In rapid-fire order, two highly visible criminal cases played themselves out in courtrooms in Buffalo, raising anew questions about the quality of media coverage of complex legal issues.

The cases were the trials of Muzzammil Hassan and the City Grill shootings. In a strictly legal context, they had few substantive similarities. However, both mesmerized the media.

The coverage by broadcast, print and electronic gadgets was fulsome to the point of obsession. Despite the heft, I'm not convinced that in their gluttony, the media acquitted themselves well. I'm even less certain of what the daily drumbeat of often repetitive coverage contributed to the public's appreciation of our system of jurisprudence.

On more than one weekend, the snippets of crime-scene video smeared each newscast I viewed in that mind-numbing loop of replays that TV news indulges in when, in fact, nothing truly newsworthy is occurring. During one Saturday newscast, the same days-old video clip of the defendant and his attorney was played six separate times before, during and after the 60-seconds devoted to the "story." The coverage was voluminous and vacuous.

That wasn't the only wart apparent in the media's coverage. Consider this pop quiz consisting of one question: What's the first item on the agenda of virtually every news-reporting organization around Buffalo - televised, broadcast and print - when an exceptionally hot criminal case reaches the courtroom?

Answer: Each latches on to its own "legal expert" who will be asked quasi-specific questions about the case which the expert is certainly not in a position to answer definitely, but can respond to only in presumptive, speculative fashion.

The result - from what I saw, heard and read - was a welter of generalizations offering sparse insights into each individual case but certainly allowing each channel, station and newspaper the opportunity to crow about its "unique" coverage.

In viewing, listening to or reading the sundry insights of legal experts in any one case, a few things were apparent.

First, none of those willing or eager to "go live" in the media was an insider on the specific trial at bar. Not even retired prosecutors. Given that reality, what determines the merits of trumpeting the insights of one "legal expert" over any other? Is it one expert's particular pedigree in specializing in a single area of criminal law? Or could it be the simple availability of that "expert"? Or perhaps his or her photogenic qualities or vocal inflections that lend themselves to a televised or broadcast forum? In the least, shouldn't a news organization inform its audience how it evaluates the credentials of its particular brand of expert?

Furthermore, I was struck by the gender tilt of the lineup of experts whom I heard, saw or read about. It was singularly male, in contrast to the lineup of attorneys at the prosecution and defense tables.

One familiar media-and-the-law analysis presented itself in the City Grill case, which found its brand even before trial when a suspect in the shootings "turned himself in" to a television reporter. The maneuver has become somewhat of a burlesque, having played the media circuit here and throughout the county for decades. It's worn and, as expected, adds little to the case other than predictable Free Press/Fair Trial evocations. Nonetheless, video replays of the surrender poured incessantly across the screen.

Some new media issues, however, arose when reporters in the courtroom during trial were also armed with the latest communications gadgetry. What's more necessary: that reporters know the rudiments of basic criminal law or, instead, are able to tweet 140-character tidbits of "info" live from the rear of the courtroom? During the Hassan trial, at least one AM radio news reporter gushed incessantly about the experience of tweet-covering the testimony in what sounded like a truly gee-whiz moment in the age of online journalism.

The novelty doesn't end there. Consider "The Blog." Even respected newspapers have embraced blogging. The blog, in fact, is little more than online barroom conversation in a virtual tavern. Everyone with a keyboard gets to gurgle or exclaim an opinion. Sober reflection isn't required. But what does it say about distraction from serious, attentive reportage? How does a reporter blog minute-by-minute or "chat" or text and responsibly "cover" an ongoing trial? Can a reporter simultaneously text and report responsibly?

These aren't walk-and-chew-gum questions. Distractions can diminish accurate coverage of the nuanced presentation of issues at trial. Reporters themselves recognize the dilemma. One newspaper reporter faced the question squarely in her blog with a response that was defensive yet reflecting the seriousness of the proposition. She wrote: "During the trial I'm not the one blogging, thank goodness! We have other staffers taking turns doing that."

Finally, questions also presented themselves about courtroom graphics. When television and still cameras are permitted in the courtroom during a trial, what do they actually contribute to objective journalism? And if, instead, sketch artists address the media's need for trial graphics, what's the actual versus potentially prejudicial value of the sketches? At one time, newspaper sketch artists produced work that resembled stick figures woefully lacking in definition. One wonders what value there might be when artistic definition is carried to an extreme, producing comic-like characterizations of courtroom participants. How does one distinguish between an "informative" courtroom sketch and an editorial cartoon?

Modesto Argenio is of counsel at The Stamm Law Firm. He recently retired as senior court attorney, legal department, Erie County Surrogate's Court.