Welcome to Retro Television Reviews, a feature where we review some of our favorite and least favorite shows of the past! On Sundays, I will be reviewing Homicide: Life On The Street, which aired from 1993 to 1999, on NBC! It can be viewed on Peacock.
This week, Whit Stillman directs a story of pain and tragedy.
Episode 5.7 “The Heart of a Saturday Night”
(Dir by Whit Stillman, originally aired on November 15th, 1995)
The Heart of a Saturday Night is a great episode of Homicide, with the exception of one decision that annoyed the Hell out of me.
It’s an experimental episode. We watch as the Homicide detectives work three cases — a carjacking the results in the death of a wife and mother, a bar fight at the Waterfront that results in the death of an alcoholic husband, and the assault and murder of a young woman in East Baltimore. While Bayliss, Giardello, Munch, and Lewis investigate the cases, we see the survivors at a group therapy meeting. Rosanna Arquette plays the widow of the man killed in the bar fight. The great Chris Eigeman is the widower of the carjacking victim. Polly Holliday and Tom Quinn play the parents of the murdered woman.
It’s a bit stagey and talky but it works, largely due to the performances of the guest cast and the intelligent direction of Whit Stillman. As anyone who has seen any of his films can attest, Stillman is unusually skilled at making conversation compelling. It’s a powerful episode because it reminds us that while the Homicide detectives are just doing their job, the cases they investigate leave lasting scars on those left behind. Munch is more concerned with the murder at his bar than the carjacking to which he and Lewis have been assigned but Giardello explains that Munch cannot investigate a crime that occurred at a location that he owns. Giardello investigated the murder at the bar and one gets the feeling that he largely just wants to get out of the office. Lewis becomes obsessed with solving the carjacking but we all know eventually he’ll move on because that’s his job. There’s always going to be another murder. But for the victim’s husband, life is never going to be the same again. He’s angry and bitter, especially since he knows the carjackers will probably never be caught. (At the end of the episode, his wife’s name is the only one still in red on the board,) His words aren’t always pleasant but he has every right to be angry. Chris Eigeman’s performance is incredible and heart-breaking. Even more so than the effective but overwrought Bop Gun, this episode captured the pain of being a survivor.
It’s a powerful episode, up until the the moment that the final member of the therapy group shows up and it turns out to be Dr. Cox. As good as Michelle Forbes has been in the role, this is the third episode-in-a-row in which Cox suddenly takes center stage. It’s hard not to feel that the show is demanding that we love Dr. Cox as much as the writers obviously do. The problem is that this is only Dr. Cox’s third episode. The constant spotlight on Cox feels hamfisted and a bit premature. It reminds me of when The Office tried to make us embrace characters like Robert California and Nellie Bertram. (This is probably the only time in history that The Office and Homicide will ever be compared to each other.)
Other than the awkward inclusion of Dr. Cox at the end, this was a powerful episode. Homicide took a risk and, for the most part, it paid off.
The year is 1998 and America is flat broke. Paper currency is now worthless and, to the joy of Ron Paul supporters everywhere, all transactions are done in gold. After the country ran out of oil, people started using skateboards and bicycles for transportation and many turned their cars into homes. While the citizenry spends their time consuming a steady diet of sitcoms and reality television, the government tries to figure out how to pay back the loan that it took from Sam Birdwater (Chief Dan George), a Native American who made billions after buying Nike. Birdwater wants his money back and he is prepared to foreclose on the entire country.
Through the Shattered Lens 