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“The Wire” notes and analysis for Episode 59 – “Late Editions”

Please note that this episode is available only at HBO On Demand and has not yet aired; it will premiere on HBO on Sunday, March 2^nd. 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 59; please do not read further if you have not yet seen it and do not want details about this episode.

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The penultimate episode of “The Wire” is one of its best ever. It opens with Lester carefully examining a large bulletin board with the city maps, overlaid and surrounded with images of clock faces taken from the cell phone intercepts. Soon he receives a transmission indicating map 44, grid G-10—and then another, and then another. Since this is an out-of-the way industrial area, it seems to signal a big meet. Lester calls Sydnor and sends him down there, then McNulty, and before long he’s out the door himself. The illegal wiretap, it seems, is about to pay off in a big way.

The episode’s tagline is “Deserve ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.” – Snoop. Now at the warehouse, several teams have gathered there and are assessing what’s going on. Marlo was there, but left. Chris just went inside a warehouse door opened by “some white boys.” Lester jumps in his car suddenly, realizing he’s going to need more police to take down the warehouse if it contains what he thinks it does. “Where you going?” asks Sydnor. “Time to ‘fess up,” answers Lester.

In the next scene we join a meeting in progress at Levy’s office, with Herc, Snoop, and a “Mr. Hill,” the young dealer who took a bullet in the leg and is now going to take the gun charges for the Stanfield organization. When the dealer complains about how much water he’s having to carry for Marlo—especially after having been shot—Snoop has a great line: “Go down Wal-Mart or some shit and see if they take care of you while you laid up for a while.” It’s a brilliant swipe at the retail behemoth’s abysmal record on benefits and living wages, and Herc offers an appreciative smirk (unintentional rhyme there).

At the warehouse, oblivious to the phalanx of surveillance teams (and soon, SWAT teams) that surround the building, it’s business as usual: three men who seem to be Russians open the back of a small delivery truck containing several iceboxes, each of which is filled with at least 40-50 bricks of heroin. The transaction is made with Chris, and the product is loaded into Monk’s trunk (rhyme unintentional, again), among other places.

Meanwhile, setting the stage for the show’s inevitable climactic denouement—the unmasking of McNulty’s bullshit, Scott Templeton’s reckoning, Marlo’s collapse—Gus is meeting in a pub with a former colleague named Robert Ruby (The Sun’s former Foreign Editor, who seems to be playing himself). They’re bemoaning the corporate culture at The Sun and so many other papers—“These newspaper chain guys just don’t give a fuck, do they?” Ruby asks—and Gus asks him to discreetly check out Scott Templeton’s body of work. Ruby knows instantly why Gus is asking him. “Man, I hope you’re wrong,” he says. “Of course you do,” Gus replies. Gus and Ruby adhere to the “old school” of the newsroom, for lack of a better phrase: loyalty to one’s fellow reporters to the bitter end. As we know, Scott’s lies are bound to—and in fact, are actually beginning to—come out. Soon Ruby is at The Sun greeting old friends and making a cautious inquiry into Scott’s articles.

Duquan , now working with the junk vendor, climbs over a barbed wire fence into the lot of a construction company, or a demolition site. Perhaps life as an apprentice junk man isn’t the glamorous existence it had initially seemed?

In Rawls’ office, Carcetti’s chief of staff Michael Steintorf (Neal Huff) is meeting with Rawls and Deputy Ops Cedric Daniels (Lance Reddick) to carp about the record increase in violent crime during Carcetti’s tenure. He wants results—more police, more visible presence, etc.—and Daniels is deflated by his insistence that he preside over the same old political game. After all, Daniels says, “I was told by our mayor at the outset that there would be no more Band-Aids, no more stat games.” Not so, Steintorf informs him: the mayor wants to see a 10% drop in violent crime in the next quarter. Reform can be addressed, he adds, if Carcetti is in Annapolis (as governor), and he can’t get there unless he’s got more workable crime stats. It’s an endless cycle of manipulation, compromise and futility that, in “The Wire” universe (and, it would seem at times, in our own) will never end. Being privy to the “war room” discussions between Carcetti and his staff, we know he’s selling all but his soul to ensure a shot at the governor’s mansion—and there’s little reason, despite his fiery rhetoric and the high-minded ideals he espoused in the third season, for us to think he’ll suddenly make things right if he gets there.

Lester , for his part, is coming clean to Daniels—sort of. He doesn’t spill the grand duplicity, but lets Cedric in on enough of the detail—the surreptitious wiretap, the surveillance, the warehouse, Bunk’s delayed warrant on Partlow—to ensure that Daniels will provide him with the firepower he needs. As he’s talking to Daniels, Lester gets a call from Sydnor, who has just pulled over Monk with “eight keys of the raw” in his trunk—and his phone, with all its evidence. Daniels is taken back by Lester’s revelations, but seems more bemused than angry. He calls Rhonda Pearlman: “Ronnie dear, are you sitting down?”

Soon a SWAT team vehicle smashes through the gate and its members storm in to the warehouse, arresting everyone in sight. Lester arrives and sees the refrigerators loaded with heroin, then he’s off to the playground, where Marlo is among those arrested. (I have to admit, seeing Marlo and his crew manacled and kneeling on the concrete makes me feel in some small way that Omar may not have died in vain.) Lester picks up Marlo’s cell phone, looks the drug lord in the eyes knowingly, and strolls away. He finds the clock that had been used in the picture messages, holds it thoughtfully in his hands, and looks down the line of arrestees to Marlo, whose expression is memorable: “But just how in the fuck did he…?” he seems to be thinking. A great, gratifying scene.

It’s press conference time, and Carcetti is at his self-congratulatory best after a seizure of $16 million in heroin, all told. (A cute little throwaway line from the young Mr. Hill as he, Michael, Snoop, and the few other Stanfield associates not arrested watch the coverage on TV: “Does this mean I still gotta take that charge for y’all?”) Carcetti crows, “We did not give up on that investigation, just as we do not give up on trying every day to address ourselves to the task of making this city safe and vibrant again,” after which the camera shows Bill Zorzi rolling his eyes. He knows—though not in the detail available to us—what a falsehood that is. Carcetti has a stern warning for those drug dealers who still operate in Baltimore’s neighborhoods: “A day like this is coming for you.” Zorzi mutters sarcastically, “Oh, you are so butch.” The world-weary court reporter sees through is empty posturing—as do we.

After the news conference, Daniels will only give a perfunctory quote to Alma—“A good day for the good guys”—and when pressed, says he doesn’t like being misrepresented in the paper. “Something about stabbing someone in the back,” he says, referring to Scott’s fabricated quote attributed to Nerese in episode 53. Scott’s shenanigans not only will end up harming his own career—we can only hope and assume—but it harms the credibility of everyone else in the profession. Perhaps that’s a lesson with which both McNulty and Templeton will be forced to come to terms by the series’ end.

Marlo and his crew have been arrested and locked up for processing, and many of them sit in a large holding cell, trying to decipher what went wrong. (I wondered during this scene if it’s entirely plausible that these known associates—who did not seem to have been questioned yet—would have been placed together in a communal holding cell, given the possibility that they’d have the time and opportunity to get their “stories” straight.)

Monk angrily deconstructs recent events and mentions that Omar had been calling Marlo out on the street. Marlo’s reaction is pure rage: “He used my name? In the street?” The look on Chris Partlow’s face reminds us that Chris and Snoop had deliberately decided to keep this from him—“The man’s got too much on his plate,” Chris said at the beginning of episode 58—and so Marlo never heard of Omar’s repeated challenges. “My name was on the street? When we bounce from this shit here, y’all gonna go down to those corners and let those people know: word did not get back to me. Let ‘em know Marlo’ll step to any motherfucker—Omar, Barksdale, whoever. My name is my name.” The tightly controlled, bloodless Marlo believes intimidation is the only real power he has to wield, and if he was “called out” and failed to answer that call, his reputation is worthless. One has to wonder not if, but how Chris will be brought to account by Marlo for his sloppiness.

In the Homicide unit, McNulty sits working placidly at his desk when he is approached by Jay Landsman (Delaney Williams), who conspicuously praises Bunk for his solid, deliberate police work. Then he turns on Jimmy: “From everything we’ve given you, fire should be shootin’ outta your ass. But no. There you sit like a genital wart.” He wants results.

(A note here about Landsman’s locutions and manner of speech: it is possibly the most colorful and lyrical of any character on this show, or any show. His scatalogical and crude metaphors are magnificent. And his sentence constructions—“there you sit” instead of “you just sit there”—recall Shakespeare’s language. It’s a delight hear him speak, minor character though he is; it would be interesting and not a little bit amusing to compile some of his most memorable lines over the years.)

After Landsman stalks away, Kima asks a clearly tortured McNulty where this is all going to end. There will be no more calls and no more killings, he tells her, and the effort will all fade away. He tries to accentuate the positive by reminding her, “Marlo is in cuffs.” “Fuck Marlo,” she replies, and bores through him with a look of pure disgust. “Fuck you.”

(I guess I understand Bunk’s anger at Jimmy’s actions, as much as I understand why Bunk never told anyone what was going on. But I’m not sure Kima’s fiery reactions here necessarily ring true. She has undeniably given her life to police work—to the detriment of what seemed like a promising relationship with Cheryl—and most certainly her body, when she was shot in season one. But Greggs has been as stymied and frustrated at times by the bureaucracy and its ineffectual nature as much as McNulty himself. Surely she’s been shuttled around from one special unit to another enough to understand some of what McNulty’s motivations are. Would she reasonably have the extremely negative and lingeringly furious reaction she’s had—and would she reasonably take the drastic actions she’ll take later in the episode?)

The newsroom is humming along busily while Scott is in a meeting with Klebanow, Whiting, and Metro editor Steve Luxenberg (Robert Poletick) about potential Pulitzer submissions. Whiting, who reveals that he’s been on a few Pulitzer committees in his day, says the graphics have to be “clear and professional” for an article or series to be considered for the prestigious prize. Klebanow says it’s vital to cover the reaction (among city agencies, government, police, etc.) to the homeless coverage. But Luxenberg asks, “What do we want to say exactly with our coverage? What do we want to say about the homeless?” He adds that no one would argue that homelessness is terrible, “but isn’t it actually symptomatic of a much greater dynamic?” It seems here that Luxenberg wants the paper’s coverage to get into the societal and economic ills that lead to homelessness—like inadequate wages, disappearance of the manufacturing base, and flaws in the school system, to name a few.

But Klebanow, predictably, isn’t having any of it: they need to “examine the tragedy underlying these murders.” Scott, their willing lapdog, fawningly interjects, “the Dickensian aspect.” A broad, shit-eating grin spreads across Whiting’s face; it’s the self-satisfied smile of a man who’s been paid homage by having his own words parroted back to him. Besides being the title of episode 56, the phrase was used in a budget meeting in episode 52 to underscore the desired tone for the paper’s planned Pulitzer-baiting series on the school system. One wonders if Klebanow and Whiting will be drooling quite so heavily over Templeton when his fakeries are exposed—or whether their blind devotion will in fact prevent them from seeing the truth of his actions. One thing seems sure: either Scott Templeton or Gus Haynes will no longer be working for The Sun by season’s end.

McNulty and Lester are shown out by the railroad tracks—near where Jimmy and The Bunk had wound up many a late night earlier in the series—celebrating the arrests of Marlo and his crew. Well, at least Lester is celebrating, having had more than a few drinks. But McNulty stands aloof, empty and somber, refusing a drink. He’s unable to take any satisfaction from what his duplicity has accomplished in the long run, perhaps because he sees how many people he’s hurt in the interim; though he says little, his expressions convey it all. Lester insists that if McNulty will not join him for a drink, he needs to at least chauffeur him home. As Freamon dances drunkenly away, he practically sings, “Shardene better be awake, too, ‘cause I do believe Lester Freamon’s in the mood for love.”

After the holding cell conversation, Marlo is convinced that he has a snitch inside his organization who told the police about the cell phones. (After all, since the wiretap was illegal, the official police reports refer to a nonexistent “source” who told them about the picture messages.) In a later scene during which Marlo meets with Levy, Marlo insists that only he, Chris, Monk, and Cheese knew about the code. It’s ironic that because of the illicit manner in which the evidence was gathered, a CI (confidential informant) had to be invented, which will lead to chaos and more violence within the Stanfield organization. The newest member of his inner circle, the one always asking questions, seems to be the easiest scapegoat. It quickly becomes clear that Michael has a target on his back, and when Snoop visits him to ask that he kill Walter—telling him not to bring a gun because she’ll give him one later with the serial numbers filed off—Michael is instantly suspicious.

In a complete change of venue, we see a smartly-dressed, ponytailed young man at a podium speaking passionately about the AIDS epidemic in Africa. Behind him is a large banner indicating that this is a competition sponsored by the Baltimore Urban Debate League (BUDL), which is an actual organization that has been in existence since 1999. The voice is familiar, but its tone—erudite and persuasive rather than smart-alecky and coarse—is unmistakably different. It’s Namond Brice (Julito McCullum), and as he speaks, Bunny Colvin (Robert Wisdom) and his wife look on proudly. Bunny’s expression sours, though, when he notices Carcetti and his entourage enter the auditorium from the rear. Colvin has no love for Carcetti, who last season (as councilman and mayoral hopeful) made a scapegoat of Bunny and his Hamsterdam experiment in an attempt to expose the corruption of Mayor Royce and grease his path to City Hall. This is evident when Carcetti later breaks away from a news conference to talk with Bunny, who is standoffish and closed-off to Carcetti’s awkward attempts to reconnect with the disgraced former Lieutenant. (I’m not really sure what Carcetti’s motivation would be here, anyway. It could be that he’s genuinely sorry for the smear campaign he conducted to attain his position, but since so few of his actions or impulses seem authentic anymore, that’s hard to believe.)

Back to Gus’s quest to unmask Templeton’s lies, we see Gus having lunch with Nerese. He brings up Daniels (in a circuitous manner, so as not to arouse her suspicions that she’s being pumped for information) and asks Nerese if she thinks he’s ready to be commissioner given all the backstabbing he’d engaged in. Nerese answers, “Daniels wasn’t even on my radar,” and her responses make it abundantly clear to Haynes that Templeton likely piped, or fabricated, that quote.

The body of a beaten-to-death homeless man has been found, and McNulty must examine it for signs that would link it to his fake serial killer. The detective, to whom McNulty refers as “Rook,” says there are no bite marks or ribbons to be found. The ensuing exchange is classic David Simon:

Rook: “This fuckin’ guy stinks.”

McNulty: “He probably evacuated.”

Rook: “What, he left and he came back?”

McNulty: “No, he shit himself.”

This is not only funny on its face, but also because it recalls the scene in episode 51 in which Gus changes Alma’s “the people were evacuated” thanks to Jay Spry’s (Donald Neal) correction.

Gus is off to Walter Reed Medical Center to meet with the Marine whose hands were blown off in the Terry Hanning story. When Luxenberg asks what he’s doing, Gus replies, “scratching an itch.” When he arrives, he begins talking to the man who was in Terry’s unit, and he shows Gus his prosthetic hands, which have rotating thumbs and multiple grips. “Brave new world,” says Gus, marveling at the technology. (The phrase derives most recently from the 1930s Aldous Huxley novel Brave New World, which envisions a World State controlled by reproductive and conditioning technologies; it originates, though, from the play The Tempest by William Shakespeare, which contains the line, “O brave new world that has such people in it!” It’s almost certainly a stretch, but in some sense with this comment Gus might be mourning the loss of authenticity in the modern world.) Gus asks the man if Terry could have exaggerated his story to Scott, and the man says it’s not possible. “He ain’t lie, y’all did. Sorry to say,” he says, echoing Terry Hanning’s insistent statements from last episode, though in less strident terms.

Carver and Herc share a cigarette and some suds once again (with Tom Petty’s “Refugee” playing in the background), and Herc says he became “fully erect” when he heard of Marlo’s arrest. But it soon becomes obvious that he’s working Carver for information about the details of their investigation. This is confirmed when Herc later meets with Levy, his boss, and says Carver all but admitted there was an illegal wiretap used to gather evidence on Marlo’s crew. Herc, who has had moments of redemption this season, seems to have settled back down to the level of craven weaselhood here.

A nice update on Bubbles’ situation (aka, Reginald Cousins)—and, I suspect, maybe the end of his storyline altogether—appears later in this episode. In the first scene, Bubs and Fletcher are chatting in his basement when Bubs’ sister comes home with some items for him. He tells her his anniversary (of sobriety) is coming up and he wants her to attend the ceremony, but she declines. “My sister, she good people,” he explains to Fletcher. “She been through a lot, though, you know.” It seems harsh at first blush that she will allow him to inhabit only her basement and never come upstairs, but on plenty of previous occasions she allowed him to stay with her, he made promises, and then he stole and pawned her belongings for drugs.

Later on, Bubs arrives looking rather spiffy for his anniversary ceremony, Fletcher in tow. Walon (Steve Earle), Bubs’ sponsor, warmly greets Fletcher but reminds the reporter not to take notes or record the proceedings: “What happens in that room stays in that room.” Walon’s reaction when Fletcher says he’s doing an article on Reginald is priceless: “I’m his sponsor and I don’t believe I’ve ever gotten a Christian name out of him!” Inside, as Bubs walks to the front of the room and begins, we can sense something is different about him; he appears poised to break free of his shame and his guilt once and for all. “My name is Reginald,” he emphasizes, and we sense that he’s almost having a rebirth. “’Round the way they call be Bubbles.” He talks about a recent afternoon when he was walking down the street and a strong craving hit him; he tried to call his sponsor, Walon, but he wasn’t around, and no one else called him back either. (One woman says she would have definitely called him back, hinting at a possible romantic interest for Bubbles, which would be wonderful.) But he did not get high that day, he says, and the implication is clear: he’s learning to depend on, and control, himself. He also, finally, brings up Sherrod, and though he doesn’t go in to specifics about what happens, it’s cathartic for him to even utter his name again. “Ain’t no shame in holdin’ on to grief,” he winds up, “as long as you make room for other things too.” This is one of the most moving scenes I can remember in “The Wire,” which doesn’t often make room for redemption or hope among its crushing stories of hypocrisy, apathy, and betrayal.

The fruits of Lester’s threatening encounter with Clay Davis are clearly paying off, as we see the two having drinks and Clay spilling prodigious amounts of information about where the money leads. Clay insists that in “following the money,” Lester must focus on the lawyers—particularly Levy, who not only provides legal advice but also elaborate money laundering for his drug clients, routing the money through developers, community foundations, and politicians like Clay himself. Lester pushes Clay to reveal more, and he finally relents: Levy has a contact at the courthouse, who has been buying papers (sealed affidavits and other confidential legal documents) and “selling them to whoever needs an early look.” He advises Lester to focus on people “hanging around the Grand Jury” in his search. Hopefully this information will find its way to the State’s Attorney’s office, solving the mystery of the court documents found in Prop Joe’s desk.

As noted earlier, Kima is incensed by McNulty’s revelation that he conjured the homeless serial killer out of thin air. At first, it seems she’s going to tell Carver, but she just wants some advice. She asks him how he felt when he spoke up on Colicchio, who dragged a teacher out of his car and beat him in episode 54, then remained unrepentant. Carver admits he felt “like shit,” but in the long run, he’s “OK with” his decision. Kima feels it’s in her best interest, that of the department—and that of the city itself—that she tells someone what she knows. As the episode winds down, she appears nervously at the door of Deputy Ops Cedric Daniels, and their exchange takes place offscreen. Daniels then tells Pearlman, who cannot believe what he is telling her.

They go off to the evidence room—where Daniels bumps into someone from his past named “Augie,” or Augustus Polk (Nat Benchley), who I believe was involved in the season one wiretap detail—to examine the cell phone from the pier. As Pearlman dials the number in the wiretap and the cell phone rings, I’m left wondering why Sydnor would have entered that phone into evidence rather than destroying or hiding it. Whatever the reason, Daniels and Pearlman now realize they have a full-scale catastrophe on their hands, and it’ll be intriguing to see how they play it (bury it, realizing what could happen if they don’t, or allow it all to unravel) in the final episode.

Snoop picks up Michael as scheduled for the hit on Walter, and Michael is soon asking questions about why Walter needs to be killed. “Does he deserve it?” Michael asks. “Deserve ain’t got nothin’ to do with it,” says Snoop, providing the episode’s tagline. (I wonder if this has some larger meaning in terms of what will become of those most responsible for the messes this season: namely, McNulty and Templeton. Is there real justice, or even “karma,” that informs the outcomes of these situations?) Michael asks Snoop to pull into an alley, pulls a gun, and Snoop asks how Michael knew. “You always told me—get there early.” In a heartbreaking scene, Michael asks Snoop what he did wrong; why was he being targeted? “It’s how you carry yourself. Always apart. Always askin’ why when you should be doin’ what you told. You was never one of us. You never could be.” Snoop then calmly takes one last look in the car’s side mirror. “How my hair look, Mike?” she asks. “You look good, girl.” Such an odd, tender, and almost pedestrian exchange given what’s about to so unavoidably happen. The camera pans back from the truck and Michael fires the gun. Snoop is dead.

Michael then must deal with the aftermath of his actions, and his future is uncertain to say the least here. When he comes into the house, Duquan is watching Showtime’s “Dexter” and he enthuses to Michael that it’s a show about “a serial killer that only kills other serial killers!” Michael tells them to pack—they’re all leaving. He takes his brother, Bug, to his aunt’s house, along with a bag of money for her to use to raise him.

The goodbyes here are heart-rending, as is the (presumably) final scene between Duquan and Michael. Duquan tries to bring up a bit of mischief from last season—maybe to remind his friend that they were children, once, and can be again. The exchange made the “Wire” soundtrack CD (…and all the pieces matter: Five Years of Music from The Wire, track 34), and its poignancy is undeniable. Duquan says, “You remember that one day summer past, when we threw them piss balloons at them terrace boys? You remember—just before school started up again. You know, I took a beat-down from them boys. I don’t even throw a shadow on that. (chuckles) That was a day. Y’all bought me ice cream off the truck. … Remember, Mike?” After three or four full beats, Michael replies, barely audibly, “I don’t.” It’s a whisper suffused with so much meaning—Michael is stunned by his lost innocence, and how rapidly and inexorably everything has changed for him.

And we share his pain; despite ourselves, we hoped for positive outcomes for all four of the young men we met in season four—Namond, Michael, Randy, and Duquan. Now it seems that the most incorrigible of the four, Namond, is the only one whose future holds any degree of optimism: Randy is a cold, hardened teen at the group home, betrayed by a system that promised to help him; Michael has just killed someone and has nowhere to turn; and though it wasn’t clear at the end (at least to me), Duquan appears headed either to stay with the junk man or the drug-addicted family members who “raised” him.

The 90-minute finale—for which I will have to wait two full weeks, and watch it on Sunday, March 9^th with everyone else!!—looks to be phenomenal. In the previews, it looks like heavy damage control is in order, a bearded Prez makes an appearance, McNulty and Scott seem to be arguing about who is more stunningly full of shit, and all hell generally breaks loose. Can’t wait for Episode 60, yet I’m really very sad about the end of this series that draws an array of superlatives from critics and fans alike, and rises above them all.

I guess I’ll spend the next couple of weeks thinking of questions to ask David Simon for the Q & A set up in March! I know it’s been said before, but thanks again to Jim King for moderating the Yahoo group, maintaining a kick-ass Wire site at http://members.aol.com/TheWireHBO/ and setting up Q & A exclusives with Dominic West, Wendell Pierce, Clark Johnson, and of course, Simon. (That’s Jim King on the left and Simon on the right in the picture below.)

END OF EPISODE 59 NOTES