David Simon/USA/2002; R4 (5-disc)
Warner Bros, NZ$89.95 | Reviewed by Tim Wong

WHILE local media dig their claws into a recent headline drug bust involving a high-profile fashion mogul and the designer label he's alleged to have used as a cannabis-growing front, the situation elsewhere is less tabloid, and far graver than news coverage suggests. The Wire, David Simon's brilliant, cynical HBO crime drama addresses the Big Issues; issues that compound and hinder the so-called "war on drugs". And you know what they say: you can't call that shit a war if it never ends.

Season One charts a single joint assignment between Baltimore City homicide and narcotics units. Headed by Lieutenant Daniels (Lance Reddick) and detectives McNulty (Dominic West) and Greggs (Sonja Sohn), the investigation aims to build a case against Avon Barksdale (Wood Harris): kingpin of a projects drug ring with major eastside territories in "The Towers" (the high-rises) and "The Pit" (the low-rises). Key to nailing Barksdale are his right-hand men (namely mid-level dealer D'Angelo Barksdale), many of whom are considered suspects in an array of unsolved murder cases – silenced court witnesses, "got" drug rivals, used-and-abused women, snitches within the ranks. Meanwhile, affidavits are motioned for a series of wire taps and surveillance measures – a painstaking but crucial route towards evidence required to convict Barksdale and his crew.

Needless to say, crime drama remains the most stagnant genre in television right now, due in large part to its mass serialization. Special investigative units may differ from franchise to franchise, but the murders remain essentially the same – morbidly fascinating, increasingly bizarre, all solved at the drop of a hat. They're popular because they're sensational; because they're infallible. The bad guys always get caught. Justice conquers all. Hope prevails. The formula stays the same.

The grim reality of The Wire busts the myth of drive-thru crime solving by grinding things down to a halt. Here, creator Simon and producer/co-writer Ed Burns meticulously elongate the Barksdale case over 13 episodes – they describe it as a "visual novel" – and by the season's end leave it only partially resolved, allowing it to mutate into subsequent second and third seasons. The result is tough, immersive and thoroughly authentic; the crime story's evolution a gradual, hard-fought series of breakthroughs and setbacks. Even more arresting is Simon and Burns' bitter distrust in the system, their frustrations woven into the fabric of everyday police work. Bureaucracy lurks around every corner. Those in power jostle for ranking and PR opportunities at the expense of actual progress. Work is constantly impeded due to a complete lack of resources – human or otherwise – strung out and at bare minimum, no thanks to America's post-9/11 obsession with counter terrorism.

No one wins the war on drugs, and The Wire's brutally honest about it. In contrast to the hyperactivity of 24, which sees multinational terrorist plots identified and foiled within the space of a single night and day, the precursor to catching the bad guy is long, arduous, even futile. The detail is staggering: positive ID's by an informant; the exhaustion of all evidence-gathering alternatives so a wire tap can legally commence; the decipher of the drug ring's communication language and code; round-the-clock stakeouts and call monitoring; interrogation and witness acquisition; paper trails; an undercover sting operation in collaboration with the DEA; further surveillance via body wires and fiber optics; regular consultancy with the State's Attorney; deal making vs. testifying; then maybe, a warrant for arrest. This is matched by an unprecedented foray into urban drug networks – a fully realised parallel universe of re-ups, stash houses, pickups, and money laundering fronts. The populous is America's black underclass – as much victims as they are offenders. From the outset, this is a show that observes both sides – the law, the street, and the thin line in between.

Simon's pedigree includes non-fiction works Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets and The Corner (co-written with Ed Burns) – the former the basis for hardcore vérité crime series Homicide: Life on the Streets; the latter the text for a grueling, Emmy Award-winning drugs-in-the-ghetto miniseries. To call The Wire a reinvention of genre sounds cliched, but the praise is no less than warranted. Cast with unknowns, this is television that trades the epileptic Bruckheimer-meets-Fincher techno-glam of magnify glass crime fantasy for grimy, foul-mouthed detectives with a basement for an office and a typewriter for reports (another poke at under-resourced working conditions). It's stained with casual police brutality and Rodney King throwbacks; officers skimping off the top of drug money scores; hard, palpable violence that gains enormous emotional force when one of their own is brutally gunned down. It's occasionally very funny: a murder scene becomes an exhibition for the versatility of the word "fuck"; an out-of-luck detective resorts to a psychic for help; another employs his two children in a game of "front and follow" to tail a suspect in the Barksdale case. It's also more than just a television show – it's an inner-city ethnography, dispelling the episodic heroism of tradition law and order drama, while asking us to consider crime on a conscious social, economic and political level.


THIRTEEN episodes across five discs, featuring three commentary tracks by writer/creator David Simon ("The Target"), director Clark Johnson ("The Detail") and writer George Pelecanos ("Cleaning Up") – all insightful, although you get the feeling that given more time, they could cover more ground. In what appears to be standard on all HBO DVD releases, excellent menu navigation provides access to individual episodes with accompanying "log lines" – particularly helpful in keeping track of the sprawling narrative.