parents that their progeny will be gay to stave off a global decrease in gays. (Apparently, in 2030 the media as a collective will be utterly asleep at the wheel: No reporter manages to cover these obviously provocative hot-button lawsuits.)

At times, ``Century City'' seems like it would work better as a comedy - the cases seem extraordinarily petty, even by the standard of 21st-century litigiousness - except, naturally, when it actually tries to be funny, where the wit lands with a deadened thud. A future subplot involves intellectual property theft of a most unusual kind: Pity poor Lehman, who actually has to deliver the following line with a straight face: ``Did you date Mr. Sanchez deliberately with the intention of downloading his personality?'' Or the actress charged with this bizarro response: ``I programmed the microfibers of my sweater to retain his scent.''

``Century City's'' lawyers argue so relentlessly for the sanctity of our humanity that you wonder what audience needs to be so persuaded. Perhaps it's the first show aimed at robots. Certainly, its manipulative storytelling feels as mechanical and clanky as '50s metallic icon Robbie.

David Kronke, [phone]

david.kronke(at)dailynews.com

CENTURY CITY - Two and one half stars

What: Legal drama set in the year 2030.

Where: CBS (Channel 2).

When: 9 tonight and 10 p.m. Saturday; thereafter, 9 p.m. Tuesdays.

In a nutshell: Inadvertently funny. Inadvertently undramatic.

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Photo:

Ioan Gruffudd is an idealistic attorney in ``Century City,'' set in the year 2030.