Two words: CSI Toronto. Hear me out! Come on, Bruckheimer. You know you want to! Go North, young man.
Yeeoooooooowwwwwwwwwww! (That was my patented Roger Daltry scream to signify that the teaser is over and the real show is about to begin.)
Soooo…. Grissom is calling it quits. Yup. William Peterson will appear in ten episodes of CSI this year before he’s out for good. Well, he’ll still make guest appearances and the like. You know. Because he can’t totally cut the labcoat strings.
What we’re sayin’ is, better dust off that resume, Helgenberger.
After Jorja Fox and Gary Dourdan left, this seems like a natural progression. I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner, actually. This show has been on for eight looooong years. We at boobtube have a theory. To wit: This show should’ve ended two seasons ago, when Grissom and the gang were after the miniature killer. It should’ve ended with the reveal – to the audience only – that Grissom, putting together a miniature crime scene, was a calm, cool, controlled, serial killing freak.
That would have been mag-fucking-nificent.
But that’s not what happened. The show has limped along for two more seasons, dropping cast members faster than I drop F-bombs. Now what am I supposed to tune in for? The awkward flirtation between Hodges and Wendy, the DNA tech? No thanks.
But I digress. Alas, poor Warrick is dead. Sarah is gone, off to find herself. Soon, Grissom will be gone, off to find her, no doubt. That means more time on the personal lives of Nick (accused of the murder of a hooker he slept with once, stuffed in a coffin with a gun and a tape deck and some fire ants) Catharine (mobbed up millionaire daddy murdered, precocious daughter kidnapped, roofied during an impromptu John Mayer concert – really, who hasn’t been?, unrequited office romance Warrick murdered) Greg (beaten and left for dead, almost run down out of vengeance, sued by family of dude he killed accidentally to save another man) and Brass (not-quite daughter a crack-smokin’ hooker, shot by a dude in a hotel room). I don’t think there’s a stone in the lives of these characters that’s been left unturned. I’d rather leave them before we end up meeting all their illigitimate sisters/daughters/husbands/baby mamas. You know?
Ultimately, if there is a God, we’d like all three CSI’s to crossover and implode upon themselves. The gravitational collapse would result in a black hole so massive it could accomodate the ego of David Caruso, plus all remaining Law and Orders, Without a Trace, NCIS AND Cold Case without us complaining in the least. Move over, shitty procedurals! There’s a schwack of new shitty procedurals that need to breathe and offer young actors a place to earn screen credits!
Criminal Minds, for example, is wonderful in that it combines the salacious elements of Law and Order: SVU with the “ripped from the headlines” bullshit of Law and Order, the immediacy of Without a Trace and the techno nerdery of CSI. It’s like: “Oh, she’s missing AND raped, bitchez! We gots to get our nerdzz to find her or else a bomb will go off or some shit! How you like me nah?!” Subtract Mandy Patinkin and add Joe Mantegna and carry the cheese and you’ve got a show you can turn your brain off for. And that’s all we really expect of these shows. Sure, I love the Wire. But I have to pay attention for that shit. Sometimes, I need to just zone out and watch pretty people do dangerous things without any real consequences. You know, except drug addiction and searing emotional wounds.
But that’s just what we hope. What will likely happen is CSI: Original Recipe limps along for another year or two, long enough to create one more ill-advised spin off because hey, the Who still have one more song with lyrics that pertain somewhat to the subject matter of a show like CSI:
I’ve looked under chairs/I’ve looked under tables/tryin’ to find the key/to 50 million fables. The call me the seeker/I been searchin’ low and high/I won’t get to get what I’m after/til the day I die.