A guy like Bruce doesn't have to toss out money when he takes the stage at Comic-Con; his reputation and enormous head (am I being figurative or literal here? I don't know) precede him well before he arrives in the room. I saw this first-hand as Marcy and I waited in the loooong Burn Notice line hours before the actual panel began. Bruce Campbell is the only celebrity whose face appears on two T-shirts that I own. He is also the only celebrity I am interested in who also owns his own line of soup.
Attending a Comic-Con panel for a show/movie/comic book/artist you've never experienced or heard of is like going on a blind date, and halfway through the date the girl tells you she's famous and you feel guilty for not having known that. Then you go home and watch the TV series she's in, and it turns out she kicks ass on TV and you've decided she kicks ass in real life too so you get married and have babies. Ass-kicking, chainsaw-wielding, demon-skeleton-warrior killing, babies.
That's how I felt after completing the first season of Burn Notice, a show that has absolutely no business being at Comic-Con except to give Bruce an excuse to attend. As if he needs one.
The show centers around Michael Westin, a spy who is forced out of his chosen profession (they call it getting burned) and so he returns to his hometown of Miami to help the Golden Girls fight drug lords. Betty White's performance is great; the others are a little stiff.
One of Michael's friends is Sam, played by Bruce Almighty. Sam's schtick is to have friends in every level of government so as to provide necessary information/exposition about the bad guy of the week. I'm waiting for him to call in the Girl Scouts to help crack the case of the cookie bandit.
It's a great show, providing ample opportunity for Bruce to get his ass kicked and kick some ass. I'm ready to fire up Season Two.
Hail to the King, baby.
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