Each decade seems to get the Philip Marlowe it deserves. In the seventies the mumbling, confused Elliott Gould of The Long Goodbye represented a country staggering from Watergate and Vietnam. Michael Gambon's incarnation in The Singing Detective exemplified the hallucinatory delusions of the eighties, but with a great musical soundtrack. Now we have the ironic, sweet adriftness of Jason Schwartzman in this year's most resonant show, Bored to Death. For Raymond Chandler in the forties doing detective work was a rather straightforward, hard-boiled affair; today we are searching for clues a little drunk and a little stoned, just trying to keep busy.

With Bored to Death, cult novelist Jonathan Ames updates the detective genre for the Internet age. His writer/protagonist, also named Jonathan Ames (played by the cool mascot of indiedom Schwartzman), seeks some action in his life after a bad breakup and too many blocked nights with white wine and weed. Lost and looking for any connection, he morphs into the Marlowe of Brooklyn, placing an ad for his unlicensed detective services on Craigslist. This would-be gumshoe epitomizes the artistic and just general malaise of a generation, struggling for self definition amid too many possibilities.

The Paley Center recently hosted an event with Ames, his alter ego Schwartzman, and the genuine breakout surprise of the show, Ted Danson (watch a clip from the Nov. 2 event). Like many freshman series heading for success, Bored to Death has evolved from the initial pilot, pushed on by an underlying creative vision and really good luck. Bored looks unlike any program because Ames brings his offbeat eye to the every scene. He has an intimate knowledge of his Brooklyn turf, uncovering areas we haven't seen before on film. Schwartzman does his best to translate the idiosyncratic voice of creator Ames, going so far as to listen repeatedly to CDs of the writer reading his dialogue. There is no Larry David improvisation on the set; their aim is true Ames.

But our Marlowe is not a lonely knight. His Sancho Panza in fighting crime is graphic artist friend Ray (the congenial Zach Galifianakis), whose development is equally arrested. His other colleague is from another era, the aging but eager magazine editor George Christopher. That character was supposed to be a one shot, but when HBO asked Ames to consider the available Danson, the tenor of the show shifted dramatically, to another level. The gray icon brings such pleasure to his role, unleashing a voracious desire to hang with young guys. Danson jokingly revealed that he has the same need, to be pals with Jason, the heartthrob of his children. Just watch as he rapturously ingests his ginseng cigarette (the prop substitute for marijuana). In eight short episodes this trio has created a chemistry and camaraderie that is irresistible. They may be clueless to their clients and life's mysteries, but their vulnerability and good spirits save them from the occupational hazard of detection, nihilism.

Unlike HBO's pervious hit comedy, Entourage, which revels in Hollywood celebrity, Bored to Death stays true to its New York roots, embracing a much less mainstream culture. In each episode Ames like to give a shout out to one of his artistic friends who has helped shaped downtown sensibility. Jim Jarmusch does a wicked parody of himself, while Sarah Vowell and John Hodgman have popped up in cameo roles. If Sex and the City delineated a materialistic New York on edge of the new millennium, Bored to Death captures a city adjusting to the new depression, tracking down clues where there is no solution. If you haven't been seduced by the joys of Bored to Death, take a look at this primer and gear up for the second season sometime next spring. Ames promises more troubles compounded by even greater troubles.