I was reading the article on CSI in Entertainment Weekly. Things I learned: William Petersen is kind of a tool; Les Moonves likes having his ring kissed; and actors might not make the best writers.
I say that because the recurring theme from all of the actor interviews seemed to be that all that pesky science and crime get in the way of what’s really important – gazing longingly into their characters’ navels. And, while I like CSI and think the cast is just fine, I don’t really want to know any more about their characters than I already do. That’s because the more I learn about this crew off the job, the less I like them and the less I respect them as professionals.
And that tracks back to the writers of the show who routinely portray that kind of personal dimension as a detriment to the characters’ ability to function in the workplace. Grissom conceals his hearing loss, Sarah can’t establish boundaries and has a drinking problem, Warrick gambles, Catherine has a train wreck of a personal life, etc. Sometimes these revelations seem designed solely to give the actors reels to submit to the Emmy nominating committee. It’s a respectability grab that distracts from the gruesome science fair feel. Given the choice between learning about the minutia of evidence and seeing Nick pout – fully clothed, no less – in the locker room, I’ll take the minutia any day.
Seriously, CSI is able to replicate itself so successfully because of the formula, not because of the characters. It’s a character-proof franchise, as David Caruso’s awful Horatio Caine proves week after week on CSI Miami. You can replicate a formula without any trouble, as this show and Law and Order prove yearly.
It got me thinking about other mystery franchises I enjoy. Take Fake, the gay cop manga. It’s CSI’s virtual opposite. The cop content is largely indifferent, serving only to forward the will-they-won’t-they tension between the two protagonists. Criminal investigations in the title are useful in that they prompt revelations about the leads, what they’re capable of, how they feel, their histories. I hope nobody picks it up to satisfy their need for a procedural, because that’s not the point.
I’ve been enjoying Kindaichi Case Files, which is closer to the CSI model. Readers know enough about the protagonist – he’s a so-so student with a gift for investigation – but the mystery mechanics dominate. Nice character moments for the young detectives enhance the stories, but they don’t drive it. On the other hand, as grisly as the crimes can be in KCF, it’s nice to have them leavened with the heroes’ basic decency and sweetness.
In terms of prose fiction, CSI needs look no farther than Patricia Cornwell’s Kay Scarpetta novels to see the balance between crime and characters go horribly, horribly wrong. I loved the earlier installments of this series for their fascinating forensic detail, but as they progressed, Cornwell dwelled increasingly on just how dysfunctional her protagonists were. With each new outing, Kay and company seem more paranoid, more self-loathing, and more obnoxious. For me, it wasn’t worth wading through the angst to get to the good bits.
Kathy Reichs seems to manage things better in her Tempe Brennan novels. Brennan is more of an appealing everywoman than Scarpetta; she’s just as gifted professionally, but she’s more aware of her shortcomings, and she has a self-deprecating sense of humor. On the down side, she’s impulsive enough to place herself in dangerous (and totally implausible) situations, and I’d be eternally grateful if Reichs could resist the urge to have Tempe voice moral outrage quite so often. But the forensic anthropology is fascinating, and the cast is a lot more down-to-earth than the Prozac-deprived Cornwell crowd.
The most successful balance between the personal and the procedural, for my money, is DC’s Gotham Central. It functions perfectly well as a crime comic, with an interesting range of cases. As written by Greg Rucka and Ed Brubaker, the Gotham freak beat is extraordinarily stressful and dangerous, and it’s only natural that this kind of grind would have personal fallout for the detectives who walk it. The writers keep the character development grounded in the professional context, which works very well. And, as large as the cast is, it’s nice to see them get moments that let readers know what makes the characters tick.
I’m not saying CSI has never successfully inserted character moments into its narrative. Small, illustrative exchanges can be very effective. I’m thinking back to a great exchange between Catherine and a dominatrix where they discovered surprising common ground, shared frustrations, and similar personal philosophies. It was a nice breather of a scene, smartly written and acted, that told us more about Catherine in a few moments than we learn from a dozen bad boyfriends or daddy revelations.
So, in conclusion, I’d suggest that the CSI cast appreciate their show for what it is and save the emoting for their summer vacations. In this case, character bits work best as the seasoning, not the main course.