Up until the past 15 years or so, television series were firmly
episodic. Serialized TV (outside of mini-series) risked alienating
viewers since it stopped anyone from coming in mid-season. However,
with the rise of DVDs, OnDemand, and digital downloads, serialized TV
series have become firmly established. Some shows still retain an
episodic nature, but some series—particularly dramas—have been built
around telling one long story over the course of an entire season. Our
new feature, Seasoned, will review a TV series by season rather than by episode.
And we couldn’t think of a better kick-off to this feature than HBO’s The Wire. Hit the jump for my review of the groundbreaking drama’s first season.
Before I begin my review of The Wire,
I would like to establish two important points regarding my viewing
experience. First, I previously saw the first three seasons of the
series, but it was several years ago, and I can only remember the
broadest aspects of the plot. For a show where the devil is in the
details, my review will basically be a first viewing. This leads to my
second point: I am purposely avoiding outside commentary on Season One
because it may reveal plot points about the other seasons, and I would
like my viewing to be as fresh as possible.
In June 2002, HBO began airing The Wire, a police drama unlike any that had come before. Created by former Baltimore police reporter David Simon and former homicide detective Ed Burns,
the show blasted apart every cliché and comfort of the standard police
procedural. Simon had already begun picking apart the genre with his
series Homicide: Life on the Street, but The Wire went far beyond the perspective of cops.
Set in Baltimore (a city where Simon had the greatest familiarity)
and with the blessing of the city’s mayor, the show took an unflinching
look at the intersection of police investigations, criminal
organizations, social issues, and the politics in between. The show
rarely, if ever, took a hard stance on characters simply being “good” or
“evil”, although some were portrayed as more admirable than others.
It’s a series based around compromise, and exploring the morality and
necessity behind those compromises. Furthermore, The Wire tends
to function more as social observation rather than social commentary.
Simon and Burns refuse to provide answers or solutions because the story
proves there’s no quick fix when it comes to a complex web of
conflicts, and, more importantly, to human nature.
The self-destructive nature of Homicide Detective Jimmy McNulty (Dominic West) begins our journey into the complicated world of Baltimore’s cops and criminals. Westside drug kingpin Avon Barksdale (Wood Harris) has left a string of bodies as collateral damage in his criminal operation. After McNulty watches Avon’s nephew D’Angelo (Larry Gilliard) escape conviction due to witness intimidation, he brings his grievances to Judge Phelan (Peter Gerety),
and says that the murders will continue until Avon is brought to
justice. Phelan uses his political might to push the Deputy
Commissioner Ervin Burrell (Frankie Faison) to create a detail to investigate Barksdale. Burrell tells the detail’s leader, Lieutenant Cedric Daniels (Lance Reddick),
to keep the investigation brief and contained, but McNulty’s constant
needling and the mounting evidence against Barksdale expands the scope
of the case.
Most
police dramas would focus simply on the work of the detail, and would
barely acknowledge the criminal organization or the political factors
guiding and obstructing the investigation. In The Wire, these
elements are not only acknowledged, but deemed essential. Much like the
cops, the criminals have a clear organizational structure but it’s far
more streamlined and functional than what the police (or “po-leece” in
the dialect of both the cops and criminals) have. Avon is the top dog,
Stringer Bell (Idris Elba) is his smart and steady
second-in-command, and then there are lieutenants who function both as
muscle and overseers of various parts of the drug-dealing locations.
DeAngelo is demoted from the Towers to “The Pit”, which makes less money
and forces DeAngelo to function as both a boss and a mentor to the
teenage dealers Poot Carr (Tray Chaney),Bodie Broadus (J.D. Williams), and Wallace (Michael B. Jordan). Of course, violence is also a strong factor in keeping the ranks in line. As Detective Thomas “Herc” Hauk (Domenick Lombardozzi) points out to his partner Ellis Carver (Seth Gilliam),
the cops will never “win” because the criminals’ system of promotion
and punishment is far more powerful than what the Baltimore Police
Department can dish out.
The Wire is a deeply complicated show and I could spend
pages going through every plot development and character motive. But
this isn’t meant to be a recap. This is an outline of the organizations
in play: The Law, The Politics, and The Criminals. Although the show’s
title is a literally a reference to the wiretapping the detail used to
build their case against Barksdale, it’s figuratively about the wires
that interconnect and crossover the various aspects of the show. For
example, the detail works with Omar Little (Michael K. Williams)
in order to bring down Barksdale even though Omar is a criminal who
participates not under pressure or threats, but because he wants revenge
against Barksdale for the brutal retaliatory murder of Omar’s partner
and boyfriend. The detail also works with Bubbles (Andre Royo), a drug addict who volunteers as a criminal informant in order to punish Barksdale’s crew for stomping on his friend.
In
a standard police procedural, there’s no cooperation. There’s only
intimidation. The cops hang a charge over a criminal’s head and the
criminal either agrees to inform or they go to jail. In order to keep
the plot moving forward, the criminal usually agrees to work with the
cops. That kind of intimidation exists on The Wire, but it’s
used not only as a means of coercion, but also a means of unsanctioned
punishment giving way to straight-up police brutality. When Detective
Greggs (Sonja Sohn), a smart and honorable investigator
on the detail, tries to get a hitter Barksdale’s crew to cop to a
murder and flip on his boss, the perp only throws hateful epithets her
way. This behavior is greeted a severe beat-down by Greggs and two more
cops inside the interrogation room. He deserves it, but we’d like to
think cops are above such brutality. And in a normal cop show, such
brutality would become the defining issue of an episode, and the cop
would be punished. In The Wire, it’s fairly commonplace, and
so are other short-cuts. There are no straight-arrow po-lice on the
show, and if there were, they’d be totally ineffective.
So are Greggs and her cohorts corrupt? Are they unfit for duty? Shouldn’t they be above such behavior? The Wire
doesn’t quibble with these issues as plot points because the show isn’t
about moralizing. The show lives and breathes in the grey area, and it
leaves the moral judgments to the viewer. That’s not to say that a
character’s morality doesn’t affect their circumstances. If placed in a
dramatic range, The Wire would absolutely be a tragedy. Some
of the characters are doomed by their own personalities and moral code.
McNulty’s anti-authority streak, short temper, and self-righteousness
mean he’ll always hurt himself, and his resultant self-loathing will
push away those around him. D’Angelo and Wallace show empathy in a game
that has no patience for it, and both suffer and, in the case of
Wallace, die as a result.
