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“The Wire” notes and analysis – episode 57, “Took”

Please note that this episode is available only at HBO On Demand and has not yet aired; it will premiere on HBO on Sunday, February 16^th. Also be forewarned that as “The Wire” contains adult language and themes, my post will reflect these elements; reader discretion is advised.

Finally, this post contains spoilers about episode 57; please do not read further if you have not yet seen it and do not want details about this episode.

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This episode (Tagline: “They don’t teach it in law school.” – Pearlman) was directed ably by Dominic West and features a few surprises and even a rare “Wire” throwaway cameo, but mainly bridges previous and future episodes, building suspense for the final three installments of the series.

Episode 57 opens with Lester connecting some wires and whispering conspiratorially with McNulty. It soon becomes clear that McNulty, with the help of voice modulation equipment, is poised to place his first call to Scott Templeton at The Sun from the “serial killer.” McNulty delivers a rambling statement (he’s been admonished by Lester to “stick to the script”; I can only imagine the twisted fun the two of them had coming up with it) about biting and the like to a flummoxed Scott, who bumbles through the office in search of witnesses and guidance. (After all, this is the first actual call he’s gotten from the “killer.”) A picture message is then sent through of the old homeless man (his real name is Lawrence Butler, I believe), with a red ribbon tied around his wrist.

In the ensuing meeting, Scott is genuinely shaken by the call he’s received—real life tends to be jarring when it intrudes upon our carefully crafted and maintained fantasies—as he is briefed on what to do next. “Oh Christ, that was … that was him,” he stammers, and hastily adds, “again.”

Meantime out by Pier 5, Sydnor stands with the cell phone that actually placed the call, rerouted through Lester’s sham wiretap in a manner I do not even fully comprehend. Soon police have converged on the area after the signal is traced, confiscated cell phones and demanding cooperation of folks enjoying a leisurely afternoon on the waterfront. The camera pans back to reveal that a helicopter and a boat have also joined the hunt for the killer. It’s a brilliant shot—unusual for “The Wire,” which typically focuses on the minutae and leaves us to construct the broader picture in our own heads—and underscores the scope of the fraud that’s been perpetrated by McNulty. The media, the mayor’s office, the police have all been taken—or, in the colloquial construction of the episode’s title, “took”—by an elaborate ruse that’s by now spiraling out of control.

A great McNulty moment happens when Landsman and the detective who was present when the call came through, along with some six or seven others, are having an animated discussion about what to do next. A supposedly unknowing McNulty looks wide-eyed at the flurry of activity and asks, “Hey—what’d I miss?”

The Clay Davis fiasco turns in another brilliant bit of guest casting when Clay goes to see Billy Murphy, the prominent and controversial Baltimore criminal defense attorney who has been referred to as “Johnny Cochran east” by admirers and detractors. He’s well-known for successfully defending boxing promoter Don King in a Federal fraud trial and winning multimillion-dollar verdicts for (frequently African American) clients suing the likes of Wachovia. More recently he sued the city of Baltimore on behalf of an African American man who was paralyzed while in police custody when his head was slammed into a wall, winning the largest police brutality verdict—$44 million—in American history.

In the “Wire” universe, Clay is begging Murphy to represent him. Murphy insists on a $200K fee and, well knowing his new client’s slippery reputation, warns Clay, “Don’t fuck me.” Clay opines that for all the front-page coverage Murphy’s firm will get should make him jump at the chance to represent Clay: “For all that profile, sheeeit partner, you should be payin’ me.”

Back in the conference room of the newspaper, McNulty is there again, this time meeting with Whiting, Klebanow, Gus, the publisher, and Scott Templeton. McNulty asks Scott, “Was it the same voice as before?” Scott replies, “Oh, right – yeah. No, actually. I mean yeah, it was the same, but this time I noticed he had a real thick Balmore accent—real thick.” Gus looks sidelong at Scott, seeming to note how odd it is that Scott, who was relatively blasé about his first contact with the killer, seems shaken to his core by this, supposedly the second contact. Klebanow wants to run the photo sent by the “killer,” which plays right into McNulty’s game. Before he leaves, Jimmy tries to reassure Scott: “I wouldn’t worry—he’s just using you. He needs you.” Scott says, “I kinda resent that, actually.” McNulty takes a subtle, winking jab at the cookery in which he knows the self-aggrandizing Scott has been engaging: “I don’t know – it’s workin’ out pretty well for both of you, right?”

Omar makes several appearances in this episode, some with his crutch, and some without. In his first “appearance,” he doesn’t actually appear, but two of Marlo’s soldiers stumble upon Manny and Vince in the stash house. Manny seems to have been killed, but Vince (I think that was the name I heard; I think he’s from the rims shop) was merely tied up and given another message to relay to Marlo: That Omar will not rest until he successfully calls out Marlo to the streets. Omar also flushes lots of the product (was it four kilos?) down the toilet to punctuate the notion that it’s not about money anymore.

Carcetti is busy making fundraising calls for his gubernatorial campaign and seems to be raising record cash. Soon Norman rains on his parade by informing him of the call that came in to The Sun from the purported serial killer; Carcetti springs into action, determined not to let the opportunity embodied in this story pass him by.

Judge Phelan authorizes the additional computers so picture messages can be tapped, and so McNulty’s charade rolls on.

As the mayor gets involved, it quickly becomes clear that it’s a full “red ball”—Balwmer police lingo for a top priority case that has everyone available working on it. Bunk refuses Landsman’s order to go meet with Daniels about the case, and his rage about McNulty’s shenanigans is close to boiling, as it does a bit toward his boss. I’m beginning to see the possibility of Bunk reaching a point at which he must “blow the whistle” on what Jimmy and Lester are doing. Later, while Lester and McNulty are discussing the case and Bunk learns that Kima has again been pulled off her triple murder, he hisses, “Shame on y’all, I mean it.”

The ensuing scenes are fascinating in the way that they are intercut: Daniels addresses 15-20 Homicide detectives and other officers while Gus Haynes addresses some 12 to 15 reporters in the newsroom. Gus says that Alma will stay with the investigation and that Scott should not “go home before checking for updates before the e-dot and double-dot editions.” (These are the next-to-last and final editions, as noted in an earlier post discussing Episode 51.) In additon to Alma and Scott, Mike Olesker will be writing a column on the case, Fletch will be in charge of homeless react (reaction quotes and reporting from the homeless regarding the case) as well as “interviewing advocates and experts talking up the problem.” Melody is to get “on the phone with the white coats at Clifton T. Perkins or some place” for a sidebar about “why a wack job would kill people” and then talk to a reporter about it. Perkins is a mental hospital outside Baltimore. A sidebar is a smaller article that accompanies a larger piece and explains some aspect of the topic, providing context or elaboration where needed. For example, an article about a man who was killed after being stung 100 times by bees might well feature a sidebar about beesting allergies, how common they are, and how they work.

As for Scott, Gus acknowledges that he’s “in the middle of this” because the killer is contacting him, and Alma will be interviewing Scott for a separate piece. As such, Scott’s article will necessarily be in the first person (i.e., using words like “I,” “me,” and “my” that would typically be absent from a straight news piece). Gus concludes by emphasizing that the reporters “need to be on the street” and that doing reporting by phone “won’t cut it.” “For once I am assured that they resources we need to work this story will be there for us. So let’s surround this mess and report the hell out of it.” Scott remarks to Alma as they scramble to work, “This one’s got legs.”

Daniels in the squad room is echoing what Gus says in a typically self-conscious “Wire”-ish attempt at parallelism: they need to be out on the streets, canvassing; McNulty will be heading things up and choosing staff; keep the media as part of the equation; and investigate thoroughly to make sure it’s not a hoax (at which point McNulty looks around nervously). He ends with a statement that, according to the mayor, there will be “no overtime restrictions or staffing limits on this.” Kima remarks to McNulty as they’re dismissed, “Police work – whaddaya know?” The key here with both settings is that this single case is galvanizing the institutions that had been falling apart, cutting back, and making excuses. The dramatic irony (which occurs in the theater when the audience has information certain characters do not) is that this is all being brought about thanks to the prevarications and manipulations of two men, primarily: Jimmy McNulty and Scott Templeton.

Duquan has seemingly given up trying to fit in on the corners and is scouring the classified section of The Sun for jobs, only half-jokingly. Carver swings by to pick up Michael Lee, who is delivered to Bunk for questioning in the murder of Michael’s stepfather. Bunk ushers Michael in to the first interrogation room and shows him photos of his stepfather’s badly beaten face, which we know was carried out in a blind rage by Chris (with Snoop looking on, mystified). Michael is stoic, though, and refuses to give Bunk anything useful.

Next we see Kima arriving at the home of one of the “murder” victims, outisde of which broadcast media outlets are set up. “Vultures,” she mutters. Inside, Kima conducts one of many interviews with the parents of the “murder” victims. They had let their son go because of his persistent problems, but were horrified to learn what had happened to him. Later in the program, Kima returns to the office exhausted and demoralized after having completed interviews with all of the families of the “murdered” homeless men. As she describes the turmoil these families are undergoing, these parents who have often been estranged from their troubled children, McNulty’s face reveals that he realizes what he’s done—despite all the “good” that has come from his charade, like fully funded policing, he’s inflicted needless harm on families who otherwise would have learned the truth about their loved ones’ deaths. His actions, though unintentional, were careless, and the burden of that is clearly beginning to weigh heavily on him. Based on the previews of Episode 58, it seems that McNulty may ultimately be forced to bring Kima in on his charade—I wonder how Kima will react to all that?

Fletch (full name Mike Fletcher, played by Brandon Young) is reviewing his piece with Gus and acknowledges that there’s a formulaic quality to it: “anecdotal lead, nut graph, desk quote.” An anecdotal lead is often used in a complex feature article as a way to lure the reader in. It shares a brief story, personalizing the issue, then gets into the “meat” of the story by presenting the nut graph or a sentence or two containing the main idea. In a “hard news” piece the nut graph and lead are often one and the same, but anecdotal leads are used as alternatives to this formula. I’m not sure about “desk quote”; I might have heard him wrong…

Gus urges Fletch, a young, eager reporter he has clearly taken under his wing, to spend time with his topic without always looking for quotes or anecdotes. “Sometimes the weakest stuff in a story is the shit with quotation marks around it.” He wants Fletch to learn to “tell the story in moments” and get to the essence of the subject. “I’m not interested in what can be quoted … I’m interested in what feels true.” Meanwhile Alma’s produced 30 column-inches and Scott, who tells Gus he’ll have his copy ready in five mintes, is warned of the approaching first-edition deadline and adjusts the time frame to three. The newsroom is humming, people are working on a story with “legs,” and Gus is clearly invigorated by all this activity.

Soon, though, Gus seems deflated by the extent to which Scott seems intent on placing himself at the center of the story—and the extent to which Klebanow and Whiting seem to be congenitally unable to find fault with anything Scott turns in. “First person is one thing,” Gus concedes as he scans Templeton’s copy, but he’s bothered by Scott’s implication that he’s “sharing the darkest corners with [the homeless].” Whiting corrects Gus that “he’s writing more as an essayist.” This signals a dangerous blurring of the lines in journalism—is he a reporter, a columnist, a memoirist, or what? Though it hasn’t been mentioned, sales of The Sun have to be experiencing a significant jump since the homeless serial killer story broke, and Whiting giddily allows his star reporter—now nationally known—to shine as brightly as he cares to.

“We’ve got a column from Olesker,” Gus insists, that will be on the front page of the Metro section. “It’s pretty powerful without being purple.” Purple prose is writing that is overly sentimental or manipulative in its use of pathos or flowery language. The implied contrast he’s drawing here is that Scott’s piece is, in fact, purple. “But this stuff that Scott’s written … makes it sound like he’s been living with the homeless for weeks,” when in reality he spent an evening talking to them, and an afternoon at a soup kitchen, Gus notes. “It ain’t exactly Studs Terkel,” he remarks dryly. Studs Terkel, of course, is the broadcaster and folk historian who is most readily associated with his work in compiling massive, sprawling oral histories by exhaustively interviewing people who had experienced the Great Depression.

Gus’s problem with Scott’s article is that the reporter is too much in it, implying that he’s been pounding the volatile streets of Baltimore mining for these stories. “This is my city,” Gus insists, “not Beirut,” referring to the war-torn capital of Lebanon. Klebanow says he “respects” Gus’s opinions—when your boss tells you that, he’s about to overrule you—and says he’ll take personal responsibility for editing it. He’s going to run it “as is.”

Later, when Gus sees Scott’s piece in the paper, he is utterly disaffected. The article, featured on the front page above the fold, is headlined “To walk among them…” and has a subhead of “The street odyssey of the reporter who has provoked the rage of a serial killer.” It’s accompanied by a picture of Scott. The phrasing here—“among them”—is particularly demeaning, insinuating that “we” (the comfortable readers of The Sun) and “them” (the homeless) might as well be two different species. Gus tosses the paper in the trash.

Next we see Daniels and Pearlman at home; Rhonda is going over the Clay Davis case file to make sure she can support the state’s attorney, Rupert Bond (Dion Graham) in court. It’s a brief scene, but it’s nice to see that the two of them are still together, and apparently happy; it also shows us the extent to which Rhonda takes here job home with her—literally.

At the trial, it’s evident from the start that it’s going to be a circus. Clay steps out of his car with Billy Murphy in tow. Bill Zorzi from The Sun is covering the trial and spots a book in Clay’s hand. He asks, “What are you reading, Senator?” and touches off a response that I think is one of the funniest scenes ever on the show. Clay, who is conspicuously holding the book Prometheus Bound (that’s pronounced pro-ME-thee-us) written by Greek dramatist Aeschylus (that’s ESS-ke-lus) about 2500 years ago, replies that he’s reading Promathis Bound (as he pronounces it) and explains, “This book by Asillyus is about a simple man horrifically punished by the powers that be for the terrible crime of trying to bring light to the common people. I cannot tell you how much consolation I find in these slim pages.” Clay finally pronounces the moral of the tale to be—as if he’s quoting directly from the text—“No good deed goes unpunished.” Clearly this would depend on the perspective, and an oversimplification of the moral here. (This martyrish statement, by the way, is attributed to twentieth-century politician and socialite Clare Booth Luce.) Zorzi looks on, amused.

Prometheus was a titan, and an exceedingly clever deity who, in Aeschylus’ version of the tale, stole fire from the gods and gave it to man. Zeus, who had forbidden that humans be given fire, chained Prometheus to the rocks as a result of what the titan had done. Though he knew well what he was doing was a transgression, he argues strongly that this punishment is excessive considering the crime. The implication here is clear: Clay Davis was simply taking money from the wealthy and distributing it to his people, and he’s being persecuted for it. This line of thinking clearly informed their defense as well.

McNulty is anxiously talking with Lester in the illegal wiretap room again, fretting about how unwieldy the case has become. Other homicide detectives have gotten wind that McNulty’s case has brought in a windfall of manpower, resources, and overtime—more than he could possibly use for the homeless case. At first, Jimmy is pleased to share the wealth and help detectives bring in real cases; soon, though, the demands wear on him and he begins to resent it. “This thing’s bigger’n I ever thought it would be,” McNulty laments, then implores Lester, “Get me out of this, Lester. As fast as you can.” The first message Lester intercepts from Marlo’s phone is a picture of an analog clock set to 5:50. He sends Sydnor out to observe Monk’s movements at that time, but comes up with nothing. Later in Episode 57, Lester is seen with an array of pictures taken from Marlo’s cell—all analog clocks set to varying times. Lester is determined to crack the code, but the image symbolically stresses the fact that the little ruse he and McNulty have been enacting is quickly running out of time—and they may be running out of luck.

Back to Fletch, who is visiting the soup kitchen where Bubs works, just as Scott did. Bubs strikes up a conversation with the young reporter and seems genuinely interested in helping him. It was thrilling when he introduced himself to Fletch—like two pieces of the puzzle just fit together, and the outcome can only be good. After Bubs takes Fletch to talk with some homeless folks he knows, Fletch offers to pay Bubs for his help, but Bubs refuses. “It ain’t about that. Just … write it like it feels.” Meant to echo Gus’s advice (“what feels true”), Bubs’ guidance here is both gentle and prodding, and the viewer is left with a strong sense of hope that Fletch is becoming the kind of reporter the entire community can be proud of.

At a local bar, we’re treated to a cameo by Munch (Richard Belzer), who has now played the character in eight different television series since originating on “Homicide: Life on the Street.” As amusing as it was to see Munch chastising the bartender and talking about how he used to own a bar, it also kind of shatters the “Wire” illusion: the show is such a hermetic little universe that a throwaway cameo endangers its mystique.

The real reason for the scene is Gus’s chat with Mello (he’s Carver’s boss, Lieutenant Dennis Mello, played by the “real” Jay Landsman) as Gus begins to unravel Scott’s lies.

Toward the end of the episode, Omar sends another series of messages, this time stronger. First he limps up to Savino (Chris Clanton) who is one of Marlo’s “muscle,” and has a brief but vital conversation with him. Savino, whom Omar recalls from Savino’s days with the Barksdale organization, assures Omar that he wasn’t there when Butchie was killed, but Omar asks him what he would have done if he had been there. When he hesitates, Omar—who had been simply planning to send another message for Marlo—decides to pop Savino. It seems Omar is becoming more reckless in “calling out” Marlo.

In his final Episode 57 scene, Omar hobbles (this time using a crutch) up to Michael’s corner and plants his gun in the nape of Michael’s neck. It’s striking that Omar still induces fear even when clearly debilitated by a severe injury from his fall. His message this time is, “I’ma drop all his muscle” and that he wants to confront Marlo one-on-one, which Marlo is unlikely to allow to happen. (It’s also worth noting that “Ayo,” a Baltimore house tune by Bossman that appears on the “Wire” soundtrack CD, plays in the background in this scene.) When Omar leaves, Michael is relieved that Omar did not recognize him from the apartment shootout; otherwise, Michael may have been his next victim. Kennard, the little, foul-mouthed hopper, though, is unimpressed by the mythical Omar. “That’s Omar?” he asks incredulously (but quietly) as Omar approaches Michael. As Omar walks away, Kennard derisively observes to the others—still clearly shaken by Omar’s visit—that Omar is “gimpy as a mu’fucker.”

But the real surprise of the show, and one I didn’t necessarily see coming, is the trial of Clay Davis. I should have known something was awry when Lester testified about Clay’s transactions on the stand but Murphy declined to cross-examine him. When Clay gets on the stand, he is a virtuoso, portraying himself as a community hero, a man of the people. The money he gets from a variety of sources goes to individuals in the community who need help with everyday expenses, he insists, and it’s impossible to account accurately for all that. He says that when he leaves his office with cash, by the time he’s made it through the neighborhoods he represents, his pockets are empty (which he illustrates by standing up and turning them inside out, causing a minor uproar). At the end of his slippery testimony, Clay receives applause from those observing the trial in the courtroom, and is quickly acquitted by the jury on all charges. As a broadly smiling Clay emerges from the courthouse to address his loving supporters, Pearlman and Bond stand to the side, agape. Bond asks, shellshocked, “What the fuck just happened?” Pearlman’s reply—for she seems far more savvy than he, but still surprised—provides the show’s tagline: “Whatever it was, they don’t teach it in law school.”

The very next scene is Gus in the newsroom gleefully sending the article he’s copyedited—presumably Zorzi’s—to the desk: “45 inches of Clay Davis playing not just the race card but the whole deck, coming atcha!” Gus sees things for what the truly are and seems less and less able to be surprised. A female reporter (or is she a copyeditor?) comes by his desk to commiserate on Scott’s above-the-fold article. Gus laments, “I understand the hype, but I just can’t trust the guy” and she wonders if Scott is manipulating his information to “make a story better than it ought to be.” Gus can’t shake the feeling that Scott’s article about the African American kid sitting outside Camden Yards in a wheelchair just doesn’t add up—he’s a fan of baseball, not basketball; he only gave a nickname. But Gus insists, and I believe, that “I don’t want to call another reporter a liar. … I really don’t.” Gus still views himself as a reporter and has the utmost loyalty for those who ply his trade, even when he suspects they’re unethical. When considering the previews of Episode 58, in which Scott’s article about the homeless former Marine seems to fall under scrutiny, it seems obvious that things are heating up for the serial fabricator.

This frenetically paced episode concludes with a touching and reflective scene in which Kima holds Elijah, who can’t sleep. “Let’s say goodnight,” she says as the look out the window. The lazy litany begins much as Margaret Wise Brown’s classic children’s book, but quickly takes a turn that makes it both more poignant and more authentic:

Goodnight moon…

Goodnight stars…

[a squad car, sirens blazing, drives by]

Goodnight po-pos…

Goodnight fiends…

Goodnight hoppers…

Goodnight hustlers…

Goodnight scammers…

Goodnight to everybody…

Goodnight to one and all…