I can’t believe I’ve never mentioned The Wire on here, the single greatest achievement in small screen (or big screen for that matter) history. Well, the fifth and final season is now available on dvd.
I’m not sure if I ever need to write about it, perhaps I’ll rewatch each season with a synopsis for each, but there are so many good blogs from intelligent writers out there that I can merely link to them and piggy back on their excellent efforts:
and lastly, Stephen King on Season 4 of the Wire, which was sheer brilliance, both the beautiful and the sublime, as Kant might put it:
In David Simon’s version of Dante’s Inferno, Hell is played by Baltimore and all seven of the deadly sins are doing just fine, thanks. Midlevel drug dealers welcome fall by giving their corner boys money for new clothes — a little perk to keep them happy and moving those spider-bags and red-tops. The bigger crooks give to the politicians to make sure the influence keeps flowing. The only difference is the amount changing hands. And Lester Freamon, a detective Sherlock Holmes might hail as a peer, has an aha moment while looking at an abandoned row house — one of thousands in the city’s decaying core — on a chilly winter afternoon. ”This is a tomb,” he says.
In a way, Lester might be referring to the entire City.