The Wire: A Quick Thought

There's an aspect of The Wire that is difficult to fathom, but attempt to do so I shall. I'll fail, I'm sure. But... Within all worthwhile drama is a simple degree of measurement that has to do with identification, even if we ourselves don't immediately identify it. Ebeneezer knows, and so does Mr. Bateman. So do we, but not on top, not where we live. We pay money to solidify, as we do with everything that doesn't involve just lying there. (Which most of the time involves paying rent, so that costs anyway, but I'm horribly digressing right now and aim to push on.) And push on I must, but not for long.

This odd netherworld of The Wire, with its strangely flat (a)morals. In it there are victims, casualties, no real heroes and no victors. And so, the drama - or whatever - is culled from something very akin to normality. It's not like The Sopranos, where despite the grit and agreeable conclusion glamour seeps from every shiny Ba-Da-Bing nipple and cocked pistol, or The West Wing, where we all get to think that maybe everything would be OK if only he was in charge.

Did I just refer to The Wire arena as a netherworld? It's not. It's a sustained vitriolic habitat unlike anything that's ever come before or since, where the word "truth" is a ridiculous, overpriced joke. It's something that holds its hand up, in the distance, as you warily hold up yours. It's Tommy Lee Jones saying, "OK... I'll be part of this world."