Got To

There's a line from a Law & Order episode (not SVU, Criminal Intent or any of that shit, I'm talking old school with ex-Julia Roberts paramour Benjamin Bratt, sadly Republican Angie Harmon, and the indomitable and legendary longstanding trio of S. Epatha Merkerson, Sam Waterson, and Jerry Orbach) that has stuck with me for awhile if not forever. The dime store summary is that a high school kid and his girlfriend are found dead, which eventually leads to a Narcotics cop who was using the kid recklessly and illegally as an informant. In the middle of the episode (after they've caught the drug dealer murderers, and just as they're circling back to the Narco detective's negligence) one of the dealers, being informed by the indomitable ADA Jack McCoy (Sam Waterson) that, as an accomplice, he's up for the death penalty, panics and with a resigned dejection of someone who has just realized how fucked they are, says, "Well, Hell, I'm just trying to make a living. I'm not into killing anybody."

Now the working stiff drug dealer has almost gone cliche, and if you generalize further it's not very far afield from the antihero hero, the hooker with a heart of gold and a series of other lovable, if slightly played out, character types (a particular favorite of mine is Ian McShane as Al Swearangen in "Deadwood", but that's for another article). Part of The Wire's brilliance is its use of these types, to a point of almost comedic over indulgence (Sobotka as this Al Swearangen-esque honorable criminal fighting against the "evils" of encroaching modern world, Stringer Bell as the pseudo-intellectual drug dealer, Omar as the rakish Robin Hood, McNulty as the rakish man of the law, Freamon as the hidden law enforcement savant, Carcetti as the snake oil salesman etc etc). Boiled down we've seen these types so many times before, both kinds that we'be enjoyed and ones we haven't. So what makes The Wire different? Why do so many who have watched it (and most have watched it many many times over) believe that it's the best show of the last couple decades, if not ever (The Simpsons perennially excluded because it's just not fair, they're the Beatles and its easier to just admit that and move on). Part of it, surely, is the fact that these archetypes are pushed that extra step. Omar as Robin Hood, but what about a GAY Robin Hood robbing those in the hood? Stringer's attempts at legitimizing his business, except that his brilliance only comes out in the drug world, he just doesn't know how to be ruthless in a world where violence can't be used. But to me it's the context of the show that makes it so mind-numbingly smart, which is best exemplified by its first two minutes and forty-three seconds. 

Before I continue let me just point out that I'm not saying the characters aren't wildly enjoyable, incredibly fleshed out and complex, almost everyone a perfect balance of explanation and ambiguity, you know just enough always to wonder more or that there aren't a myriad of other reasons why the show is successful, I just think that everything you need to know about The Wire's triumph is in that first scene.

Blood is on the street, and it glistens and changes color with the red and blue lights of nearby sirens. This is the first shot. This is the first sentence of the show's story. The first note of its symphony. Radio static, sirens ring out. A body is on the ground. Police are writing things down, picking things up. Snot Boogie has just been shot. No one in the neighborhood is particularly surprised by this, especially not the neighborhood's ambassador, more accurately described as its living personification (the character is so much of a living personification that even in the teleplay he is only listed as "Witness") and he is the only other person in the scene with McNulty. He isn't even particularly fazed. Sudden and violent death, it seems, is not a new condition in the neighborhood. McNulty, in all of his spritely-pleased-with-himself majesty just below the surface, sits next to the Witness who's not really grieving as much as he's solemnly observing, an inner city embodiment literally sitting shiva. Snot Boogie, it is related to McNulty, had an awful habit of grabbing money from dice games and trying to run away. He did it often, so much so that he had a noted reputation for it and had had his ass whipped repeatedly for it. Then he did it again, as he always did, and someone decided to end the practice (the tradition) permanently, which is really the only problem the Witness has with the whole ordeal. It's a silly thing to shoot someone over.

Anyway, Snot Boogie's dead. McNulty, still with that perpetual shit eating grin bubbling under the surface, is confused about something. He's bagged a rare homicide in Baltimore, which will probably be closed almost as soon as its open. But McNulty, that Puck of the BPD, has got something stuck in his mind, something he can't just leave behind, so he asks, "If Snot always stole the money, why did you let him play?" The ambassador/Witness is shocked, truly taken aback at this questioning of his and his home's ethical compass. He retorts, "Got to. This is America, man." though in a tone that is really saying, "You're a cop, ostensibly a representative and sheriff of our shared country, state, city, and society's moral standing and the fact that you're asking that shows your stupidity and your ignorance saddens me." Cue opening credits.

THAT SHIT IS SO UNBELIEVABLY PERFECT AND I NEED TO SAY THAT IN ALL CAPS BEFORE MY LIMITED INTELLECT CAN EVEN TRY AND UNPACKAGE IT.

"Got to. This is America, man." That there is truth. It's a glaring, humongous, flashing neon sign, while also being a subtle hint at the viewer (both once it was a full fledged show and as a pilot episode trying to be a living pitch for money for the whole set piece); the short sonata hinting at the fullness of the symphony. This show isn't about drugs, it's not about cops, it's not about Baltimore, it's not about capitalism, it's not about the myriad of other things theses and articles and bar and living room discussions have argued it's about. Well, it is, but that's because it's about a bigger thing which encompasses all of those, but in a very specific lens; "This is America."

It's good to remember at this point that we only have the slightest hint of where we are. A glancing shot shows a Baltimore Police Department badge for three seconds, but you don't hear that fine city's name spoken at any point, nor does any accent abundantly clear except the general American one. This could be in any of the American cities, big or small.

But that's just the physical, the vanity window dressings. It's in the logic, that unspoken, pragmatic, and yet totally round about logic that permeates the situation that drives the scene. A group is playing dice, a get rich quick scheme disguised as a game of chance. A man (Snot Boogie) comes over to play. The group knows that odds are that he'll try and steal, to violate the honor of the chance involved in the game, but "This is America." America is the land of opportunity. To some that means you can come here and you'll have a chance to quickly and (maybe) effortlessly get rich. This is the idea that has become dominant in recent decades, and in my humble opinion is a bastardization of what "land of opportunity" really means. To others it means that you can come here and fulfill the modem equivalent of what John Adams said of the American Revolution that, "we fight so that our sons can study farming, so their sons can study economics and law, so that their sons can study poetry and art." America means opportunity. Opportunity does not mean riches, it means you can exert all of your effort and try and, to the idealistic and optimistic of us, you'll get a fair shake in whether that's successful or not. We don't begrudge people for which version they uphold (and clearly Snot Boogie is in the former rather than the latter camp) because an adherence to either or both is the very essence of being an American. No matter which way a person believes we, no matter if we know that they might cheat, when it comes to letting someone play, if we're being true to ourselves, to our historical and current morals and beliefs we don't really have a choice, we "Got to" because "This is America, man."

Tait Foster, a student of the legendary Lester Freamon, the indomitable Norman Wilson and a great admirer of Theresa D'Agostino, is currently being reassigned to the East Side precinct after a short, checkered run in the West Side. No matter where he is, he lives by Det. Greggs words, "If I hear the music, I'm going to dance."