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“The Wire” – episode 53

Notes and observations; episode 53 is on HBO On Demand only and will air on Sunday, January 20^th at 9pm. Please be aware there are spoilers present below.

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Episode 53—tagline, “They’re dead where it doesn’t count” from Fletcher—was one of the best of the series so far, in any season—the writing, the plot twists, the character development were all stellar.

The episode focuses on a wide range of topics, from Marlo’s money laundering to Michael’s tension between childhood and his responsibilities to his corner; from the Clay Davis Grand Jury to upheaval in the commissioner’s office; from cuts at The Sun to McNulty’s concocted serial killer.

The episode begins by concentrating on the aftermath of the murders by Snoop and Chris in episode 53, namely the ink it receives. Alma Gutierrez’ article, headlined “Three killed in west side home invasion,” was originally 35 column-inches and appeared destined for the front page. Instead it receives 12 inches below the fold in the Metro section. Alma runs from store to store at around 5 in the morning looking for the paper, then finally ends up at one of the printing plants to get a look at her first “front,” or front-page story for which she has the sole byline (so-called because it contains “By” and the reporter’s name). Gus apologetically says, “your piece took a bad bite,” acknowledging that Alma’s article was cut considerably; though it wasn’t his fault, he says “we messed up” in not giving the story a more prominent place.

The problem, according to Fletcher, is that “they’re dead where it doesn’t count,” and speculates that it’s the “wrong zip code.” If three had been killed in Timonium, an affluent, 90% white suburb of Baltimore, it would have received front-page status and at least 35 inches.

Soon the troops are gathered in The Sun’s newsroom (they’re even fetched from across the hall in Features and Sports) for announcements by the managing editor and the executive editor, James C. Whiting. Gus and some veterans of the newsroom speculate that “maybe we got sold again,” a reference to the fact that first the LA Times then the Chicago Tribune have bought The Sun in recent years. Gus observes sardonically that “we’re the minnow” because they keep getting swallowed up by media conglomerates. There’s also speculation that Whiting might be poised to announce Pulitzer Prize wins for the paper, but these are not due out for a week—and besides, Gus notes, if he were about to deliver such news, he would be sporting an unmistakable erection.

Whiting begins by using vague, euphemistic language to hint at what’s to come: buyouts and layoffs. “The news hole is shrinking,” he says, and advertising dollars are down. The news hole refers to the news content to be produced, increasingly dictated by the amount of space that needs to be allocated in each day’s paper. The bigger the ad space and other peripherals, the smaller the news hole. Because circulations are generally down, advertisers are being more and more stingy with their advertising dollars at newspapers. Whiting goes on to say that “technology is driving distribution” and that the internet has become a free source of news content. As I’ve discussed before, and others have picked up on, the newspaper industry has, by and large, allowed technology to control the gathering and dissemination of news, rather than harnessing technology into a profitable and affirming tool. In other words, the newspapers have gotten played by the internet rather than playing it, to borrow one of the show’s many taglines.

As a result of all this, Whiting says that “hard choices” had to be made in order to meet “budgetary targets” set by the Tribune company. Five foreign bureaus—London, Beijing, Moscow, Johannesburg, and Jerusalem—are to be shuttered immediately. (See my post on episode 51 for a more in-depth exploration of this trend.) There will also be a fresh round of buyouts involving veteran workers, along with layoffs. For the first of two utterances in the episode (and his third over all this season), Whiting says they need to “find ways to do more with less.”

Then managing editor Thomas Klebanow (David Kostabile) is thrown to the wolves by Whiting as he reads a prepared statement and fields their questions. He talks about a “voluntary separation plan”—a euphemistic way of saying “buyouts” that is laughably antiseptic in tone. Under a VSS (voluntary separation scheme), the corporate entity eliminates the positions of those who “volunteer” to take buyouts, saving the company lots of money in the long run. Essentially, veteran workers are “voluntarily” separated from their jobs, the jobs themselves are separated from the newsroom, and the newspaper is separated more and more from the quality on which it once prided itself. Some employees will be “moving on to other opportunities beyond The Sun.” Aside from the celestial implications of such a move, this is another euphemistic way of saying that there will be firings.

Gus Haynes (Clark Johnson), the conscience of the newsroom and the voice of true journalism in the show, asks of Klebanow, “How come there’s cuts in the newsroom when the paper’s still profitable?” It’s a valid question, since the profits of most newspapers, though down, are still the envy of many ordinary corporations. But the managing editor only offers corporate doublespeak and bottom-line apologetics in response. Gus is later pulled in to a meeting with Whiting and Klebanow during which he’s told that “we’re counting on you to transition the new team” and Gus shares his frustrations and concerns that he is being left with a gutted staff.

The word “cooked” is used a couple of times in this episode. It occurs to me that one of the themes of this episode and season in general is becoming the idea of “cooking,” a term with origins in accounting; to “cook the books” means to falsify financial records to cover up wrongdoing, inflate profits, or hide deficits. In the school plot, the jump in numbers (test scores are up 15%, apparently) is likely the result of “cooking”—though this isn’t stated; Burrell has “cooked” his crime statistics, for which his job is in jeopardy; McNulty is “cooking” the cases to produce a phony narrative about a serial killer targeting the homeless; Scott Templeton is “cooking” his pieces, it’s becoming clear (more on that later); and Prop Joe is “cooking” (really, laundering) money for Marlo, which also tangentially involves Clay Davis.

Speaking of “cooked” crime statistics, the mayor’s office is planning to “leak” the real statistics to The Sun. This term means to give out information surreptitiously, usually for personal or professional reasons involving strategy or retribution. (The Valerie Plame CIA “leak” case comes to mind here as a particularly nefarious example of this phenomenon, but ordinary leaks happen all the time, usually involve little harm, and are quite indispensable to both the political and journalistic systems.) Cut to a scene with Carcetti’s chief of staff and political voice of reason Norman Wilson (Reg E. Cathey) sitting at a bar with city editor Gus Haynes, who had been summoned via text message by Norman. It’s revealed that Norman used to work at The Sun before getting into politics; Norman goes on to “leak” the information that Mayor Carcetti is planning to “shitcan” Commissioner Burrell and that Chief of Detectives Cedric Daniels is the “frontrunner” for the position after a likely interim period with Rawls in charge.

Roger Twigg (Bruce Kirkpatrick) is featured prominently in this episode, primarily because he’s offered one of the buyouts. Twigg is a veteran reporter who has worked police cases for years. According to Twigg, “they can hire one and a half twentysomethings for what it costs to keep me in print.” This sort of crystallizes the problem with modern journalism and the rampant buyouts—an inexperienced staff with high turnover is replacing entrenched, established, veteran journalists who have become masters of their craft.

Gus goes to Scott with Norman’s leak, offers the young reporter the story, and asks Scott what he knows about Daniels, but Scott’s never heard of Daniels. Gus poses the same question to Twigg and receives a litany of information—all off the top of his head—based on years of working sources, knowing the players, and doing good journalism. Twigg gets the story. Again, this scene sums up many of the points the show is trying to make about modern journalism: Twigg, who is an undeniably valuable resource and stellar reporter, is being bought out, while the floundering the comparatively clueless Scott is taking his place, in a sense. In fact, when Scott is told by Gus to find “react quotes” (reactions about the story’s subject from local lawmakers, political movers and shakers, police sources, and the like) to accompany Twigg’s piece, he simply fabricates or pipes a quote. When pressed by Gus Haynes, Scott says that the “high-ranking city hall source” is actually Nerese Campbell (Marlyne Afflack). As I stated in my episode 52 posting, I fear Scott’s fabrications will only get more outrageous and brazen, with disastrous consequences for The Sun and for the subjects of the paper’s legitimate stories.

The good news here, if there is any to be had, is that Twigg’s police department reporting is being picked up by the dedicated, hard-working, and intuitive Alma Gutierrez. When concocting the serial killer story, McNulty decides to “leak” word of these linked homicides to The Sun and calls Alma. When the two meet at a coffee shop, he tries to charm and flatter her (saying that he’s read her stuff, and that it’s very good; flirting with her) but she’s having none of it (“bullshit,” she answers when he compliments her writing; “I’ve got a boyfriend, detective,” she fires back when he openly flirts).

In a scene at a bar, Gus and Roger Twigg chat about their lives and careers, clearly yearning for a simpler and purer time in journalism. Gus recalls watching his father read the paper raptly each morning before departing for work, and wanting to be a part of something so important that it held his father’s undivided attention. Roger remembers seeing a man on a train folding his “broadsheet” meticulously and examining it rapturously, looking every bit the smartest man on the train; that was the moment he knew he wanted to be in the newspaper business.

(A broadsheet is the most popular newspaper style, consisting of long, vertical pages folded in half; a full broadsheet contains four pages—front and back—while a half broadsheet contains two pages—a single sheet printed front and back. Tabloids are newspapers that are folded only once in the center. Examples of broadsheets include The Sun, The Philadelphia Inquirer, and The New York Times; tabloids include The New York Post and the Philadelphia Daily News; “tabloid” has also come to mean sensationalized or gossipy rags, but not all papers that appear in this format fall into the derogatory “tabloid” category.)

The scene with Roger and Gus is a touching scene, one that says a lot about both characters and about the newspaper business as a whole. Roger bids farewell by repeating H.L. Mencken’s epitaph: “If, after I depart this vale, you ever remember me and have thought to please my ghost, forgive some sinner and wink your eye at some homely girl.” Henry Louis (H.L.) Mencken was known as the “Sage of Baltimore” and was a journalist, essayist, and satirist active during the first half of the twentieth century. He is noted for his coverage of the Scopes trial (he coined “Scopes Monkey trial”), his incendiary editorials, and his pithy one-liners. A few of my favorites, some of which I’ve shared with my students…

“A cynic is a man who, when he smells flowers, looks around for a coffin.”

“Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence.”

“Nobody ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public.”

“Democracy is the theory that the common people know what they want, and deserve to get it good and hard.”

A great scene in this outstanding episode—and my notes here have covered mainly the journalistic aspects, leaving out provocative material with the likes of Omar and Prop Joe and Michael and DuQuan, for example—is when McNulty is anxious to see the splashy article he expects based upon his leaked information about the spurious serial killer. He runs to an honor box (the coin-operated newspaper boxes, so-called because it is only on one’s “honor” that one takes only one newspaper, rather than several) as the paying customer is getting his newspaper. As McNulty says “hold it!” and reaches in to retrieve a newspaper he hasn’t paid for, the man mutters, “you cheap motherfucker” as he walks away. McNulty is crestfallen to discover that the story about the fact that the murders of homeless men may be linked was positively buried on a deep interior page of the Metro section and received the briefest of treatments. Landsman later describes its position as “back in the girdle ads.”

Most riotous of all is the scene in which Bunk has brought Lester into “the box” to talk some sense into McNulty regarding his scheme. Much to Bunk’s amazement and indignation, Lester actually begins to counsel McNulty on how to improve his scheme. A classic scene.