“You were the first brother I saw that play that sport with
the stick, right?”
Are we
really in control? I ask the question in the grandest, most obnoxious
philosophical sense: do we really have the ability to improve our lives, or are
the paths we follow essentially random? It’s an important one to keep in mind
when considering “The Wire.” For example, after Herc, Prez and Carver blinded
Kevin Johnston in one eye, was there any chance that he wouldn’t become a criminal? It was already the easiest path for
someone in his position, and the random brutality of three drunk cops sealed
the deal. It would take an act of God to save him.
Yet these
acts of Gods do occur. Omar realizes that Bunk went to high school with him,
and that he played “that sport with the stick.” He is, of course, referring to
lacrosse. Omar is clearly intelligent, but that’s a sport from a distant world.
Lacrosse has a funny history, being repurposed from native American tradition
into a distinctly upper-class sport. Maryland is arguably the area where the
sport has the largest foothold (Long Islanders like myself would disagree), but
the true measure of distance from Inner Baltimore is financial, not physical.
Bunk, randomly, became good at a sport of that different world, and I guarantee
in some ways that helped determine his path through high school, a time where
(and the show has a lot to say about this) many people fall into the criminal
world. Was it something as random as Bunk stumbling upon a traditionally
upper-class sport that differentiates him from Omar? Maybe: we don’t see the
life that Bunk didn’t live.
Wallace
randomly saw Omar’s boyfriend in an arcade, and did what was expected of him;
now he’s a wreck, shooting up in his apartment. Omar informs on Bird’s old
murders, and Detective Santangelo’s can stay in homicide. The last episode’s
epigram reminded us “all of the pieces matter,” and that’s more than a message
to the police collecting evidence. It’s metacommentary, a message to the viewer
that there is a grander picture that can only be seen gradually, that the
things that will make or break our careers, our lives, come from places we
could never have predicted..
Of course,
our choices still matter. Bubbles makes his first gesture towards getting clean
in this episode, and is shooting up within the day. How “free” he is to choose
is obviously limited by his addiction, but when Walon (played by Steve Earle, a
musician whose version of “Down in the Hole” will be the final season’s theme
song) speaks, he shows that internal power he does have. Bubbles is, in some
ways, the most fundamentally human
part of the show. He chooses, he relapses, and he keeps on trucking through the
muck. His barriers are societal, yes, but he also serves as a reminder that
lack of control often spreads inward.
McNulty continues to float further
down shit creek without a paddle. Santangelo, out of gratitude, reveals that
Rawls is gunning for his badge, and nearly collapses at Rhonda Pearlman’s
doorstep because of it. McNulty and Bubbles are oddly similar characters: both
are characters who clearly want to “do better,” but are too addicted to their
ways of life (McNulty’s an alcoholic, certainly, and a serial philanderer to
boot, but he’s also addicted to anti-authoritarian views) to change without large
amounts of effort.
The rest of
the squad, meanwhile, seem to have kept everything going according to plan
until now. They arrest Bird, their first successful charge on a homicide
charge, and even Prez has found an important role in conducting the wiretaps.
But “The Wire” is a show about all the elements of the game, and Avon and
Stringer are far too competent leaders to be victims of someone else’s plan.
They finally figure out (or merely guess correctly) that the payphones are
tapped, and end the episode by digging them up. “One Arrest,” then, is the
entire sum of arrests resulting from the wiretap (an arrest of a half-blind
juvenile delinquent, by the way). Weeks of good policework have less of a
result as Det. Santangelo’s work on a case he doesn’t even remember.
Ultimately,
everyone is playing their own strategy. Rawls and Daniels are playing the
political game (not as well, of course, as the briefly-glimpsed Clay Davis, who
will be much more important as we reach Season 3), McNulty, Freamon et. Al. are
concerned with justice, and Stringer and Avon are using a scorched-earth policy
to stave off the cops. Hell, Santangelo is desperate enough to go to a psychic
to save his career. Whatever works, I guess.
“A man must
have a code. – Bunk”
Big Miss
n
I’m tempted to retire this category, because
it’s getting increasingly difficult to find truly problematic scenes. Still,
the scene of Bird’s beating is a little odd, and seems out of character for
Det. Landsman to be involved. There’s just a little too much endorsement (the
cutaway, the intimidating way the cops approach him) of the violence for me to
buy it.
Big Hit
n
We again see a great scene of drunk bonding
between he and Bunk, spoken entirely in the terms of a presumably metaphorical
homosexual act. “The Wire” understands that a lot of what makes dialogue great
comes not from the words, but from the
context and performances, and McNulty and Bunk’s relationship (I’d be tempted
to be use the word “bromance,” but then I’d have to wash my hands with pumice to
feel clean again) is the best example of it.
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