By Stan Friedman

You know a show is cold-hearted when its most tender moment involves a cameo appearance by Andy Dick. Such is the case in IFC’s new series, “The Minor Accomplishments of Jackie Woodman.” Jackie, played by nightclub comic Laura Kightlinger, is a writer for a cheesy L.A. movie magazine but has loftier goals, like finishing a screenplay about the roller derby. Her days revolve around servicing a nagging, dumb-blonde boss (Azura Skye) who wears a T-shirt with the word “FAKE” emblazoned across it. Her nights are spent carousing with her gullible, dumb-blond best friend, Tara (Nicholle Tom) who has a penchant for cults and cocaine. This being Hollywood, celebs and wannabes lurk around every barroom and bedroom door. In the pilot episode, Tara’s car gets hit by a whacked-out Sally Kellerman. A party in episode two unearths Mr. Dick who, in a brief tete-a-tete, conveys a vulnerability that the regular characters habitually hide from sight behind a facade of drugs, sarcasm and naughty language.

In addition to appearing in nearly every scene, Kightlinger is the show’s creator, executive producer and co-writer. The result, for better and worse, is that the project is much more an extended stand-up routine than it is an episodic sit-com. Plotlines, character development and camera work are all fairly stifling, but each week offers five or six hilarious and well-timed one-liners that are worth the bother. “You were so drunk when I met you, I assumed you were an agent,” a potential beau tells Jackie. And when Jackie asks a question to “Miss Kellerman,” the star warmly responds, “Oh please, call me Sally Kellerman.” There is also no shortage of Hollywood insider gags. “Larry David loves reading spec scripts,” Tara is ill-advised.

Sometimes, Jackie sits alone in her apartment typing away on a laptop; a scenario surely meant to play upon viewers’ memories of a certain other writer in a certain other locale. But sex in this city is just another way to get ahead. Not love, but fame and a payday are what these girls want. The cruel comedy that springs forth from such ambition, in the hands of these bitter comics, stings just as it should.