HBO's 'The Wire,' true street grit

HBO's 'The Wire,'
true street grit

Baltimore crime saga unfolds like a fine novel

By Ethan Alter

    Many television dramas aspire to be described as novelistic, but HBO's "The Wire" (Sundays, 10 p.m.) is one of the few that actually deserves that label.
   Unlike its stable mates, "The Sopranos" and "Six Feet Under," "The Wire" doesn't attempt to dazzle the audience in every episode.
   This show sneaks up on you, doling out the story in small pieces rather than large chunks. It's not uncommon for a plot point to be introduced in one episode and then go unmentioned for the next two or three.
    This approach will probably annoy viewers who prefer more self-contained stories, but if you stick with " The Wire" you'll find it as engrossing and complex as a good crime novel.
   The show's pilot--call it the first chapter---is a good example. Not a lot happens in the way of action or suspense, the two elements that television writers often confuse for story.
   Instead, the focus is purely on the characters and the world they inhabit, the crime-ridden streets of downtown Baltimore. By the end of this episode we know who all the players are and their place in the pecking order.
   Also, almost without realizing it, we've witnessed the catalyst that will set the entire story in motion.
    It's not a shootout, a mistaken arrest, or a big dramatic moment. It's a simple conversation between two old friends, Judge Phelan and Detective Jimmy McNulty (Dominic West).
   The judge is hopping mad because he just watched a young drug dealer, D'Angelo Barksdale (Larry Gilliard Jr.) walk free, even though the case against him seemed airtight.
   McNulty listens to his friend's tirade with a cynical grin and then spells out exactly how the young man beat the rap. D'Angelo is the nephew of Avon Barksdale, one of Baltimore's most powerful drug kingpins, and it was his influence that kept D'Angelo out of prison. The judge demands to know who is investigating Barksdale's operation. "The department..." McNulty begins to say. He pauses, thinks for a moment and then confesses "Nobody really."
   McNulty doesn't know it at the time, but his off-the-cuff remark will cause a chain reaction. The judge complains to the police commissioner who complains to the homicide division and so on. That eventually lands McNulty on a special task force assigned to gather dirt on the Barksdale gang.
   There are several wrinkles to this plan, though. First off, the higher-ups in the Baltimore police department don't want the operation to succeed, as it would reveal their own incompetence. To that end, they've stacked the team with losers and has-beens. Even the lieutenant in charge of the group has an ambiguous agenda.
    Aside from McNulty, the only person who actually cares about taking Barksdale down is the no-nonsense Detective Shakima Greggs (Sonja Sohn).
   Meanwhile in the "enemy" camp, D'Angelo is having problems of his own. Confronted with the realities of the drug world, he starts to question the wisdom of working for his uncle. If this all sounds clichéd, it doesn't play that way onscreen.
   Series creators David Simon, who was responsible for HBO's excellent miniseries " The Corner," and Edward Burns have done an excellent job structuring the series. The scripts have a depth that other cop shows, such as FX's increasingly overblown " The Shield," don't even come close to matching. The cast is uniformly excellent, with West, Sohn and Andre Royo, who plays a coke-addicted informant named Bubbles, giving standout performances.
"The Wire" will never achieve the pop culture status of "The Sopranos," but it's one of the best original series HBO has produced to date.
    One only has to look at Showtime's new cop drama " Street Time" (Sundays, 10 PM) to appreciate the quality of "The Wire." "Street Time" is like an amateur production of a mediocre "NYPD Blue" episode.
    Set in the world of the U.S. probation system, the series follows veteran parole officer James Liberti (Scott Cohen) and one of his parolees, a marijuana smuggler named Kevin Hunter (Rob Morrow) who was recently released from prison after a five-year sentence.
   The show clumsily tries to draw parallels between the two men: Liberti uses his job to hide from his family, while Kevin seeks refuge from his previous life of crime with his wife and young son. This kind of compare-and-contrast character building can pay off in interesting ways, but it's badly handled here.
   Instead of arousing our interest in the characters, the writers manage to make them seem more annoying with each scene. On the acting front, Morrow isn't bad, but Cohen has zero personality as the uptight Liberti. You can find better things to do with your Sunday night.

-Ethan Alter is a New York writer and a contributor to Media Life.

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