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CSI:NY 417-"Like Water for Murder"--SPOILERS
Christ, what a dragass episode. I realize that they couldn't wrap everything up since this was a starter episode for the Killer Cabbie arc, but the hour felt like one big muddle. It didn't help the the opening scene was heinously acted. The designated screamer looked like she was clenching her ass cheeks, lest her bum tuba took it upon itself to join the opera. The episode was boring and unfocused, and I found myself waiting for it to be over so that I could do something else. It was that bad.
There were highlights, however. In sharp contrast to Danny's irresponsible philandering last week, we have that rarity of rarities on a TV show, a faithful husband. He's even rarer for the fact that he's a faithful cop husband. Those are as rare as albino peacocks, I assure you. Every cop on TV, even breathing sacks of ugly like Andy Sipowicz, who should be as sexy as a Jesuit monk in a nudist colony, is getting more bun than a hamburger factory. But Mac chose the high road, apparently. Granted, he did so after a slip, but unlike Danny, who chose to ride his poor choice to the end of the line, Mac immediately regretted his actions and drew a definite line. He chose not to hurt and dishonor his wife by cheating.
It should be noted that there is a vast difference between the preservation and respect for a marriage that has been well established in canon and a tenuous, unequal relationship that has never been confirmed as anything but a pool table romp and exists largely in the febrile minds of a small but vociferous segment of fandom, but the parallel remains. Whether it was an intentional parallel is uncertain; given the previous track record of the writing staff, that may be giving them too much credit. On the other hand, it's as crudely drawn and unsubtle as a toddler Monet done early poopy diaper. It could be either, and since the writers didn't get anything else right this season, I'll throw them a bone. Just call me Santa.
I did feel for Quinn Shelby, though, and I was nettled that Mac just cavalierly told her to forget their kiss. Even though Mac was right as a married man to consider the kiss nothing but a deep regret, it must be awful to be on the other end and know it meant so little. Scratch that. I know it is. Quinn should quietly cherish the memory, Mac be damned, and have the tact to never broach the subject again. If she suddenly decides to deny the lab accreditation because of lingering butthurt over an affair that never was, Guera's gonna have to choke a bitch. Believe it or not, some women manage to conduct themselves with dignity and not behave like petty wenches.
I'm less pleased with the direction Reed has taken. When did he become a whiny entitlement kid, and what is this relationship of which Mac speaks? As far as canon knows, they've met three times. Have there been more meetings?
See, this is CSI:NY's biggest problem: Excessive narration without adequate demonstration.
I'm tired of building the ramps required to make the leaps the show's canon and continuity require in order to make a modicum of sense. The defenders of Helm's Deep had an easier task than the CSI:NY viewer with the most liberal of standards. Some of the leaps would kill Evel Knievel, even if he had a rocket strapped to his ass. Show, goddammit, show. That's why you're on TV. To paint pretty, exciting pictures. Right now, Dali thinks you're palsied monkeys on PCP.
Sorry. Back to Reed. I was irritated by his whining. It's a blog, for heaven's sake. Is he being paid for his blog based on hits? If he were, I could understand his pique and sniveling insistence that the story could make his career, but if he's not being paid, he should STFU. In that case, his claim to a career based on a blog is as valid as my claim to a professional writing career based on my LJ and the reams of fanfiction lurking there and on my hard drive. You know, the stellar career that's ranged from novice, badly-written elf smexing to Flack angst and a hummer in a department squad car. If being a blogger is a legitimate career, then I'd like my royalties now, yo.
Oh, and Reed? The shower is your friend. Or have you become Grasshopper to Danny's Master and chosen the way of grunge?
Flackwanna Tapthatticus should also be called famishus famishus a la the old Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote cartoons. Man never misses a chance to chow.
Speaking of chow, Sid FTW! "There he is, noshing the best prime rib he's had in months, and he gets food poisoning and dies." Oh, Sid. Only you would think of it that way.
Lame, insipid episode with faint glimmers of the passable. Like the shiny Christmas tinsel turd Fido leaves you after he eats the Christmas ornaments.
D-
There were highlights, however. In sharp contrast to Danny's irresponsible philandering last week, we have that rarity of rarities on a TV show, a faithful husband. He's even rarer for the fact that he's a faithful cop husband. Those are as rare as albino peacocks, I assure you. Every cop on TV, even breathing sacks of ugly like Andy Sipowicz, who should be as sexy as a Jesuit monk in a nudist colony, is getting more bun than a hamburger factory. But Mac chose the high road, apparently. Granted, he did so after a slip, but unlike Danny, who chose to ride his poor choice to the end of the line, Mac immediately regretted his actions and drew a definite line. He chose not to hurt and dishonor his wife by cheating.
It should be noted that there is a vast difference between the preservation and respect for a marriage that has been well established in canon and a tenuous, unequal relationship that has never been confirmed as anything but a pool table romp and exists largely in the febrile minds of a small but vociferous segment of fandom, but the parallel remains. Whether it was an intentional parallel is uncertain; given the previous track record of the writing staff, that may be giving them too much credit. On the other hand, it's as crudely drawn and unsubtle as a toddler Monet done early poopy diaper. It could be either, and since the writers didn't get anything else right this season, I'll throw them a bone. Just call me Santa.
I did feel for Quinn Shelby, though, and I was nettled that Mac just cavalierly told her to forget their kiss. Even though Mac was right as a married man to consider the kiss nothing but a deep regret, it must be awful to be on the other end and know it meant so little. Scratch that. I know it is. Quinn should quietly cherish the memory, Mac be damned, and have the tact to never broach the subject again. If she suddenly decides to deny the lab accreditation because of lingering butthurt over an affair that never was, Guera's gonna have to choke a bitch. Believe it or not, some women manage to conduct themselves with dignity and not behave like petty wenches.
I'm less pleased with the direction Reed has taken. When did he become a whiny entitlement kid, and what is this relationship of which Mac speaks? As far as canon knows, they've met three times. Have there been more meetings?
See, this is CSI:NY's biggest problem: Excessive narration without adequate demonstration.
I'm tired of building the ramps required to make the leaps the show's canon and continuity require in order to make a modicum of sense. The defenders of Helm's Deep had an easier task than the CSI:NY viewer with the most liberal of standards. Some of the leaps would kill Evel Knievel, even if he had a rocket strapped to his ass. Show, goddammit, show. That's why you're on TV. To paint pretty, exciting pictures. Right now, Dali thinks you're palsied monkeys on PCP.
Sorry. Back to Reed. I was irritated by his whining. It's a blog, for heaven's sake. Is he being paid for his blog based on hits? If he were, I could understand his pique and sniveling insistence that the story could make his career, but if he's not being paid, he should STFU. In that case, his claim to a career based on a blog is as valid as my claim to a professional writing career based on my LJ and the reams of fanfiction lurking there and on my hard drive. You know, the stellar career that's ranged from novice, badly-written elf smexing to Flack angst and a hummer in a department squad car. If being a blogger is a legitimate career, then I'd like my royalties now, yo.
Oh, and Reed? The shower is your friend. Or have you become Grasshopper to Danny's Master and chosen the way of grunge?
Flackwanna Tapthatticus should also be called famishus famishus a la the old Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote cartoons. Man never misses a chance to chow.
Speaking of chow, Sid FTW! "There he is, noshing the best prime rib he's had in months, and he gets food poisoning and dies." Oh, Sid. Only you would think of it that way.
Lame, insipid episode with faint glimmers of the passable. Like the shiny Christmas tinsel turd Fido leaves you after he eats the Christmas ornaments.
D-