When I was growing up, the first
truly great drama that I ever watched was NBC’s Homicide: Life on the Street. I’ve already written an entire book
about the essence of what made it a great show, so what I want to deal with was
why it was a great police drama.
Set in Baltimore, based on David Simon’s book and
ran by Tom Fontana, Homicide rewrote
the book on what police were supposed to be. They weren’t the icons of Kojak or SWAT; hell, sometimes you actually feared what would happened in
one of tried to run. They saw just how badly broken the war on drugs was as far
back as 1993. While some of them thought being a policeman was a calling, most
of them viewed in a cynical way. (One of the very first lines uttered on the
show was when a rookie was asking if this was homicide, a veteran detective
said: “Homicide? We work for God.” The African-American Lieutenant was anything
but a straw man; there were as many black cops as there were black criminals,
and the bosses only cared for the rank and file as for whether they made the
Baltimore PD look good.
Perhaps most strike, there was no
police brutality. Confessions were extracted by getting the suspects – most of
whom were portrayed not as masterminds, but simpletons – to ignore what should
have been the most obvious thing: to act in their own self-interest and shut
up. The greatest moments in Homicide were
not chase scenes of shootouts, but watching Frank Pembleton or Tim Bayliss get
a confession by barely raising his voice an octave. They would bend the law,
but never break it. Nearly thirty years after it debuted, I have to see a
network cop drama like it. Which may be part of our problem as a nation.
Both Fontana
and Simon chafed at the level of pressure they got from the network to do
things “normally”, and it was a rebellion against that pressure that led both Fontana and Simon to
eventually go to HBO for more creative freedom, and not coincidentally, usher
in the New Golden Age. Most of the
freedom they wanted was to express themselves using the obscenities and
violence they were never allowed to do on NBC, but another part of it had to do
with express ideas that network television in 1997 (and maybe even now) just
wouldn’t let them.
Fontana moved out first, and ended
up created the prison drama Oz. Set
in a state and city that were never named, the Oswald State Correctional
Facility housed criminals who were truly without redemption, officials who
believe in punishment rather than reform, and a unit management trying his
hardest to build a better life for his inmates, most of whom don’t want it.
Oz
is remembered for the excessive brutality and nudity that it featured (I
believe that it averaged one inmate
death per episode), but it would try to shout out about the injustice in the
criminal justice system. Most of it was expressed through the Greek chorus of
Augustus Hill, a narrator whose ability to break the fourth wall was never
really explained. But perhaps the best moment where it spoke the plainest about
how stacked the deck was same in the first season finale.
In the midst of a riot, Em City
manager Tim McManus and leader Kareem Said have an epic conversation. McManus
tries to convince Said that they ‘are on the verge of disaster… before we all
join hands and jump, I want another chance.” Said tells him. “…the best prison
wouldn’t be good enough. I’m not saying the men in this prison are here because
of the crimes they committed, but the color of their skin! Their lack of
education! The fact that they are poor! This riot isn’t… about life in prison.
It’s about the whole hoary judicial system! We don’t need better prisons! Safer
prisons. We need better justice! Now what can you do about that?”
And the tragedy is, McManus can do
very little. Even when Em City is reestablished the next season, almost every
major effort McManus and his colleagues try to do fail, mostly at the hands of
a law-and-order governor who himself completely corrupt and amoral. (He gives
the orders for the sort team to break up the riot that leads to eight deaths
and creates a commission to vindicate his decision.) The sad thing about Oz, is that even a quarter century
later, all of its arguments for prison reform are still valid and unfulfilled.
Simon’s approach was less graphic
in violence but more revolutionary in execution. A lot has been said about The Wire since its premiere about Simon
and company’s attempt to paint a picture of the death of the American dream,
but for now, let’s just deal with its view of policing. Because the Baltimore
PD of The Wire is thoroughly and
completely broken, starting with the fact that the cops are still using
typewriters to fill out their reports in the Pilot.
The idea of doing policework has
been completely laid to waste. No one in the department is interesting in doing
anything to actually investigate crime. The task force is started just to
please a judge, is filled with the dregs of the department, and is just
supposed to make a few “buy and busts” to please the judge. Every attempt to
widen the investigation is thwarted by the brass every step of the way, not
because their corrupt (ac common misconception) but because “that’s the way
things are done.” The fact that the way things are done has led to a literal
state of urban decay in the city doesn’t matter to the brass who are just
interested in getting things done well enough to get promoted. The people who
are interested in fixing things, like Captain Daniels and Detective McNulty are
punished for sticking their heads out. The legal system is no more interested
in making things better than the cops are. And as each successive season
demonstrates, this utter decay has happened because of flaws in society: the
death of blue-collar labor, the corruption and ambition of politicians, the
utter wretchedness of the educational system, and the deterioration of the
media. And since no one at the national
level is interested in fixing these flaws, the spiral will never end.
All three of these series have been
recognize among the greatest and most revolutionary ever made. And if the world
were to take them seriously as notes on reform (as Simon has constantly
advocated for) as well as television, maybe our society would be in a better
place. But the fact is, none of these shows were audience hits. Homicide was famously labeled by TV Guide as ‘The Best Show You’re Not
Watching.” The Wire had to fight for
renewal every year it was on the air. And while Oz is remembered today as a pioneer, it’s more for its (admittedly
importantly) role in normalizing same-sex relationship for cable television and
then broadcast television.
And it’s easy to see why. All of
these shows take place in the grey area. If there is one thing that most
viewers wants, it a clear cut case of black and white, good and evil. We want
the bad guy to go to prison or get shot to death by the law. We don’t want to
think why he became a bad guy. We don’t want to think about whether the cop
believes in anything but justice, no matter how cynical he may act. We don’t
want to think that the people in prison are anything other than the crimes they
committed. And the fact is, television
gives us what we want.
But are there same showrunners who
are more than willing to make this myth even larger than it is? That might have
done their bit to paint the picture this way deliberately. I think there may be
one showrunner who is guiltier of this sin than anyone else, and in my next
article, I’ll tell you who he is.
No comments:
Post a Comment