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CSI:NY 617: 'Pot of Gold'--SPOILERS
"Pot of Gold" wasn't dreadful. In fact, it was a pretty solid hour of television. The case was intriguing, and for once, the writers succeeded in making Mac human.
I like Mac. Or rather, I try to like Mac, but he's often so self-righteous and tight-assed that I want to punch him in the face just to unseat him from his twenty-four-karat gold high horse. Attempts to reach out often devolve into sermonizing, false modesty, and cringeworthy soul-baring that makes me want to gnash my teeth, tear my hair, and scream, "It's not all about you, you smug fuckhead." I have issues. Would you like a subscription?
But dare I say it? Mac's letter-wooing with Deli Girl was awkward and goofy and cute. Sure, DG's confession that Mac's superawesome kindness convinced her to remain in the city is yet another sly nod to Mac's magical powers, but its whiff wasn't so pungent that I had to reach for the heave pail, and it was nice to see the normally stressed, uptight, terse Mac looking forward to what life holds rather than dreading it.
His interactions with Reed were also a delight. Reed has certainly grown since his near-fatal encounter with the Cabbie Killer, and yet he still retained a shred of idealism. He knew enough to call Mac immediately once his fellow blogger reached out to him, but he still believed that his friend would do the right thing once Mac arrived. Alas, he was disappointed. At least he's alive to learn from this experience. I just hope the writers don't crush his optimism and love of life completely. The show is already choked with bores and whiny, emo angstwhores(I'm looking at you, Messer, you nauseating waste of character skin).
Bad Flack, no biscuit! That happy little leprechaun wasn't doing anything to you. Did you have to push him over? And you fooled me. I thought you had returned to your suits, but it was just a suit jacket. You're still dressing like a frat boy just out of college. Was the part of you that Jess took with her to the grave connected to your fashion gland? I miss your pressed shirts and fugly ties and dapper suit jackets.
I still love you, though. Seeing you surrounded by angry cops in kilts was priceless, and Mama wants a macro or a still.
A fun, brainless hour of light mystery. B
I like Mac. Or rather, I try to like Mac, but he's often so self-righteous and tight-assed that I want to punch him in the face just to unseat him from his twenty-four-karat gold high horse. Attempts to reach out often devolve into sermonizing, false modesty, and cringeworthy soul-baring that makes me want to gnash my teeth, tear my hair, and scream, "It's not all about you, you smug fuckhead." I have issues. Would you like a subscription?
But dare I say it? Mac's letter-wooing with Deli Girl was awkward and goofy and cute. Sure, DG's confession that Mac's superawesome kindness convinced her to remain in the city is yet another sly nod to Mac's magical powers, but its whiff wasn't so pungent that I had to reach for the heave pail, and it was nice to see the normally stressed, uptight, terse Mac looking forward to what life holds rather than dreading it.
His interactions with Reed were also a delight. Reed has certainly grown since his near-fatal encounter with the Cabbie Killer, and yet he still retained a shred of idealism. He knew enough to call Mac immediately once his fellow blogger reached out to him, but he still believed that his friend would do the right thing once Mac arrived. Alas, he was disappointed. At least he's alive to learn from this experience. I just hope the writers don't crush his optimism and love of life completely. The show is already choked with bores and whiny, emo angstwhores(I'm looking at you, Messer, you nauseating waste of character skin).
Bad Flack, no biscuit! That happy little leprechaun wasn't doing anything to you. Did you have to push him over? And you fooled me. I thought you had returned to your suits, but it was just a suit jacket. You're still dressing like a frat boy just out of college. Was the part of you that Jess took with her to the grave connected to your fashion gland? I miss your pressed shirts and fugly ties and dapper suit jackets.
I still love you, though. Seeing you surrounded by angry cops in kilts was priceless, and Mama wants a macro or a still.
A fun, brainless hour of light mystery. B