“ Nobody in the audience appreciates being reminded of things like the history of international relations when there's unquestioning, Dixie Chicks-hatin' 'patriotism' to be had instead. ”
Desultory shots of the Vegas skyline at night. It's a good thing there are so very many big buildings covered in neon, or the people who put together this show wouldn't have anything to start with. We hear an emcee voice-over: "Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for the Comedy Hole's very own Michael Borland," and then we see Michael Borland in backlit profile as he says, "Look, look, the Kennedys killed Marilyn Monroe. I'm pretty sure the gunman on the grassy knoll was either Arthur Miller or Joe DiMaggio: 'Bang my wife, will you?' [pow]" There's polite laughter.
In the alleyway behind what is presumably the Comedy Hole, Jeffrey Ross is shaking slightly as he runs through his routine, telling the brick wall he's facing, "Hey, if you'd have me, I'd ask you to marry me. Hell, somebody's got to clean the apartment."
Inside, the backlit silhouette of Borland is telling a hostile but full house, "Hey, how many of you know the theme to Gilligan's Island?" The crowd raises their hands and whoops. He then asks, "All right. Now how many of you can recite the Bill of Rights?" No hands. I get it, but he's missing a fundamental point: Gilligan's Island is a very catchy tune, so maybe there's the possibility of setting the first ten amendments to Gilligan's Island like so -- Just sit right back and read all these things / that we tacked on the end / like forbidding Congress to tamper with speech / assembly or the press / assembly or the press... -- and teaching it to people that way.
Anyway, this sort of I'm-too-smart-for-you comedy does not appeal to the club rats; they shut up instantly. Recognizing that he's going up in flames, Borland says nonchalantly, "Forget it, guys. It's really not that important. We don't use it anymore." By the way, we can now see Borland, and it's a considerably thinner, grayer, and non-stammering Bobcat Goldthwait. Outside in the alley, Jeffrey Ross is saying, "Heinous. That was her name -- heinous. Her sister's name is horrendous. Her other name is bleccch." Oh, how charming. Jeffrey Ross laughs with delight at his own frat-boy humor, which isn't even good frat-boy humor. You want good frat-boy humor, watch that beer commercial where the folksinger is serenading the wingman. This is just mediocre.
Back in the club, Borland's saying, "I hear people saying, 'If it wasn't for the U.S., the French would be speaking German.' Yeah, well, if it wasn't for the French, you'd be speaking Cherokee." Or adding "u" to "color," "favor," et cetera, but we'll skip the alternate history for now and applaud that joke because it is amusing. We will be the only ones doing so; nobody in the audience appreciates being reminded of things like the history of international relations when there's unquestioning, Dixie Chicks-hatin' "patriotism" to be had instead. As the club manager checks the audience, then checks his watch, Borland says insincerely, "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I hurt your brains?"
Last Laugh
We transition back out to Jeffrey Ross telling the wall enthusiastically, "That's my time, everybody. Tip for the night: If you don't know what you're doing, don't do it harder! Good night, everybody!" He cracks himself up, then looks down, commanding, "Zip me up." A ponytailed woman rises. Holy cow, I am still amazed that L. Brent Bozell and the rest of the Parents' Television Council didn't immediately issue a blanket condemnation of CSI after this; I was convinced after their protest of Buffy as anti-Christian because it showed an evil minister during Holy Week (never mind that the minister was anti-woman, which is pretty offensive any week of the year) that the PTC would be all over something so much more explicit like a depiction of someone getting a hummer in a back alley. I guess the PTC was in mourning over the ending of Touched by an Angel, and too depressed to act. The woman asks if there's anything else she can do, and Jeffrey Ross says, "Yeah. Laugh." That won't be too hard; it's not like her mouth was full.
As Ross walks in, Borland is telling the audience, "Can you imagine having Jesus as your brother? 'Why can't you be more like your brother? When your brother's home, we always have wine.'" I'm guessing Borland hasn't read Christopher Moore's Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal, because that question gets answered. There's a background scene in which the club manager also fellates Ross (but only metaphorically) and Ross makes derisive noises about Borland. As he heads to the stage, Borland is wrapping up (the lack of applause is stunning) and introducing him as, "A man I'm sure you know from his hit TV show Dougie to the Max, Mr. Dougie Max!" As Dougie Max (a.k.a. Ross) comes to the stage, he grabs Borland in a bear hug and says boorishly, "Remember when I used to open for you?" By this point, I am actively rooting for this swine to get killed. After some macho posturing, Dougie unleashes what is apparently his signature move: spewing water all over the enthusiastic patrons. I bet these are the same morons who no longer order Chinese food lest they be infected with SARS, yet think nothing of basking in the backwash of a total stranger because he's a celebrity. Dougie then issues his punchline: "It's a cruel world. Ain't it great? Bam!"
Mercifully, we zoom out before we're actually subjected to any of Dougie's act. We zoom back in on a headshot of Dougie hanging on the wall -- does every comedy club in the country have the wall of fame? -- and Brass walking in with Catherine and Gil as he quips, "Welcome to the Tragedy Hole. Did you hear the one about the comedian who died onstage? Literally." Catherine turns to him and deadpans, "Ba-da-bump." Brass riffs, "I'll be here all week." Catherine jokes, "Maybe he slipped on a banana peel." Brass ba-da-bumps Catherine, then explains, "The crowd thought it was part of his act -- until he didn't get up." My God, Dick Shawn reached an icy finger beyond the grave and laid it on the word processor this week.
Last Laugh
“ The Who carry on as I wonder aloud whether it would have killed Gil to make a joke about how anyone on that stage would have gone toward the bright light, only to trip as they fell off the stage. ”
Catherine and company hit the stage. She says hi to Emergency Backup David, then hunkers down to look at the body. After noting that there's no foam around Dougie's mouth or discoloration around the lips, Catherine concludes that there's no overt evidence of a drug overdose. Gil asks wryly, "When was the last time a comedian died of natural causes?" That Gil, he's got a sly sense of humor. Emergency Backup David notes a clenched fist, which is a classic Levine sign (shorthand for the kinesthetic description like "clenched fist over chest to describe constricting pain"), and everyone brainstorms the possibility of heart attack in someone so young. Gil ignores it, and calls out for the manager to turn down the house lights and turn up the stage lights. As the manager does so, Gil explains, "I want to see what he saw, right before he died." Gil stands there a moment, looking around. Catherine asks what he sees, and Gil replies, "Nothing." Catherine asks, "What are you looking for?" Gil replies, "A punchline?" Brass ba-da-bumps.
And on that howler, we go to the credits. The Who carry on as I wonder aloud whether it would have killed Gil to make a joke about how anyone on that stage would have gone toward the bright light, only to trip as they fell off the stage.
When we're back from commercial, Gilbert Gottfried is sitting at the club's bar as Emergency Backup David and an extra roll the body out; he cracks, "There's a switch -- they have him rolling in the aisles. Well, I guess he's off to a better place." A few feet further down, Borland looks up from his slump-shouldered position on the bar to comment gloomily, "Any place is better than this dump." The manager takes offense to that, and reminds all and sundry that compared to the late, lamented Dougie Max, the rest of them are humorless clods. Manager Alan then proceeds to fill Brass in on his rich and nuanced history with Dougie Max, calling him the Sam Kinison and bemoaning how expensive it was to book the boy wonder he cultivated. You'll pardon me for not crying real tears over this guy's dilemma as, in CSI-world, he's responsible for midwifing an unfunny terror who probably put out some sitcom bilge like Yes, Dear, thus making the television-watchers of CSI-world choke on their Choco-Bees in rage. The bartender's not all broken up over Dougie's departure either; he lobbies to fill the empty spot in the day's show. Alan smacks him down, then turns back to Brass to admit his complicity in the cultural crime he committed: "Dougie was a hack with hack material who caught a break and never let anybody forget it. You want suspects? Here -- check out the wall. Any one of these guys would kill to have his stage."
Brass is presumably off looking at the headshots. Catherine is now looking at the green room, noting the appalling array of food that's only one double-carbon bond away from polyester. She then notices the thin spray of white powder scattered on the glass surface of the coffee table; after dipping a finger in it, Catherine mutters, "Oh, china." I suppose we're to infer that this is cocaine, but I always thought that china was more commonly associated with heroin slang.
“ David waggles his scalpel as he says delightedly, 'We'll have to wait for Final Jeopardy.' Gil scoffs and storms off to wonder why everyone he works with has got to have a personality. ”
Gil, meanwhile, is cataloguing the liquid assets: "Six bottles of Innoko water -- three partially filled, three unopened." Brass tells him to save the lectures on squandering fresh water for someone who cares, and provides more backstory on Dougie: "He was like Tarkanian with the towel, always biting and pacing. Dougie's mantra was, 'It's a cruel world. Ain't it great?'" Gil gives Brass a "you've got to be kidding me" look, and Brass says apologetically, "Lowbrow. Strictly chug-and-belch." Gil has evolved beyond our Earth humor. He explains, "Laughter is an involuntary motor response, triggered by survival issues -- food, sex, body functions, death." And yet when you laugh at someone in bed, they take it all so personally: "Baby, it's not you! It's a survival issue!" Brass responds to Gil's debunking of the "laughter is the best medicine myth" by shrugging, "It's a cruel world."
Catherine's pressing Alan for information on who would have access to the green room prior to a show; Alan replies, "According to who? According to me, the talent. According to these meat sticks, the world." The comics have mysteriously assembled in a line, and Catherine now tells them she'd like to see their open wallets. She hits Borland first; he explains that his driver's license is about thirty-five pounds over his now-current weight, adding, "I know that in Nevada law, if there's a twenty-five-pound discrepancy, that's actually against the law." So he's smart. He's also not offering Catherine anything she wants, so she moves on. The guy is the barkeep (incidentally, he's Joe Rogan's kid brother; this episode is night of a dozen comics), who also has nothing she wants. Gilbert Gottfried is ; he hands over his wallet and tells Catherine, "In this one, I'm wearing a thong." I almost didn't recognize him here -- he's not doing his usual squint-and-shriek thing. That must be a pleasant byproduct of having a shtick like he does or like Bob Goldthwait does; when you go out in public and you're not popeyed, squinting, twitching, howling, or shrieking, nobody recognizes you. Catherine tells Gilbert she doesn't want to listen to his thong song and moves on. She hits the ponytailed fellatrix and finds what she's looking for in that wallet -- a thin scrim of powder atop her ATM card. Catherine asks Felicia the fellatrix when the last time she used the card was; demonstrating that Dougie certainly didn't love her for her mind, she replies, "What?" Felicia is escorted out in handcuffs. After Brass pushes her in, he looks up, and something across the street makes him pause. We see a nebbishy fortysomething guy getting out of a midlife-crisis-mobile with a blonde half his age. This sight -- which is not exactly uncommon in Vegas -- clearly triggers Brass's curiosity.
Back in the bowels of the Labitrail, David The Quizzical Coroner is holding court with Gil. He says that Dougie's cause of death was "myocardial necrosis -- just what you'd expect from a heart attack, only I didn't find any blockages consistent with coronary disease. He was remarkably healthy for a dead guy." Gil segues awkwardly, "Dougie Max had more than comedy in his blood" -- and it's debatable how much of that he had -- "tox came back positive for coke." This is David's cue to bust a few Trebek-style moves: "The answer is, the three main ways to take cocaine." Gil rolls his eyes and replies, "All right, Alex. What is snorting it, smoking it, or injecting it?" David compliments Gil on his answer, then continues, "The answer is: normal nasal passages, clear lungs, and no track marks on the body." Gil says flatly, "Continuing this childish metaphor, what is 'how did the drugs get into his system?'" David waggles his scalpel as he says delightedly, "We'll have to wait for Final Jeopardy." Gil scoffs and storms off to wonder why everyone he works with has got to have a personality.
“ Nicky laughs and says, 'People grieve in different ways, man. And if this widower wants to bury his pain in flashy cars and fast women, who are you to judge? Hell, I'm thinking of picking up some women tonight just by pretending that my wife has died and I need sympathy.' Or maybe he cuts that a little short. ”
Felicia's lawyer is telling Catherine that Felicia's agreed to plead to possession and answer questions, so long as her willingness to do so isn't construed as an admission of guilt; Catherine's all, "That's between you and the DA." She then turns to Felicia and shares the news about Dougie's tox screen. Felicia replies that Dougie was in a program, it was her cocaine, and Dougie wasn't using. Catherine's all, "Then why is it in his blood?" and Felicia explains, "Well. Dougie always liked to do a little hum-and-coke before a show." Because nothing settles the nerves like having a testosterone-and-cocaine cocktail barreling through your veins. We then see a flashback to the pre-game show. The set-up, y'all, not anything Cinemax-rated. Catherine takes a moment to process this and pull a straight face, then replies, "Cocaine on the foreskin -- or any skin, for that matter -- is not a stimulant. It's a numbing agent." Felicia says, "Right. That was the idea. You see, the goal wasn't to pop the cork; it was to shake the bottle." Catherine comments that it sounded frustrating, and Felicia clarifies, "Dougie liked to go on stage frustrated." We flash to Dougie, presumably frustrated, telling the audience, "I ran away from home at age twenty-five. I drank and I whored and I got my own show!" Well, that's one to grown on. Felicia explains that drug-induced priapism is evidently the key to success if you're comic hack like Dougie: "Go in hot, burn the place down." Catherine looks distinctly taken aback.
In the break room, Nicky's pouring himself a cup of coffee. Brass comes in, comments on how he needs coffee, and Nicky pours for him too. Brass says, "I need your help with something." When Nicky indicates that he's game, Brass says, "A few weeks ago, Homicide gets called to Green Valley. A woman in her forties slips in the bathtub and drowns -- cracked skull, raccooned eyes. Traumatic death, but nothing suspicious." Nicky asks what CSI found, and Brass explains that CSI found diddly and squat, since they weren't called to the scene on account of Brass ruling it an accident. Nicky asks what changed, and Brass tells us, "Last night, I saw the husband out on the town. I mean, Nick, three weeks ago this guy was devastated." We see his flashback and the husband moaning, "I should have been here. What am I going to do? She was my life!" Nicky takes all this in and comments, "Onward and upward." I would like to see Nicky giving that advice to the recently-bereaved the time he has to handle them; he's like the anti-Grief Whisperer. He's the Recovery Cheerleader. Brass explains, "This is way upward. He traded a beat-up Acura for a brand-new Ferrari, he's with a girl who gives more liftoff than -- than Cape Canaveral." Nicky laughs and says, "People grieve in different ways, man. And if this widower wants to bury his pain in flashy cars and fast women, who are you to judge? Hell, I'm thinking of picking up some women tonight just by pretending that my wife has died and I need sympathy." Or maybe he cuts that a little short.
Brass points out that he has no problem with burying one's grief in the saline bosom of a new boon companion, but he did call the life insurance carrier, and it's not looking good. The merry widower George Stark made a call to the insurer the morning his wife Shelley was found and demanded his dough. Frankly, I'm amazed they paid up that fast -- most places wait until you've got copies of the death certificate (which is usually released following any police report and autopsy) and then there's a few months' lag before the payment. This happened two weeks ago? What was it, Policy-While-U-Wait? We find out that George pocketed the $750,000. Brass adds, "I got the police report, autopsy protocol, death certificate, detective summary and scene photos." He hands the file over to Nicky. Nicky looks down at it, then asks, "You sure you're not looking for Grissom?" Brass replies, "I'm chasing something that Gil Grissom isn't interested in -- a hunch."
“ Gil and Catherine cease their bickering as they approach Liam's bench. From this angle, the shackles keeping him confined to the inside world aren't readily visible. ”
Well, even if Gil were around to be not interested, he wouldn't be able to show Brass any indifference; he's got his hands full listening to Catherine explain, "I don't have to run any tests -- you cannot absorb enough cocaine through your penis to O.D.!" Gil shoots back, "Cite your source." Catherine rolls her eyes and says, "I don't have a source." Gil nyah-nyah-nyahs, "That's why we did the tests." I get the feeling that this is an argument they have a lot. Gil and Catherine cease their bickering as they approach Liam's bench. From this angle, the shackles keeping him confined to the inside world aren't readily visible. Liam's all playful with the test sheet, but nobody's biting. Catherine snatches the sheet and notes, "Cocaine levels are less than .05 milligrams per liter -- way too low. That's not what killed him." Gil ignores the test that backed Catherine and asks Liam, "So what did [kill Dougie]?" Liam tells him it was the new anti-migraine medication naratriptamine, thirty milligrams of which Dougie had coursing through his veins -- twelve times the recommended dosage. Catherine says, "Dougie Max was poisoned." "To the max," Liam replies. We go to commercial on my groan.
Nicky's recruited Sara to look over the evidence files with him. They spread everything out over a light table, and Sara notes that the photographs don't exactly build a forensic case. Nicky adds, "Just a bathroom, a towel bar and a dead woman." We see a shot of the towel bar miraculously leaping out of the water and back on the wall. Sara notes that Shelley's injuries are consistent with an accident; Nicky counters that a contusion on the back of Shelley's head was non-fatal. We then get a whizzy look at Shelley's body rising out of the water in the classic "my hands are covering all the parts that can't be shot in shadows" pose before somehow sliding back into the deep, dark water. There was an abbreviated autopsy, which David The Questioning Coroner oversaw. Sara says, "Cause of death: drowning. It jibes with the husband's account, it jibes with the detective's account. There is nothing in this file that suggests anything other than an accident." Nicky replies shortly, "I don't know, Sara. Other people's notes, other people's photos, evidence twice removed. No CSI ever even got to look at it." Sara concedes Nicky's point by staring at him and asking, "Do you want to go to the bathroom?" Nicky smiles. That might be the best offer he's heard in a while.
In another part of the labitrail, Gil is gesturing to the massed specimen jars atop a lab bench and explaining that each one matches a consumable found in Dougie's stomach contents. Gil points out that they know Dougie had naratriptamine, and that they know he ingested it. Catherine cracks, "Because spam can't be absorbed through the penis. And if you ask me to cite my source --" Gil's visited alt.erotica.spam.spam.spam enough to know that Catherine speaks the truth. They proceed to test everything for naratriptamine; Catherine raises her eyebrow at the Choco-Bees sample and asks, "Death by chocolate again?" Gil cocks an eyebrow in response.