HBO's 'John' is an enigma

"John from Cincinnati" is ... well, I don't know what he is.

Is he an idiot? Is he an alien? Is he brain-damaged? Is he an angel?

Even after watching three episodes of the new HBO drama series, I don't know what to make of "John." Except it's oddly intriguing.

The new series (debuting Sunday at 11 p.m. after the "Sopranos" finale), takes gritty to a whole new level as it follows three generations of a surfing family.

Mitch Yost (Bruce Greenwood) was a surfing star back in the '70s, until an injury ended his career and he became embittered against the commercialism of big-time surfing. His son, Butchie (Brian Van Holt), was a surfing star in the '90s, until arrogance and drugs ruined his career and life. He's pretty much a burn-out, so his parents — Mitch and Cissy (Rebecca De Mornay) — are raising his 13-year-old son, Shaun (Greyson Fletcher).

And Shaun may be the best surfer yet. He wants to get sponsored, and a big-time promoter (Luke Perry) wants to sponsor him. Cissy is supportive; Mitch is opposed.

Into their lives wanders John (Austin Nichols), who doesn't really seem to be from Cincinnati. He doesn't seem quite human — among other things. He doesn't seem to need to use the bathroom and seems completely unfamiliar with it. Heck, he seems unfamiliar with everything.

He repeats phrases back to the people who spoke them. Or stores up phrases he's heard and uses them later. The only thing he says independently: "The end is near."

Without giving away any of the show's surprises, there's something magical going on, miraculous at times.

What is actually happening, I have no idea. And that is, apparently, the way executive producer/creator David Milch ("NYPD Blue," "Deadwood") wants it.

As Milch has done so well before, he's created some compelling characters in "John from Cincinnati." And don't confuse "compelling" with "sympathetic" — there are characters you can't look away from in the same way rubber-neckers slow down to look at accidents.

And, yes, there are profane similarities to "Deadwood." There are probably fewer f-bombs in "John from Cincinnati," but, hey, after a few dozen who's counting?