Through The Wire

I have now finished watching the first four seasons of The Wire, and it is going to be a long wait until August when Season 5 comes out on DVD.

It's funny that I started watching The Wire only now, after I canceled my subscription to HBO, but the person who needled me into watching it is really handsome, so what can I say. Regardless of the timing, The Wire's handsome champion did not deceive me about the show's quality. I watch way too much television, and I don't think I have ever seen a show with better writing or acting.

My only complaint about the show is that it keeps things a little too real. It is famed for its portrayal of both the cops and the robbers as nuanced, fully-formed human beings, and I believe one of the reasons many viewers enjoy the show is the pleasure of unearthing the ugly side of those sworn to uphold the law or the tender side of those who make their livings breaking it. I was touched by Wee-Bey's enthusiasm for his fish or Stringer Bell's polite attention to his studies at community college, to name but two examples, and I am convinced that anyone who does not admit to having Omar as a favorite character is lying. Even Obama says he likes Omar the best.

On a larger scale, the show becomes more and more depressing with each passing season. By the time Season 3 rolled around, I was almost relieved when Stringer Bell was killed because it was more heart-wrenching to spend the season watching him be humiliated in his attempts to become a legitimate businessman and watching the distance grow between Avon and him. (My favorite scene from the series to date is when Stringer and Avon, each having betrayed the other, stand out on their balcony, overlooking the city and reminisce about funny things they did as children.)

Season 4 was the most soul-killing of all. Normally, I don't like children, but I applaud the show for casting child actors who were believable, not too precious or precocious, and, on the whole, likable. Their stories, however, were so sad as to make me wonder why I bother to live (not that I dispute the verisimilitude of the stories). I could hardly even look at Dukie when he was on-screen, and it was a sad truth that he was better off slinging drugs on the corner than living with his contemptible relatives. Also sad but true was the fact that the only person who could and would help poor, sweet little Michael with his being-molested-by-his-stepfather problem was the sociopathic (and fellow molestation victim) Chris Partlow, who later took Michael under his murderous wing. Don't even get me started on poor, bright-eyed Randy's wasted life. Irritatingly, the one kid I hoped would convince Prez to return to his days of pistol-whipping children half-blind (Namond) was the one who was adopted by a kindly family, though it must be said that Namond's mother's villainy was terrifying to behold.

Sigh. I may need until August to build up enough of a will to live to power through the final season (especially since I know what happens to my beloved Omar).