SAN DIEGO – "I don't know if you can see me, but I'm dressed as Sweeney Todd," a woman tells Joss Whedon, creator of Fox's "Dollhouse," in what at first sounds like one of those moments I'd long expected from San Diego Comic-Con, which each year brings producers and actors together with the people who love them at least as much as their own mothers do.

It wasn't, however.

Her lead-in might've been a little unorthodox, but her question, which involved musicals - a genre that Whedon's played with in both "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and in his Emmy-nominated Web production "Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog" - wasn't in the least cringe-worthy.

And as a veteran of literally thousands of entertainment-industry press conferences attended by people who ask questions for a living, I've cringed a lot.

Yes, Comic-Con, which wrapped up its four-day stay here last night, is a bit out there.

Where else, after all, can you see Klingons being carted around in pedi-cabs, hundreds of zombies weaving their way through San Diego's famed Gaslamps Quarter and more "Star Wars" storm troopers than in all the franchise's movies put together?

But spend a few days with Comic-Con attendees - a population estimated to be between 120,000 and 150,000 - and cynicism tends to give way to grudging admiration, even wonder. They're a remarkably polite group for their size, and a remarkably accepting one: The whole event feels like a safe zone for people who probably didn't fit in in middle school.

Which, let's face it, covers just about everyone who's ever attended middle school.

That could explain why a screening of the second episode of Fox's "Glee," relegated to the nearby Hilton Bayfront for its lack of sci-fi credentials, received an enthusiastic reception for its story about a group of social misfits who form a high-school show choir.

It's a bit of a nightmare for reporters, whose press credentials guarantee nothing beyond access to the event and who must negotiate from there for interview opportunities and the limited line-cutting passes that make it possible to attend multiple sessions, though it seems to be anything but for those who often line up hours in advance to support their favorite shows.

Yes, their questions are screened in advance - something that doesn't, say, happen during press conferences at the Television Critics Association's meetings, which start tomorrow - but those asking them demonstrate affection less by gushing than by a knowledge of the work that occasionally exceeds that of professional critics.

The affection clearly flows both ways.

On a Saturday morning session for NBC's "Chuck," a show that escaped almost certain death last spring in part because of a fan-led campaign that targeted Subway, one of the show's sponsors, star Zachary Levi got choked up as he looked out on a sea of faces. In a ballroom that holds some 4,500, the crowd was standing room only.

"You guys are incredible - I love you so much, thank you so much," he said, following a surprise performance by the entire cast – kicked off by Scott Krinsky and Vik Sahay – of Queen's "Fat-Bottomed Girls" that had him jumping up on to a table onstage.

"I felt like Mick Jagger," Levi said that evening, during an Entertainment Weekly/Syfy party at the Hotel Solamar.

He'd planned, he'd said, to take a breezy tone at the beginning of the session, but found he just couldn't. And then got choked up all over again recalling the moment.

The cast of "Fringe," first introduced at Comic-Con a year ago, seemed stunned to find themselves in front of a crowd of more than just adoring fans.

Playing a game of stump-the-viewers, they tossed out one trivia question after another (sample: What's the name of Olivia's sister's husband?), only to hear the answer shouted out immediately from several directions.

(From where I was seated, I couldn't hear the answers, but it appeared that all but one of the six or seven questions posed received correct replies. I've seen every episode of the show and didn't know a single one.)

In return for this kind of devotion, writers and producers and occasionally even actors tend to offer up tiny bits of information about a show's direction, though almost never giving up anything really important.

Or as John Lithgow, who's joining the cast of Showtime's "Dexter" as a serial killer in the coming season, described his role at Comic-Con to reporters before the show's panel last week: "I will say anything I can without saying anything." *

Send e-mail to graye@phillynews.com or follow my updates from Comic-Con and the Television Critics Association's summer meetings at go.philly.com/ellengray and at twitter.com/elgray.