The original CSI used to be fun, before we got love stories shoved down the viewers' throats and victims wearing raccoon costumes. Preposterous, but entertaining: a different cop show.
CSI Miami, on the other hand, has all the flaws of CSI Las Vegas - like a penchant for overly implausible situations - without the strengths - like interesting protagonists and gripping story lines.
Emily Procter, Adam Rodriguez and other secondary characters are flat. The best was by far Rory Cochrane as moody Speedle, gone too soon - after Kim Delaney's Megan, who was quickly (and thankfully) written off.
The core of the show is David Caruso, who gives an unspeakably terrible turn as smug Horatio Caine; Horatio shamelessly chews the scenery and is so pompous and obnoxious, one doesn't know whether to incredulously shake his head or laugh at the sheer absurdity of this performance.
In a ludicrous amount of scenes we have a majestic shot of Horatio silhouetted against the dawn (or dusk), self-satisfaction oozing from every molecule of his body, as he puts his sunglasses on (or takes them off) in slow-motion, with a stoic smirk and a triumphant background music: all he is missing is a cape billowing in the wind. It's so cheesy that, if the show had not been trying so hard to be grandiose, it could have passed for a form of self-parody.
If you want to give a try to a CSI series, go for the first seasons of Las Vegas.
4/10
CSI Miami, on the other hand, has all the flaws of CSI Las Vegas - like a penchant for overly implausible situations - without the strengths - like interesting protagonists and gripping story lines.
Emily Procter, Adam Rodriguez and other secondary characters are flat. The best was by far Rory Cochrane as moody Speedle, gone too soon - after Kim Delaney's Megan, who was quickly (and thankfully) written off.
The core of the show is David Caruso, who gives an unspeakably terrible turn as smug Horatio Caine; Horatio shamelessly chews the scenery and is so pompous and obnoxious, one doesn't know whether to incredulously shake his head or laugh at the sheer absurdity of this performance.
In a ludicrous amount of scenes we have a majestic shot of Horatio silhouetted against the dawn (or dusk), self-satisfaction oozing from every molecule of his body, as he puts his sunglasses on (or takes them off) in slow-motion, with a stoic smirk and a triumphant background music: all he is missing is a cape billowing in the wind. It's so cheesy that, if the show had not been trying so hard to be grandiose, it could have passed for a form of self-parody.
If you want to give a try to a CSI series, go for the first seasons of Las Vegas.
4/10