Last night, I sat down for a special one and a half hour episode of CSI Miami. Immediately afterward, I pulled myself off the couch, staggered down the hall into the bathroom, and pissed pure testosterone into the toilet bowl.
What a wild ride that was. In the space of a single episode, David Caruso managed to utter three stone-cool movie style lines that introduced a commercial, arrested multiple felons, scored with the hot District Attorney, shot up two guys involved in a bank-heist, outran a tidal wave into a bank vault to save both himself and the injured woman he was carrying, drove his hummer out of an exploding building to save that woman's husband, chased a criminal mastermind down on the surface of the Atlantic Ocean, and even found time amidst all of that to notice that his dead brother's wife had been beaten up by the stereotypical asshole who runs internal affairs. Yah. You know, the guy that's always on Caruso's case whenever something goes down that isn't according to procedure? That dude. Of course, Davey Crockett has to inform the sonofabitch that he'll kill him if he ever hits her again.
What else... oh right, his supporting cast managed to both help him out and solve a few boring murders of their own.
This show is nothing like the "good" original CSI. The science is there, sure, and the characters have plenty of umph, but where is the subtlety? Gil Grissom doesn't drag his fellow head poindexter and storm a bank in the middle of a freaking armed robbery! He also doesn't stand at the edge of a coast guard cruiser like he's Leonardo DiCaprio looking for a Kate Winslet to dangle over the bow. Mind, you Vegas doesn't have any water at all, but you get my point. I watch this show because it makes me laugh.
Once I start crying, my love affair with CSI Miami is over.
I've got to get up uber-early tomorrow to do a massive call tracking report. Bah.