I still love CSI the most. Nothing can take away how much I love the original CSI. There is an affection I have for Grissom, Warick, Nick, Sarah, Willows and especially Greg that cannot be surpassed. No, not Greg. I meant especially Grissom. No, Greg. No. Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. I think I can afford to be indecisive on the matter of which fictional character I like the most. It’s moderately improbable that I’ll ever have to decide between the two at the altar.
Still, CSI, no matter how wildly ridiculous as the murders get, how utterly nonsensical the science bits and how ludicrous the leaps of logic, never ever palls for me, and I watch the show religiously every Tuesday night. Alright, you’re going to call me saddo somewhere along the line. Do so now.
Right, let’s move on.
So I loving the original CSI, I always thought I might love CSI Miami and CSI NY as well. I thought they might be as good. Well, they’re not and I don’t, but I watch them slavishly all the same. Whenever they’re on. (Although funnily I can only ever watch any episode of any of them once. There’s no point in more).
CSI Miami really is rubbish – all guns and silly camerawork, presided over by that little ginger raisin with an air of a constipated Robin Cook. CSI NY is growing on me, showing a little bit of the humour and geeky labness that I love about the original, while introducing more of the relationship with the police on the case. But still, that Gary Sneezy bloke has nothing on Grissom, so it still doesn’t stand up well to comparison.
But then – and this is becoming quite the point of game in this household – there are some common threads across the three versions. Structurally, I mean.
The main one – and I’m going to assume you know what I’m talking about now if you’ve bothered to read this far – is the last line of the pre-credits. The moment when Gil Grissom, or Nopoo Gingergnome, or Gary Sneezy (sometimes Catherine Willows, now) has examined the body, and he (or she) turns to the other important people poking the corpse, and says something with wit, pith, pun and panache.
Or Gil does, anyway – the others are mere pale imitations.
Anyway – they spit their bits;
“… Unfotunately for the gangs, they can’t indimidate the evidence…”
“… Looks like someone’s going to be waiting a long time for their pizza…”
” …Well, whereever they were headed, they probably didn’t get there without their head…”
And then big guitar chords, and songs by The Who, or Pete Townsend or whatever kick in.
And so, everytime this line comes in, we tend to rate it. Oh, no, that was nowhere near Grissom standard. No, no, he can never pull these lines off, can he? Hm, that wasn’t bad for him, was it? Good god, Grissom just did a bad Grissom.
So, essentially, it seems, that moment is called ‘the Grissom’. This evening, however, we decided it needed a better name. ‘Corpsetopping’.
‘Incitement to a-Daltrey’ (as in Roger, from The Who) was one suggestion. ‘Death warm-up’. ‘The money shot’.
My beloved’s best, however, and the current favourite, is ‘The Knock Knock Moment’ (because just after it happens, you hear The Who’s there).
It’s now going to be rather a preoccupation of my evening, I fear. Surely that moment has an official name?