“We turned and shook as we had a look /
In the room where the dead men lay”
Has
there ever been a show that lets protagonists be as fundamentally wrong as “The
Wire”? I’m not talking about letting their characters do evil things: “The
Sopranos” and “Breaking Bad” are much more concerned with the idea of “evil”
than “The Wire” ever will be. Nor am I talking about the obvious heels in the
department, guys like Herc who are designed that way. I’m talking about
McNulty, the closest thing the show has to a lead character, and his
dissatisfaction with the shift in Major Crimes’ focus. The show is indicating,
convincingly, that Bell and Prop Joe’s reign as kingpins is a peaceful one, a
best-case of the worst-cases (searching for the least of all evils is a common
thread in this, the most obviously anti-War-on-Drugs season of the show). McNulty,
and even Greggs, however, want “real” policework, which means targeting the
best criminals, and letting the more harmful ones go about their business. It’s
wrongheaded, but it’s true to the characters, which makes it all the more
impressive.
Even
myths make mistakes, and Omar makes one of his biggest ones in this episode. He
goes after another Barksdale target, knowing it’s a dangerous one, and forgets
to mind the guards out back (the episode already demonstrated that he knew
where the guards were). And he would have gotten away with it, too, if it
weren’t for Dante shooting blindly behind him, taking out Tosha. It’s a great,
harrowing sequence, more reminiscent of a way movie than anything else (David
Simon notes that the season is supposed to function largely as a allegory for
the War on Terror. I don’t know how true that is, but the scene surely feels
like something out of “Black Hawk Down” or another modern war film, from the
shaky camerawork to the closeups on Omar and Kimmy). It requires a little bit
more suspension of disbelief than most scenes, but Omar always has played that
sort of role in the drama of the show. It also gives Omar something to do for
the rest of the season, presumably, and that is always a welcome thing. Any
episode that closes on an ominous shot of Michael K. Williams’ face in smoke
ought to leave you wanting more.
Meanwhile,
Bunny Colvin’s long-run plan takes more of a shape in this episode. “I was
thinking I might legalize drugs,” he quips after being dressed down for handing
in clean statistics, but it becomes less of a joke and more of a mission
statement as the episode progresses. Lieutenant Not Jay Landsman but Jay
Landsman (the character is named Dennis Mello, but he’s actually played by the
real-life Jay Landsman, hence the lengthy sobriquet I will refer to him by)
stands by skeptically, and even offers jokes to help with the district
rank-and-file, but it becomes clear that Colvin is going to do something
radical. Do I buy it, you ask? Difficult to say: it’s not something that seems
like it could happen, but the show takes pains to bring us to this point,
starting from last season. I like it, however, even as hypothetical, because it
allows the writing staff to examine what would happen if their solution (its
presumptuous, but also correct) to the war on drugs were to be implemented.
Of
course, the real problem is that it would take a politician to implement a
solution like this, and judging from the machinations of this episode, they’re
all a little too concerned with reelection (unlike, say, a retiring policeman)
to take such a risk. Carcetti is fighting something vaguely similar to the good
fight, or at the very least an okay fight, but he only does it by leaking info
to the press about the suspended academy class. Royce even does something
vaguely moral, standing by Burrell, although his view of loyalty seems to be
more of a well-evolved trick of the trade instead of an intrinsic belief. Of
course, they’re both still scumbags in their way: Royce forces Burrell to fall
on a sword he’s already fallen on with the suspended class, and Carcetti cheats
on his loyal wife (and yes, we get it, hes
narcissistic. We don’t need to see him getting off to his own reflection).
The streets may be rough, but I’ll be damned if the political scene isn’t…oh
you know where that cliché is going.
“The gods will not save you” – Burrell.
Observations and What-Have-You’s
n
I wish I had mentioned the wake scene
above (although I cheated a bit by quoting the Pogues song as the epigraph),
but its absolutely splendid. Among many great traits, it shows just how Irish’d
the policeforce is, an idea that is clearly a relic in predominantly Black
Baltimore, but is passed down in both the songs and alcohol we see men like
McNulty, Bunk, Landsman and Freamon enjoy. It’s an interesting type of cultural
inheritance, and like all good Irish celebrations, also laden with clear signs
of alcoholism.
n
The wake is also perhaps the most meta-moment
on a show that usually stays away from such commentary. Det. Cole was played by
Robert F. Colesberry, the executive producer of “The Wire” who died soon after
branching out into direction with the fantastic finale of Season 2. Jay
Landsman’s (the real fake one) speech is laden with references to his actual
work in Hollywood (Mississippi Burning is an “Mississippi arson extradition
case,” “After Hours” is references as well).
n
One of the most impressive thing about
“The Wire” is how well they cast seemingly minor characters. The kids imitating
Omar Little, for example, recur later with the same actors, and that sort of
continuity really give “The Wire” a novelistic feel, at the risk of heading
back into cliché.
n
Also, the wealth of the writing staff
reaches absurdity here, with Dennis Lehane, Boston-novelist extraordinaire
writing his first episode. He’s most famous for Shutter Island and two other
books made into Academy Award-nominated films (“Mystic River” and “Gone Baby
Gone,” the latter of which was nominated for Amy Ryan’s unbelievable turn as
the world’s worst mom. Ms. Ryan, of course, plays Beadie Russell on “The Wire,”
and the world keeps on spinning).
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