Homicide: Life on the Street

In Baltimore, a homicide unit under the command of Al “Gee” Giardello (Yaphet Kotto) works to close cases and get justice for victims while fending off political pressure from police brass. The detectives include the mercurial Frank Pembleton (Andre Braugher), idealistic newcomer Tim Bayliss (Kyle Secor), wisecracking Meldrick Lewis (Clark Johnson), former student radical turned cynic John Munch (Richard Belzer), and others.

 

Given that I hold The Wire in such high regard, it may seem puzzling that I took so long to watch the show that was in many ways its forebearer. After all, Wire co-creator David Simon supplied the source material (a nonfiction book of the same name), and several future Wire cast members did Homicide first (plus, showrunner Tom Fontana of later Oz fame is no slouch in the creative department himself). So why the wait? Part of this was stubbornness: Homicide was not available to stream, and I kept waiting for that to change (Ironically, within a month of me caving and buying the DVD set, it finally did stream albeit on a service I don’t subscribe to without the original music intact). A bigger part, however, was fear of disappointment. For all the strength of its pedigree, Homicide was still 90s network television. Would I be able to appreciate it for what it was even if what it was pales in comparison to the prestige TV that followed?

 

The short answer is yes. The writing (courtesy of Simon, Fontana, Paul Attanasio, and James Yoshimura) is often very strong. Whereas its contemporary Law & Order (which shared a few crossover episodes with Homicide) gave its characters a few quirks, it was in many ways a textbook police procedural. Homicide, on the other hand, used that genre to tackle everything from racial politics to crises of faith and more. Its characters are fully formed, subject to bad decisions, and deeply affected by what they do. Rather than treating continuity as an afterthought, Bayliss, for instance, is still haunted by his first case at the series’ end. This isn’t to say that there aren’t missteps, however. Established characters are sometimes diminished to make room for new ones, and one modeled on Simon himself (videographer J.H. Brodie, played by Max Perlich) is unnecessary comic relief. NBC’s lack of confidence in the show early on also led to the first two seasons being short and made wonky pacing all but inevitable.

 

While their talents weren’t always utilized to the fullest extent, Homicide also boasted a hell of a cast. It was Braugher’s breakout series, and its easy to see why. Pembleton is a master interrogator and a dedicated detective, but he’s also contemptuous of just about everyone. Braugher can go from bored and indifferent to scarily intense in the blink of an eye. As his most frequent partner, Secor’s Bayliss doesn’t impress early on – he seemed like he was overacting – but that’s more a reflection of the character’s eager new guy status. He does a commendable job of adapting as Bayliss takes on more layers in later seasons. While they aren’t given nearly enough to do at times, Kotto and future Oscar winner Melissa Leo (as unflappable Sgt. Kay Howard) definitely have their moments as do less-loved latter season additions John Seda (Paul Falzone) and Giancarlo Esposito (FBI agent Mike Giardello, Gee’s son).

 

If nothing else, Homicide made excellent use of its guest stars. It boasted a poignant dramatic turn from Robin Williams (before he was known for such things) as a grieving widower and a tense father-son showdown between James Earl Jones and Jeffrey Wright. Some parts – such as Vincent D’Onofrio as an abrasive dying man and Moses Gunn (in his last role) as an accused child murderer – dared you to love and hate the characters all at once. On a more amusing note, Homicide also (SPOILER ALERT) had a penchant for former casting actors like Elijah Wood, Neal Patrick Harris, Jena Malone, and Steve from Blues Clues as manipulators and murderers.

 

Last but not least, the production values were, for network television, surprisingly good. The show made use of an eclectic assortment of 90s music to set the mood. The cinematography often favored documentary-like realism with occasional departures for better (the claustrophobic, stage play presentation inside the interrogation room during Gunn’s episode) or worse (the “stutter effect” repetition of the same shot in quick succession).

 

All told, Homicide is a victim of time and circumstance. When it aired in the 1990s, the very things that made it unique (racially diverse cast, character-driven approach, idiosyncratic choices, etc.) made it hard-pressed to get ratings. Were it to start anew today at an HBO or a Hulu, it would likely be better understood by the viewers it was trying to reach, but it would be far less revolutionary.