There’s a part of me who wonders
if everybody was so enraptured by the brilliance of The Sopranos that no
one bothered to ask the very obvious questions about it in the aftermath of all
the shows on HBO that followed up. By and large female critics like Emily
Nussbaum chose to ignore it when it was on the air and it’s only a quarter of a
century after the fact that the questions are being raised at all – though tellingly
not to David Chase himself even a quarter of a century later.
Because the real reason The
Sopranos is an outlier among not just great television but every series HBO
itself did in the immediate aftermath and well past it is frankly just how much
of an argument for how much it epitomizes the worst parts of our history and
today. As I’ve written before on numerous occasions the Soprano families, both
criminal and by blood, were entirely and completely dominated by white cis
males. The New Jersey and New York the Soprano family was a part of didn’t seem
to have a single African-American, LatinX or Asian people in it: there was
never at any point in the six seasons it was on the air that there was a single
regular who was a person of color. This sticks out like a sore thumb with the
next three HBO dramas that were to follow The Sopranos: what does it say
that Deadwood had roles of more depth for minorities during three
seasons than The Sopranos ever did? As I’ve mentioned before the female
characters were little more than there to show how they reacted off Tony than
anything else (Six Feet Under from the start did more to let its female
regulars expand from the roles of mother, daughter and girlfriend) and the
series was more homophobic and unwilling to show range than any of the dramas
of that period and well past it. (There was no Omar Little of any kind in
Jersey.)
Chase can argue about the story
of humanity he was trying to tell about how given the opportunity people will
take the easiest choices possible but that falls apart when the vast majority
of your characters are white males who
by definition in the world have more choices then the rest of us. It’s
even harder to make that choice about humanity when all around you are white
people in suburbia who by definition seem to have made one of their choices to
stay away from the ‘real world’ as possible.
That may be one of the biggest
reasons that OZ was never really considered being as groundbreaking – or
perhaps tellingly, more critically acclaimed – as The Sopranos was.
Ironically when Tom Fontana was given the choice to make his project for HBO,
he decided to make a series where almost everyone we met from the start to the
finish was in a place when they had no choices at all. We’re told that very
clearly by Diane Wittelsey in the first five minutes (“We will tell you when to
eat.” When to sleep. When to piss. Follow the rules.”) McManus (Terry Kinney) uses Em City as an
experimental wing in an effort to build a better life for his inmates and from
the start we see he is considered a joke by the majority of the staff and only
tolerated by Leo Glynn (Ernie Hudson). Kareem Said when he enters Em City and
is told that he will be treated as an equal says humorously: “How ironic. To
finally be treated as an equal and I do not have the freedom to enjoy it.”
Fontana also made it very clear
from the start of the show to the very end to make as difficult as possible for
the viewer to have any sympathy for the prisoners. Every time he introduced one
of the prisoners, he would show us in great detail what they had done to get
there and with few exceptions it was always an act of horrible, graphic
violence. Then he would have his narrator Augustus Hill made it clear what it
was like. “Oz is where I live. Where I will die. Where most of us will
die” he tells us in the first minute of the show. And this is a mission
statement Fontana keeps for nearly every regular we meet: the only way to leave
Oz is in a body bag.
And Fontana made no effort to
skimp on how horrible this was in the Pilot: we see an incoming inmate get stabbed
in the first two minutes, we witness (not graphically) a rape and assault of
one we’ve just met, there is a beating of one inmate, a suffocation of another
and by the end of the episode the character we’ve been led to thing will be the
lead is doused in gasoline and burned alive. If anything Fontana kept doubling
down on that whenever he had a chance to, and he never let us forget just how
horrible the crimes committed were every inmate we met, making it harder to
feel anything resembling sympathy for many.
OZ was also, perhaps even more The
Wire would be a few years later, an indictment of the criminal justice
system in all his horrors. This could also have been a reason why so many
critics reacted poorly to it. To that point in television, police procedurals
had illustrated the cops as unequivocally the heroes and the people they locked
up unequivocally the villains. (It’s worth noting with a few key exceptions,
much of today’s procedurals still lean very hard on that definition.) Fontana had tried on a few occasions on his
previous show Homicide to give humanity to some of the killers that were
arrested in Baltimore but he and his writers were still sympathetic to the
detectives more than the criminals. OZ asked a lot of its audience: not
just to try and empathize with drug dealers, rapists and killers but to argue
that they were worthy of being treated with dignity, if not sympathy. And it
did so, it’s worth noting, without bothering to show any efforts to reform or
rehabilitate many of these same criminals: OZ made it very clear that
these men were just as violent and brutal locked up as they were on the outside.
(Orange is the New Black, for all its brilliance, couldn’t help but be
more sympathetic to the prisoners then it was to their crimes.)
The series made its most direct
attempt to argue this in its first season, focusing almost all of its action in
Em City. (Later seasons would spend more time in some of the other cell blocks
at Oswald.) This unfolded through two parallel storylines, one focused from
without, one from within.
The outside was the actions of
Governor Jim Devlin (Zeljko Ivanek), who was essentially the real villain of OZ.
Devlin was apparently elected governor on a tough on crime policy and the
effects were constantly being felt throughout Oswald. In the first episode
smoking is banned in the prison; in the second, conjugals are. Not long after
Oz brings the death penalty back and Devlin makes it very clear he wants
Jefferson Keane (Leon) to be tried and executed under this standard. As Sister
Pete points out Keane is being executed because he is an African-American male and
that is done to quell the mob. (Perhaps in aware of this in the second season
we will meet Shirley Bellinger, the first woman to be sentenced to death in
nearly a hundred fifty years.)
It’s worth noting we constantly
hear news reports about Devlin and how he is facing corruption charges, is
being accused of infidelity and has made it clear he won’t resign even if he’s
impeached. Ivanek does some of his work as an actor playing Devlin as loathsome,
corrupt and without a single sense of humanity. He constantly compares himself
to Zeus and untouchable. Fontana’s sickest joke of the series is that Devlin is
right, in the course of the series he survives an assassination attempt, is
reelected governor (and makes it clear that the shooting probably helped him)
and by the end of the series arranges for the man who did the most to get him
elected to be killed in order to protect himself. This comes out at the end of
the series but by that point McManus is cynical enough to believe he’ll still
wiggle out of it.
Every time Devlin shows up at Oswald
or on television, he makes it very clear
that he doesn’t view the prisoners as human beings. Devlin at one point makes
it clear to McManus that this view is held by his constituents and the public
at large. The sad truth is the position is also held by most of the guards, the
staff and probably the warden. Only a relative few see them as human being and
they are often punished for that.
When Said shows up he makes it
clear in his first interaction of what he’s planning: “We can take this prison
at any time,” he tells Glynn and McManus cheerfully. Glynn says: “You can take
it but can you hold it?” Said smiles. “That remains to be seen.” It’s clear
from the start Said intends to unify his Muslim brethren (another radical idea
in 1990s television) and makes it clear of his own attempts. When he is
threatened by Jefferson Keene, he orders one of his new followers to hit him
again and again until he bleeds. Keane is struck by this.
He will eventually convert to
Islam but not long after his actions come back to haunt him and he ends up
being sentenced to death row. Said serves as his spiritual adviser during this period. In a truly powerful moment
he walks with Keane towards his final resting place: “Death is not to be feared.”
When Keane says he doesn’t have his kufi, Said hands him his.
It’s clear throughout the season
that Said is trying to mobilize the prison to his side. This becomes the
clearest in the penultimate episode when after one of his followers betrays him
he orders him shunned. Not long after he commits suicide and Said uses the
opportunity to stage a press conference to suggest there are questions about
his death. Glynn calls for a media blackout. (“Why is blackout such a negative
term?” Said jests. “You can get whiteout in a little bottle.”) During this period
McManus aims a shot at the Muslims telling them they can not use their religious
apparel, such as mats or beads. Said is the first to hand his kufi over. “This
is a meaningless gesture,” he assures them.
What’s striking is throughout
this entire season (and for several seasons afterward) Said is constantly arguing
a path of non-violent resistance and it is working among his brethren and
impressing his followers. He intends by the end of the season to stage the riot
but in one of those great ironies, it happens without him.
By this point the inmates of Em
City have been boiling for what may have been months. In addition to everything
else the recent murder of a guard and a weapons raid has led to much of their privileges
being taken away and so many random beatings by guards that most of the guards
are on suspension. Everyone knows something is coming but it starts by
accident: two inmates start a fight over a game of checkers and it starts to
spread. One of the inmates overpowers a guard. Within minutes the remaining
guard have been grabbed, and Father Mukada (B.D. Wong) has been taken prisoner.
Chaos has all but overridden, the inmates have taken control of the doors and
McManus’s office and are throwing furniture everywhere. At that point Said takes
control, pulls out a gun (which he was given during the last episode) and fires
a shot in the air. “Now let’s get organized!”
Within a very short time the
inmates have barricaded the doors and are moving the hostages around. Glynn has
shutdown every cell block and he and McManus (who was out of his unit at the
time) run to Em City. He demands to know if there’s anyone we can talk too.
Said’s name is shouted. Everyone starts chanting Said’s name. “What is this
about?” “If you have to ask Glynn, we have a long day ahead of!” he says as he
dons his prayer beads to a shout of reverence.
By this point we know most of
the leaders of the riot Said, Miguel Alvarez (Kirk Acevedo) leader of the
Latinos, Scott Ross (Steve Gevedon) who controls the Aryans and the bikers, Simon
Adebisi (Adewale Akinnouye-Agbaje) leader of the gangsters and Ryan O’Reilly
(Dean Winters) who has no power but has spent the season manipulated the
prisoners as well as Said has into a position of influence. Said takes a position
of delegating responsibility but its hard to no how much control he really has.
However, he manages to get them to work together on a list of demands.
We are told in later seasons the
riot lasts three days but because the entire series is set indoors we have no
clear idea of the passage of time. What we do know is that soon enough Devlin
shows up and makes it very clear of his law and order type doctrine. He makes
it clear he’s going public and calls in the National Guard. Not long after the
rioters ask for food, something Devlin scoffs at but Glynn overrules. McManus
agrees to go in with in order to find out about the hostages. “You’re even dumber
than I thought,” Devlin says dismissively.
McManus does go in and sees that
two of the hostages – Armstong and Mineo – need medical attention. He offers to
trade himself for the two of them and Wittelsey, not just the only female but
his former lover. Ross starts to flex saying they don’t have to let anyone go
but Said says they will live up to their bargain. When he’s asked why he says: “Because
if we don’t, we become just like them. And we won’t get our list of demands.”
Eventually the leaders agree to let Armstrong and Mineo go but not Wittelsey. O’Reilly
hands over a letter explaining the exchange and the demands.
We never get a clear idea of the
full list but Glynn later says most of them are harmless “bringing back conjugal
visits, smoking” Devlin says bluntly: “I don’t negotiate with animals.” “Then
how do you expect to handle this?” “The old fashioned way. With force.” That
Devlin thinks the same thing of the hostages as he does the prisoners shows
that all he cares about is looking tough on crime.
It is during this period that
McManus demands to talk with Said and the parallels to what we have been seeing
onscreen are made direct as McManus reveals his background:
“I grew up in a town in upstate
New York. And the only thing there was a prison. Everyone either worked at the
prison or made money off it…My dad ran a diner. I was about to celebrate my
tenth birthday and I was very excited. A few days before it happened, there was
a riot at the prison. It lasted four days but then the governor called in the National
Guard and ordered them to take the prison back. They did. Firing at anything
that moved. So when the tear gas cleared 31 prisoners and nine guards were
dead.
Said: “Attica.”
McManus: Three of my friends
fathers died. Instead of going to my birthday we went to a memorial.
Said responds with scorn. “And
that’s what Em City is? Your birthday party?”
McManus then utters some of his
most memorable lines in the series, ones that are called back later.
“We’re on the verge of disaster;
we’re on the brink of oblivion. Now before we join hands and jump, I want
another chance.”
Said: Not mine to give.
McManus: YES IT IS!
Said: NO ITS NOT! Because even
the best prison wouldn’t be good enough!
Said then delivers his own
impassioned speech:
I’m going to try to explain this
to you one last time. I’m not saying the men in this prison are innocent. I’m
saying they are here not because of the crimes they committed but because of
the color of their skin! Their lack of education! The fact that they are poor!
This riot isn’t about getting smoking back, conjugal rights. It’s not even
about life in prison. It’s about the hoary judicial system. We don’t need
better prisons, bigger prisons. We need better justice. Now what can you do
about that?”
McManus, of course, has no answer
to this question. Instead he puts it personally:
If we don’t resolve this, you
and me, and soon. People will die. You could die.
And Said makes his nobility clear.
“I am willing to lay down my
life for change. Now those deaths at Attica brought real change and real
reform. But everyone’s forgotten the lessons of your home town. It’s time to
wake this country up again…You want to save this place. I want to destroy it.
Brick by hypocritical brick.”
Not long after this the troopers
do storm the prison. Six prisoners and two guards are killed, twenty more are
injured. McManus himself is shot and nearly dies as a result. In the outcry
over the deaths Devlin forms a commission to investigate the cause of the riot
but its clear what he wants is for them to clear him of any wrongdoing and to
blame all of the prisoners for what happened. He is more than willing to bribe
and bully many of them and he offers the position of attorney general to the
head of the Commission.
I may go over the episode in a
later article but I will deal with the results. At the end of the investigation
Devlin is infuriated by the results which doesn’t involving charging the
prisoners. The head of the commission Alvah Case (Charles S. Dutton) tells him
why:
Case: “From a legal standpoint
the evidence is circumstantial. From a moral one, it’s laughable.
Devlin is angry.
Devlin: “I want those bastards
tried on television.
Case: Look governor as far as I can
see those deaths are a direct result of your actions. Yes the Commission
cleared you, but you can’t have it both ways. If the prisoners are guilty so are
you.”
For perhaps the only time in the
series Devlin is put in check by one of the few characters on the show with any
pure integrity. As a result of the commission, the rioters are let back out
with no charges and Em City is eventually rebuilt with new rules. And everyone
seems to have learned some lessons from this: while tension and violence flow
throughout the rest of the series, nothing even close to the events of the riot ever happen again.
OZ is a far darker show than The
Sopranos is but it’s far more realistic – and in a funny way, more
optimistic – then the one Chase ever put together. Death comes at a more
constant rate in Oswald then it does in Em City but in argues even in a place
where all of your freedom has been taken away, you can still find ways to
change and grow. That it does so in a maximum security prison that should
represent the worst of humanity (even compared to Tony and his crew) shows that
for all the grimness of Fontana’s setting and the bleakness of the souls of the
inmates and some of the staff, you can find optimism in what should be a
hopeless place.
That was likely too much for
some critics and even viewers during this period to handle and it may be part
of the reason that few may write testimonials to OZ the same way they have
The Sopranos and so much of HBO’s other extraordinary dramas. But Fontana
and his cast were asking questions that are, if anything, more relevant today
as we wrestle with the consequences of mass incarceration, the death penalty
and the rights of prisoners, particularly in a world that seems even more polarized
on the issues that they were in 1997 and the impassioned arguments made by Said
during that period are no less relevant today than they were then. And that it
does so with a cast that has been part of the television landscape ever since
it aired showed how much impact it had one how the Golden Age unfolded.
That’s also the reason I think OZ
is a more important and better show than The Sopranos. It’s not just
that it had a more diverse cast, had better roles for women and dealt with
issues of homosexuality that were the first real steps towards it becoming part
of the television landscape. It’s that it was about something in a way that The
Sopranos wasn’t, but that The Wire and Deadwood were. It makes
you feel sympathy for men who frequently have to work to rise themselves to be
antiheroes and gives an explanation for who they are in a way The Sopranos just
says everybody is. And unlike Chase, Fontana argues that they do have the
capacity to change even if they may not think themselves possible of it or if
no one in the outside world ever sees it.
