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Oh, Flack, my poor baby. How that vision of what happens behind the scenes of New York's street vendors must've broken your foodie heart. I can only presume that your look of abject horror at the conditions you encountered in the cart bay were born of your recollections of the thousands of meals you've scarfed at those carts.
Stella: You OK?
Flack(as he watches a rat sit astride food): No, I'm not. I don't think I'm ever gonna be the same again.
~loves~
On a more serious note, I couldn't give two fig turds about either case. One of the biggest pitfalls of NY is its tendency to get too cute, to pad the mystery with one too many twists or red herrings. Not only was their Fiona Chisolm case a sendup of real-life Queen of Mean, Leona Helmsley, but it was a slapdash mishmash of Peter Pan and The Wizard of Oz. There was Wendy and Hook, but there was also a reference to a little dog, a little dog that was placed in a bike basket, to boot. Lindsay lifted the latter half of, "I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too," verbatim in an exchange with Hawkes. If that weren't enough, Fiona turns out to be a Dorothy. From Kansas.
Ha fucking ha. How cute you are, writers. Nice to see you've exchanged your hammer of heavy-handed symbolism for a sodding mallet the size of a mastodon's testicles. After such a display of your talent, I simply can't fathom why the media moguls are claiming you're not worth your paychecks.
Might I advise that you wash your hands? It might be easier to write interesting, more subtle scenarios if your hands weren't so slickly coated with the sticky, pearlescent product of your self-admiration.
The writers didn't get everything wrong, though. In a rare show of continuity, Danny was clearly struggling with the aftermath of Ruben Sandoval's death. He was subdued, distant, and hollow. He was doing his job by rote, and his comment to Mac that he didn't want to be looking at crime scenes in kindergartens was telling. He doesn't want to link a place of innocence-kindergarten-with violence and death, and I don't think it's a stretch to say that he doesn't trust himself around children any longer, or to be in a place where children might be present. Ruben's death has made him doubt his ability to serve as protector. As a scientist, he's as adroit as ever, but he's no longer sure he can be the proactive Superman who saves the day.
The scene with Danny and Angell in the bus was painful in the best way. Danny was obviously exceedingly uncomfortable with the conversation and swiftly brought the subject back to the safer topic of the case as soon as possible. I know Angell had the best of intentions, but I found myself cringing when she brought it up. Ruben Sandoval and the silence on the other side of the wall are probably all he's thought about since the tragedy. His only escape is the job, and Angell drags it there, too.
While I'm on the subject of Angell, bad Angell, no biscuit. Use gloves when handling evidence, idiot.
This episode was hardly impressive. It was, in fact, insipid; but if the promos for the next new episode are half-right, it ought to be a blockbuster.
C-
Stella: You OK?
Flack(as he watches a rat sit astride food): No, I'm not. I don't think I'm ever gonna be the same again.
~loves~
On a more serious note, I couldn't give two fig turds about either case. One of the biggest pitfalls of NY is its tendency to get too cute, to pad the mystery with one too many twists or red herrings. Not only was their Fiona Chisolm case a sendup of real-life Queen of Mean, Leona Helmsley, but it was a slapdash mishmash of Peter Pan and The Wizard of Oz. There was Wendy and Hook, but there was also a reference to a little dog, a little dog that was placed in a bike basket, to boot. Lindsay lifted the latter half of, "I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too," verbatim in an exchange with Hawkes. If that weren't enough, Fiona turns out to be a Dorothy. From Kansas.
Ha fucking ha. How cute you are, writers. Nice to see you've exchanged your hammer of heavy-handed symbolism for a sodding mallet the size of a mastodon's testicles. After such a display of your talent, I simply can't fathom why the media moguls are claiming you're not worth your paychecks.
Might I advise that you wash your hands? It might be easier to write interesting, more subtle scenarios if your hands weren't so slickly coated with the sticky, pearlescent product of your self-admiration.
The writers didn't get everything wrong, though. In a rare show of continuity, Danny was clearly struggling with the aftermath of Ruben Sandoval's death. He was subdued, distant, and hollow. He was doing his job by rote, and his comment to Mac that he didn't want to be looking at crime scenes in kindergartens was telling. He doesn't want to link a place of innocence-kindergarten-with violence and death, and I don't think it's a stretch to say that he doesn't trust himself around children any longer, or to be in a place where children might be present. Ruben's death has made him doubt his ability to serve as protector. As a scientist, he's as adroit as ever, but he's no longer sure he can be the proactive Superman who saves the day.
The scene with Danny and Angell in the bus was painful in the best way. Danny was obviously exceedingly uncomfortable with the conversation and swiftly brought the subject back to the safer topic of the case as soon as possible. I know Angell had the best of intentions, but I found myself cringing when she brought it up. Ruben Sandoval and the silence on the other side of the wall are probably all he's thought about since the tragedy. His only escape is the job, and Angell drags it there, too.
While I'm on the subject of Angell, bad Angell, no biscuit. Use gloves when handling evidence, idiot.
This episode was hardly impressive. It was, in fact, insipid; but if the promos for the next new episode are half-right, it ought to be a blockbuster.
C-