Now that we’ve passed “peak talking about peak TV,” and the streamers have settled down to producing a seemingly endless round of expensive thrillers, the particular charms of bread-and-butter broadcast television are coming back into focus.

Of course, we consume these things differently since streaming took over the world, and arguably since man first learned to program a VCR, with network shows subsumed into the ocean of time-shifted picking and choosing. (People do still watch TV over the air.)

Even so, network TV retrains its individuality. This may have something to do with industrial consistency; house style (each network has one); in acts based around commercial breaks; in playing to a broader audience; with shows released weekly, often across longer seasons. The relative modesty of broadcast television series doesn’t preclude inventiveness, and the popularity of those shows on streaming services speaks to their appeal.

NBC, the National Broadcasting Company, had two new series premiering Sunday night, “Grosse Pointe Garden Society,” a dark comic soap opera, and “Suits LA,” a brand revival of “Suits,” which ran on USA Network from 2011 to 2019 and has become popular rerunning on Netflix. (“Suits” came out of basic cable, but formally speaking, that’s just broadcast TV with some bad words.)

“Grosse Pointe Garden Society” is set in the upscale, i.e. snooty, Detroit suburb of that name. As in “The White Lotus,” a murder is revealed at the start — there’s a body wrapped in a quilt — but who the victim is, and how and why they were killed is hidden from the audience. The story develops along two tracks, in the present day, the pre-murder timeline, and “six months later,” in the post, with the future-set scenes given a spooky blue tint, and transitions between the two marked with titles cleverly integrated into the decor.

The action centers on the eponymous garden club, within which Alice (AnnaSophia Robb), Brett (Ben Rappaport) and Catherine (Aja Naomi King) have formed a little team, soon to be joined by Birdie (Melissa Fumero), arriving by court order, having wrecked a city fountain with her car. (It’s a strange sort of community service, but it’s a strange sort of community.) A fundraising gala is on the horizon — the horizon just over which the future-set scenes take place. (Alice and Brett are not upscale people.)

Everyone’s got some sort of trouble. Alice, married to Doug (Alexander Hodge), has literary ambitions but is teaching English to entitled students with entitled parents; in a narrative preamble, she characterizes herself as a geranium, and “the worst thing you can do to a geranium is plant one where it doesn’t belong.” (She is neither upscale nor snooty.) More to the point, she has become emotionally overwrought, and prone to making bad decisions, on account of her dog being lost, and then found — murdered. (It is not the dog’s body in the quilt.)

Brett, Alice’s best friend and extramarital emotional support, is a divorced dad who manages a garden center and dreams of running a car restoration business; his nemesis is the new husband (Josh Ventura) of his ex-wife Melissa (Nora Zehetner), who anyone but Melissa can see is attempting to alienate his children’s affection.

Catherine, a real-estate agent who can’t get her husband to notice her, is having an affair with a skeezy colleague, Gary (Saamer Usmani), who she believes might care for her. Oh, the fool.

Birdie, who starts out as a caricature of a society drunk — “a classic lily of the valley, invasive, wild, with no boundaries and extremely toxic to everything that gets in its path,” in Alice’s narrative formulation — will develop into perhaps the series’ most sympathetic character. Divorced and seemingly otherwise alone — she thinks of her housekeeper as “my friend” — she’s connecting under false pretenses with a teenage boy she gave up as a baby for adoption. Meanwhile, her court-ordered membership in the garden club begins to grow into something like actual friendship.

Created by Bill Krebs and Jenna Bans (“Good Girls”), the series is neither a brassy satire like “Desperate Housewives” (for which Bans wrote many, many episodes) or a Kidman-Witherspoon beach-read production. Someone will die, which makes this comedy qualify as “dark,” and its people do have serious relationship issues.