When Oz debuted
in June of 1997 on HBO, no one knew what to make of it. It was not greeted with the same deification
that The Sopranos, The Wire or Deadwood would be in subsequent
years. While some journals such as
Entertainment Weekly recognized just what a masterpiece it was, other
publications – most notably TV Guide – could never truly get their heads around
it. It was only after the full scope of the revolution in TV became clear that
many scholars began to realize just how important it was from the perspective
of how everything got started.
It’s
understandable why so many people rejected in the summer of 1997 and even years
after the fact. Even by the standards of so many of the dramas in Peak TV, Oz
is relentlessly grim and gruesome. It has to be by its nature: we’re in a
maximum security prison, most of the convicts we meet are serving life
sentences and most of the characters we meet will die horrible, bloody deaths,
frequently within the episode we meet them. (Such was the case with Dino Ortolani,
the convict that Tom Fontana spends the pilot making the center of the action
and that has one of the convicts set him on fire by the end of the episode.)
It’s also by
far the most claustrophobic of any of the dramas in television; almost the
entire series is spent indoors and the majority of that time in a cell block
with the cynical name Emerald City the pet project of unit manager Tim McManus
(Terry Kinney). McManus has decided to spend every bit of his time and energy
building a better life for the men in Em City, something that is almost from
start to finish, no one in the prison can understand why. It is not until the
final episode McManus acknowledges the reason he’s done so is because he
realize this will probably be the only life these men ever know. And by that point he knows that he’s fundamentally
failed in that mission.
You throw in a
nearly unprecedented level of male nudity, relentless gore and the clearest
indication the war on drugs is a failure (we reached this conclusion two years
before The Wire debuted) and it’s understandable why so many people
could never truly accept this series in the same nature of all the other Peak
shows, even the ones on HBO. All of
these characters were all more relatable than so many of the antiheroes we got
on HBO dramas over the years to come but they never got any victories and they
never had any fun. You could admire and appreciate OZ but it was a lot
harder to say you ever enjoyed in the conventional sense.
Which is why I
find it ironic that when it came to the issue of religion and faith Oz may
have been the most optimistic and least cynical depiction of it than we have
gotten on TV before and with very few exceptions since. Because the thing is when you are in a place
of captivity you try to find comfort in whatever you can and it was very clear
that many of the major characters tried to find comfort in faith – and more amazingly,
some of them even managed to succeed in a way they never could on the outside.
There’s
actually an argument that the fundamental approach of Oz was modeled to
make us think of a higher power from the start. The first words we hear in the
series come from Augustus Hill (Harold Perrineau in his star-making
performance). Now Hill is a relatively minor character in what is happening in
the show. He is part of the action, but he’s never as dominant as many of the
other characters. But Hill is the important character because of Tom Fontana’s
decision to make him the omniscient narrator. In a very real sense Hill is a
messenger from God, and often speaks in a kind of oratory that most of the
other characters never do.
Fontana always
chose to have Hill tell stories that, as the series progressed, had nothing to
do with the action but were in a larger sense metaphorical connections. It increasingly
became harder to find what they were in later seasons but I never truly cared. Most of the theme’s Hill’s narration involved
God: indeed, the third episode was titled ‘God’s Chillin’”
Throughout the
series Hill would give deeply cynical expressions of many faiths: he told a
story of the Book Of Exodus I’ve never been able to get out of my head. He
related the Works of Mercy of the Catholic Church. He told us sagas of the Greek
Gods; he told us of the difference between the laws of God and Man. It is because Hill seemed omniscient that we spent
much of the series, even as people around him died left and right, that Hill
would survive because God can survive everything. It came as a shock when he
nearly OD in the sixth season and an even bigger one when he was actually
killed off. (Though he didn’t really die, as I’ll get to later in this article.)
It’s also worth
noting Hill was in a wheelchair (he had been paralyzed in the process of his
arrest) and remained in that chair even when he was narrating. Perhaps there
was a message there that even omniscience did not grant you healing but only
death could. Indeed, Hill’s last words on the series as he bled out were: “I
can feel my legs.”
In addition to
the fundamental narration Oz also featured three religious characters
unlike any other in TV history; more than twenty-five years later, we still
haven’t had ones like them anywhere.
Sister Peter Marie Reimondo (Rita Moreno) a nun and the prison
psychologist; Father Ray Mukada (B.D. Wong) one of the most cynical priests I’ve
ever encountered on the screen and Kareem Said (Eamonn Walker) a Black Muslim who
came to Oz as a political prisoner. Moreno was already a legend; Wong and
Walker have worked consistently ever since the end of the series in 2003; all
three did some of their best work in the medium here.
Sister Pete, as
she was known, was fundamentally a militant nun perhaps more invested in the
rights of the prisoners even more than McManus was. As we learned in the second season, she had
been married before her husband was murdered; she had given her life to Christ
in the aftermath. She ran a drug
counselling session that was critical to many of the characters, though it’s
never clear how seriously some of them took it. She started sessions involving
victim/attacker interaction to help some of the families and the prisoners get
through some of their grief; sometimes it was disastrous, sometimes it worked.
And she was perhaps the only true voice of compassion throughout the entire
series: not one person on either the staff or an inmate ever truly hated or
even disliked her. (In an amusing joke, several of the prisoners decided she
was the sexiest woman in Oz. When she learned it, she was flattered. To be
clear, back then it held.)
Sister Pete was
by far one of the most vocal opposition to the death penalty which would put
her in constant conflict with many people in leadership. In the fourth episode
of the series when inmate Jefferson Keane was to become the first man to be
executed (I’ll get to that in another section) she said she was going to be
outside with the protesters and had no problem if Leo Glynn decided to fire her,
which he did. We actually saw her punching one of the counter-protesters. This
actually led to one of the most famous exchanges about the death penalty and
how religion views it.
In the aftermath
of the execution of a serial killer Sister Pete and Leo have a discussion about
the death penalty.
“The commandant
does not say thou shalt not kill, it says thou shalt not murder”, Pete reminds
him.
“Yeah, but the
bible also says: “An eye for an eye,’ Leo reminds her. “That tells me God is as
confused about this as everybody else. All I know is that L’Italian (the latest
man executed) has no family. So were going to put his body in a pine box and
ship him to Potter’s Field in an unmarked grave. There he’ll be, for all of
eternity, with no one to grieve over him.”
“I grieve him,”
Pete says.
“I know,” Leo
acknowledges. “That’s why I love you.”
There’s something
very optimistic about this in this grim series about how two people on such divergent
sides of the issue can find common ground on it. Leo and Sister Pete would
disagree throughout the show but never about this again.
The show also
had Pete come to terms with certain romantic feelings for another inmate Chris
Keller (Christopher Meloni’s breakthrough). Throughout their sessions it became
clear that Keller was playing head games with Pete, and they established such
doubts in her head that she decided to leave the convent. This actually led to
another moment in Season 4 when Keller, who was shot and brought back from the
dead twice came back genuinely afraid of burning in hell. For much of Season 4,
he tried to redeem himself in the eyes of Sister Pete who was still going
through the process. Indeed, he actually
wrote a letter to the Cardinal asking him to come to Oz almost specifically to
see Sister Pete.
In an
interesting segment that cardinal (Gavin McCleod) not only sympathized with her
doubts but said that he’d had them himself at one point. He left in her hands
and said that she would make the right choice.
At the end of
the season she actually seemed determined to leave the convent, but through
discussions with both Ryan and Cyril O’Reilly (patients as well as Catholics)
and a conversation with Keller, she came to realize that being a nun was part
of her nature. Keller, who had been going through his own struggles that season
said that he wanted to be picked by God as if he were a kid standing for gym.
Sister Pete said it could still happen. Keller told her sadly: “It’s too late.”
Sister Pete was
a source of strength to many of inmates in Oz and a good friend to many of the
others. Her strongest connection was with Tobias Beecher (Lee Tergesen) who
after awhile became her confidant in one of the deepest relationships in the
series. It was she that he confided that he was in love with Keller and his
sexual struggles. Despite religions perspective
on homosexuality Sister Pete never judged anyone on it. One of her other jobs
was running a support group for victims of sexual assault.
In a way
perhaps the most poignant conversation she had came in the final season with
the most unlikely source. Throughout the series one of the members of the Aryans
was James Robson, one of the most openly racist and violent men in the prison –
he planned two murders and committed at least as many. However, late in the
series, he was ostracized from the Aryans and faced a threat of death.
In desperation
he went to Sister Pete and told her: “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” He
asked her if she’d ever been scared of dying and she told us about how her
first year in Oz a man had tried to
choke her death and she had passed out to find he can slit his wrists on her
tape dispenser. Robson asked her if she
remembered that feeling. Sister Pete asked: “Do you feel this way?” “More often
than I’d like to admit.”
It was stunning
to see this man who had been nothing but a monster barely able to hold back
tears, as he described the horrors of his childhood – and the fact that he had
been beaten and molested by his father. “I’m thirty-six years old and I’ve got
nowhere to run,” he tells her.
The fact that
Sister Pete thinks there is something redeemable in a man who has spent so much
of the series assaulting many of the people she is close to is incredible and
in the final episodes she helps Robson become whole in a way he just isn’t. The
final season got many things wrong but the journey between Robson and Sister
Pete was not one of them.
There was
clearly compassion in Ray Mukada but it was mixed with a bitter cynicism I had
never seen in a priest before. The moment he talked to Miguel Alvarez with ‘Tough
break’, you knew this was a chaplain unlike any other. And its worth noting Ray
had more than a reason to be cynical. In the riot that served as a climax in
Season One, he was held hostage and Miguel stood by and he was beaten. They
would rebuild their relationship but at the end of Season Two when Miguel
gouged out the eyes of a CO, he ran to Ray’s office and tied him up.
Father Mukada
was a man of faith but he looked at so many of the prisoners often with barely
veiled contempt. When L’Italian had his last meal, he heard his confession but
even though he was as opposed to the death penalty as Sister Pete, he believed
L’Italian (who had confessed to over thirty murders) deserved it. His robes were closer to being leather than
anything else and we often saw him smoking.
And there seemed to be some backstory to him that we never truly knew.
At one point Beecher as if he’d ever loved somebody too much before being
reminded of his celibacy. Ray actually answered the question: “Yes I have.”
In the second
season another priest Robert Sippel, who was in Oz for sexual assault, was
about to be paroled. Sister Pete asked
him if he could reach out to the diocese and Ray deflected before saying: “And Sippel
disgusts me.” He came to see him his cell and saw him reading a breviary. Ray
argued: “You’re not a priest.” Sippel told him that the removal of the collar
did not remove his faith in God and talked of his duality. “I am a priest, but
I am not a priest.” Sippel asked: “Will you pray with me?” Ray paused: “No. But
I’ll pray for you.” Ray was actually willing to reach out and ended up hiring
Sippel as an assistant, though in keeping with the violence in Oz, Sippel was
crucified (but survived) and was written out of the series.
Ray’s cynicism
was couched in a sense that his career had dead ended in Oswald. He had been a rising
star in the seminary but he had offended the Cardinal. When the Cardinal
visited Oz, he asked him why he was sent there:
“I had too many
opinions,” Ray guesses.
“You had too
big an ego,” the Cardinal tells him.
Ray actually
acknowledges that was probably true. “I doubt that’s the case now,” the
Cardinal says and Ray acknowledges that as well.
It was harder
to pin down Ray’s role as chaplain the same way that Sister Pete was. He was
the major religious authority in Oz (he held confession every week) and he
tried to offer support for many of the prisoners the same way. The O’Reilly’s had a certain respect for him and
during a crisis involving Beecher, Ray actually offered advice for a way to
work it out. That it did not play out the way anyone thought was more because
of Schillinger’s attitude than Ray’s, and in a weird way he served as mediator
during this period.
It’s also worth
noting that Ray was at the center of more violence than Sister Pete was during
the series; in addition to the incidents listed above, he also survived a bus
crash that killed many family members of the prisoners and narrowly survived a
fire that killed two of his fellow priests (it was arranged by someone in Oz.) But
Ray was also flawed in a way he occasionally was fault too and it played out in
an interesting way.
In Season Five,
Jeremiah Cloutier (Luke Perry) a televangelist was sentenced to Oz for fraud.
It would have been too easy for Fontana to make him just another false prophet
but he knew a better trick than that. Jeremiah actually did believe in God and
began ministering to the prisoners in Oz. In what was one of the most brilliant
moves the series did, he actually tried to get Schillinger to accept the love
of Christ, something no one would have thought possible, certainly not me.
But amazingly
Schillinger was willing to open his heart to the shock of everyone around him.
He reached out to Beecher to try and make things right and began to step away
from the violence he preached. Nor was Schillinger the only prisoner he could
reach: several unlikely prisoners converted over that season. This led to Ray,
who was absent much of the season, to admitting jealousy at a certain point and
confiding first to Kareem Said and then confessing his flaws to Jeremiah. That
led to an ecumenical council which was one of the more moving moments in a
series that didn’t you give many as all of the men of God gathered and we saw
so many of the prisoners over the years gathered together peaceful as Ray gave
a sermon, ending with ‘Let us pray’. It’s a shame the series chose to have
Jeremiah removed as a major character at the end of Season Five; though it’s worth
noting it’s likely Fontana thought the show was going to end that season. (It
was renewed instead, and the next two seasons were considerably poorer though
there were some good moments.)
The most
fascinating character was Said, who began the series as a black militant
stirring up rebellion. Yet throughout most of the series his approach was
violence as a last resort and it flummoxed most of the characters. In the pilot
when Jefferson Keane moved to challenge him, he had one of his disciples hit
him until he was bloody – something that stunned the assembled.
In the early
episode he managed to reach out to convert Keene who became a Muslim. However during
that episode he was tricked by a fellow prisoner in committing a murder and was
sentenced to die. Keene knew there were extenuating circumstances but chose to
accept his fate: “I think if I die now I have a chance of getting into heaven.”
Said stood by Keene and walked with him on his march to his death. In his final
statement Keene apologizes for the murders he’s committed and says: “I’m ready
to move on. All praise to Allah.”
Said spends
much of the series trying to help his fellow prisoners but is as frequently as
frustrated as McManus in his actions. In Season Three he faces a threat from a
new inmate named Hameed Khan who thinks his compromises have made him weak. The
final straw comes when he decides to reach out to Beecher, who is struggling
with guilt in the death Schillinger’s son and asks to read the Koran. This
leads to Said being publicly shamed and drummed out of the Muslims. Yet even
then he remains humble and true to this faith. Later on Khan ends up being
taken off life support and the family asks him to say a prayer over the body.
Said tells McManus: “Bearing in mind everything that went on between Khan and
myself, I’m honored they asked for me.”
In one of the
most profoundly moving scenes in the series Beecher comes to Said and tells
him: “I still want you to teach me about God.” With a sad smile Said says: “I’m
not sure I’m qualified to teach you.” Said moves into Beecher’s pod and that
night, we see him weeping at what he has lost. Beecher holds his hand in comfort.
One of the best
decisions the show ever made was the friendship between Beecher and Said, particularly
because it dealt with Beecher’s love for Keller in a way that he was struggling
with. Homosexuality is an abomination in Islam and Said spent his time in Oz
utterly opposed to this. He didn’t alleviate his position even in the face of
Beecher and Keller’s relationship. But Beecher refused to apologize for the
position he took. “When it comes to Allah, I’ll deal with him when I see him.”
Beecher was perhaps the only prisoner in Oz who would call Said on his bullshit
over and over, particularly when it came to the duality in their natures.
The moment that
everybody considered the greatest moment in the show’s history comes at the end
of Season Four. Adebisi, who took Said into his confidence and who he has just
betrayed, attempts to kill Said. We see a spatter of blood appear and then grow
on the curtains. Adebisi emerges, spits out blood and collapses. Said comes out
with an undershirt soaked in blood and drops the shank.
Said is
acquitted of Adebisi’s murder – McManus testified in his defense. – but he
struggles with his demons for a while to come. He tries to find a way through
during Season Five but eventually his rage overcomes him. He is sent to the
hole for the first time in the series and at the climax violently stabs
Schillinger and Robson. He is so lost that he actually thinks Adebisi’s spirit
has entered him.
Throughout Season
Six, in one of the better moves, Said comes to a realization of his flaws. “The
spirit of Adebisi did not make me a violent man. I am a violent man.” He accepts
the duality of his nature and can find a way forward.
There’s also
one more character who claims to have a connection to God – Bob Rebadow (George
Morfogen) Bob is one of the more humane characters in Oz which is odd
considering how he got there. As we learn, he was sentenced to death in the
electric chair but the 1965 blackout happened just as the sentence was being
carried out. “Were there any side effects?” Beecher asks. “I met God.” Rebadow
says cheerfully.
For much of
Season One, he seems to get messages that he just can’t know under normal means
but by the end of Season One. He thinks he never truly talked to God it was
just his own reason. Throughout the rest of the series, he goes between believing
God speaks to him and not being sure. But there is an incident in the sixth season
where he claims that God has told them the winning lottery numbers – and they
all come up. Of course given that this is Oz he doesn’t get the cash until its
too late to help him.
This actually
brings me to the final point. At the beginning of the final season we see
Augustus and he tells us: “You thought I was dead, right? I am. Turns out being
dead isn’t that different. I see a lot of familiar faces. And being dead is actually
harder on the living.”
This decision
was actually made of creative necessity: Perrineau was filming the sequels to The
Matrix and could not return to the series fulltime. Perhaps Fontana was
also showing sentimentality: the omniscient narration continued but it was
mostly given by prisoners who had died while in Oz. In a memorable one Shirley
Bellinger (Kathryn Erbe) who had been sentenced to death by hanging, gave the
narration – with the imprint of the noose around her neck.
But there was
something strangely comforting about in a series that was so relentlessly grim.
The idea that the afterlife was nothing that remarkable but fundamentally
getting able to see your old friends – and still be aware of what’s going on with
the people and place you left me hind – is a more comforting version then we get
in so much of culture. All of the
narrators – including Hill – seem more relaxed in a way they never were on the
show. One is reminded of the famous quotes: “Death is for the living and for
the dead not so much.” Even the final images of the series -which some have viewed
with pessimism – somehow seem comforting. Regardless of what happens to Oz in
the aftermath, the memories and the impressions of everyone who was in there
will be there in some form. The fact that the last person we see is Hill would seem
to support that fact.
To call Oz one
of the most spiritual series may seem ridiculous to those who only consider it
that show set in a prison. But the fact remains that after more than
twenty-five years later, few shows since has ever looked at God and faith and
the search for divinity with such sincerity and for what it means in your daily
life. If you can find God in the worst
of all possible places, then maybe there is hope to find it everywhere else.
No comments:
Post a Comment