Ah, the comfort of watching 'Love It or List It'

Let's drop down a few clouds from the usual lofty heights of this column -- my weekly musings about art, performance, classical music and the such -- and focus on my current fixation:

"Love It or List It."

I'm addicted. This HGTV "reality" home makeover show, which is playing in heavy rotation on the network, has been on at my home so many times in the past month my TiVo finger is numb. I'm pretty certain that mine is a brief crush, but during these heady first weeks, I've experienced the same tranquilized bliss exhibited by friends obsessed with, say, the Botox Brigade of characters on "The Real Housewives" franchise.

In other words, don't get between me and my TV.

For those who aren't familiar with the show, an import from Canada, the premise is a simple twist on the mismatched-buddy genre. Hilary Farr is a hot-shot interior designer with a clipped Australian accent and love of classy cupboards who works magic on old, tired homes. She travels in a team with David Visentin, a quippy and gently acerbic real estate agent with a crooked nose and a laptop, who sniffs out the best homes in the area for sale.

On each episode, a designated couple -- occasionally an entire family -- opens up their bedraggled residence for a makeover. The homeowners present a wish list telling Hilary (the show refers to the hosts by first name) what she'll need to do to make them stay in their home. David gets a budget, too, and he tries to find a nearby house enticing enough to make the homeowners move.

At the end of each hour-long show, in a convention so stilted that if there were a studio audience people would shout the words along with the hosts, the homeowners are asked: Will you love it? Or list it?

A few months ago, Hillary Clinton talked about her favorite TV programs with Gail Collins of the New York Times.

You've already guessed what was at the top of Clinton's list.

Collins shrewdly used "Love It or List It" as a political metaphor. "The plot arc is always the same, and in a way, it's sort of Clintonesque," she wrote. "The redecorators find termites or a leaky furnace; the house search goes awry. Everybody's upset! But after a lot of hard work and the final commercial, there's a happy ending."

Critics have always had a love-hate relationship with the idea of formula. On one hand, art is always supposed to be looking forward. New is good; cutting-edge even better. Predictable, at least for critics, is a dirty word.

Even critics have to acknowledge good formula, however. After all, everything can't be new. From the ancient Greeks on, the idea of basic plots has resonated. Over the centuries some scholars have said there are seven. Others say 20, or perhaps 36. Those who care about such things are usually pretty happy when an entertainment is well-done enough to make something that could have been dryly predictable seem fresh and vibrant.

But I'm not even suggesting that "Love It or List It" is an example of good formula. It's actually pretty dreadful when it comes to that department. The conventions of the show are practically set in stone. There's always a disconnect between the couple in terms of moving, for example. One hates their current house and the other would like to stay. The show stirs up the conflict, and there's always a low point with the partners bickering about their next step.

Another convention: Hilary always -- and I mean always -- runs into structural issues during her renovation. While her relationship with the homeowners begins cordially, hidden dangers and extra costs creep up to sour it. Inevitably, something has to come off the clients' "wish list," which causes much gnashing of teeth. You wanted that third floor bathroom? Or that new entryway? Sorry, off the list. You have to pay for that new furnace somehow.