| CSI:NY 604: 'Dead Reckoning'--SPOILERS |
[Oct. 15th, 2009|12:45 pm] |
Dear Hawkes,
Permit me to erect a statue to your awesomeness in my backyard and do my Boobie Dance of Joy in honor of your beautiful smackdown of Danny "Woe Is Me" Messer. Danny deserves compassion for his pain and struggle, certainly, but he also needed a kick in the ass. Danny is often most comfortable being miserable because it is the emotion and the circumstance with which he is most familiar. If Hawkes hadn't cared enough to render yon verbal bitchslap, I suspect Danny would still be wallowing. Danny needed someone to pull him out of himself; Lindsay is too close to the situation, and Flack, Mac, and Stella are too busy wandering their own deep and terrible wood. It had to be Hawkes. His history as a doctor lends his rebuke even greater weight. Each body heals differently, but that doesn't excuse Danny from trying.
That said, I don't blame him for whining. Therapy hurts. A lot, and sometimes therapists get so fixated on the end goal and the "norms" for recovery time that they push harder than they should and alienate the patient, who feels more like a prisoner under torture than a person working towards their recovery. I don't think the therapist was pushing too hard. In all likelihood, Danny, who often crumbles at the first whiff of adversity, was being a whingy milksop, but he is right in that no one can fathom his pain level, and it irritates me when a person's pain is minimized by healthy, athletic people who've never experienced it.
Hawkes must have super-special magic powers, though, because one therapy session after his talk, Danny is out of his chair and rocking Lucy. My ass. It was a sweet image, I'll grant you, but it was also complete bollocks. After months of not walking, Danny should've been exhausted and trembling by time he made it Lucy's crib, not merrily swaying with her in the dark while Lindsay looks on in dewy-eyed adoration. It's the stuff of fantasies fashioned by folks who'd rather not be bothered by the unpleasant realities of serious, long-term injuries,
It's hard to believe that the same people churning out such treacly drek are also responsible for Flack's well-played slide. I hate Mac and was secretly applauding Flack's display of spine when Mac approached him about the incident in the diner, but Mac was right. If it hadn't been for Lindsay(and I can't believe I just wrote that), Flack could've been hurt or killed. Flack no longer trusts himself to decide when the use of his gun is justified. As he hinted to Mrs. Carter when they were alone in the interrogation room, the decision to shoot Angell's killer haunts him. He's frightened by his capacity to be That Guy, the guy who steals a loved one frome someone else. I think he wondered who would be left behind to mourn and suffer if he pulled the trigger. He didn't want the burden of being someone else's bogeyman. In the past, he could pull the trigger because he was able to Otherize them as Bad Guys, but Angell's murder has forced him to realize that everyone matters to someone, and that even if she is bad, he is killing someone's daughter, wife, or sister. He's being That Guy. I don't think Flack can handle that. Hence, the inability to shoot.
Still, I applauded Flack's chutzpah, because too often, folks roll with their tails tucked whenever Mighty Mac gets his self-righteous spandex on. I was thrilled to see Flack call his wang-waving bluff. It's just too bad that Mac is right.
I am curious, however, as to how Flack could have flashbacks to Angell's murder since he wasn't on the scene until the shooting was over. If anything, he should've flashed back to finding her on the floor.
Dear TPTB,
If you expect me to buy Flack as a blossoming alcoholic, I'm going to need more than one half-empty beer. Flack drank more than that on social outings with his friends. Show him with five empties, or being cut off by the bartender. One beer to cope with stress, while a bad idea, doesn't not make him a closet boozer.
The case itself was hampered by unrealistic forensic fu. From a genetic profile, you can tell if a person is well-groomed, athletic, or neat, with lots of friends? I'm willing to buy that genetics can predispose one to a lot of things, like violence or obesity, but I refuse to accept it as an absolute determiner.
Haylen's dinner dissection was annoying, but at least it was plausible.
If the idiot cotton handler had been working there for six months, can we assume that 75,984 defense attorneys will be stampeding to the courthouse to claim that evidence in their client's cases was tainted? I wonder if that will reemerge later.
Kudos for not making the case a vast conspiracy, but it was mildly interesting at best.
C |
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}