September 13, 2017

The Deuce “Pilot” Review: Pimpin’ Ain’t Easy

HBO’s The Deuce makes me nostalgic for a time period I never lived through. Granted, that time may have been rife with illegal drug use, unprotected sex and political turmoil, but hey, it had character. The flamboyant clothing, the side-burn-heavy hairstyles, the funky music, sleek seat belt-less cars and a sheer lack of mobile devices alone made the 1970s a real time to be alive, especially in the United States where even Lady Liberty was willing to spread her legs to earn a steady paycheck.

Yes, The Deuce is about the world’s oldest profession and more specifically, it’s about prostitution in a version of New York City that no longer exists except in the time capsule-like films that are Dog Day Afternoon, Serpico and The French Connection. I’m talking about a Manhattan riddled with graffiti, smut and garbage on every corner. And all that porn, coke snorting, speed-injecting and copulative filth converge on some strange nexus of sexual realities under the bright lights of Times Square—the show’s title is a reference to 42nd Street (or Forty-Deuce) between Seventh and Eight Avenue, which was famous for its abundance of porno theaters, propositioning whores and sex shops that are all but gone in 2017. Trust me, I pass by Times Square on my way to work every day and it’s become an overcrowded tourist trap of costumed characters and families on vacation.

In 1971, all of this depravity was in full swing and The Deuce tackles it head-on with unparalleled period accuracy, going so far as to take production up to Washington Heights in order to achieve that seedy ‘70s look. Not surprising given that the series was conceived by David Simon and George Pelecanos, the two fellas behind The Wire, one of the most beloved television shows of all time (which, I admit, I’ve never seen, although my father tells me good things about it). But when I saw them filming a scene of The Deuce last summer outside one of my favorite New York kosher delis (it’s Ben’s if you were curious), I knew it would lovingly and accurately bring my favorite decade of the 20th century back to life. Plus, I got a pretty sweet selfie with James Franco out of the deal (see below).

The Deuce throws a lot at us in its first hour and a half pilot episode, but it sets the stage for a lot to come as its debut season progresses. Let’s start with James Franco who pulls double duty by playing identical twin brothers Vincent and Frankie Martino. They’re identical in that they both look like James Franco and they’ve got long period-appropriate ‘dos and bushy California cop mustaches. Vinnie, the more responsible of the two, is a bartender at little joint in Brooklyn and at a struggling Korean restaurant in the heart of Manhattan. He’s got two young kids and a wife (an excellent doe-eyed Zoe Kazan who needs more screen time) who’d rather put her chain-smoking mother in charge of the house every night so she can go out and play pool or shtup some guy who isn’t her husband. Don’t feel too bad for Vinnie because he’s also getting some side action from one of his fellow bartenders and even strikes up some chemistry with NYU student Abby (Margarita Levieva), a character who’s motivations I’m not so sure of yet, but they have Gary Puckett asking “Have you got cheating on your mind?” during their scene together so you know what’s up. Vinnie is also being strong-armed into paying a massive debt of 30+ Large racked up by his brother, Frankie, a man who loves the horsies, the great American pastime and anything with odds to it really. The interplay between the brothers is minimal in the premiere and I got a little confused between who was whom, but I look forward to Franco sparring with himself in further episodes.

Next comes Maggie Gyllenhaal as Candy, a self-employed escort who is more businesswoman than prostitute with a blonde curly wig and a son (living with her mother) she supports through her sexual escapades. In one smartly written scene of many, she explains to a teenager why he doesn’t get a second free ride just because he ejaculated so quickly, comparing sex-for-money to the boy’s father’s car dealership. “He doesn’t give the customer two cars for the price of one.” But don’t worry, the kid got a $50 check from his grandmother so all is right with the supply and demand model of prostitution. Candy is a smart cookie and proves her contempt for needing a pimp time and again.

Then you’ve got the pimps themselves with their puffy shirts and wooden canes despite the fact that their ability to walk doesn’t seem to be impeded in any way. They’re sweet as can be when their ladies of the night bring them the green, but can also be scary as all Hell when those same ladies give them lip. Then there are the clients who may get so into sex that they leave you with a black eye or so sadly alone that all they wanna do is eat pizza and watch a movie with you. Our two main pimps thus far are Rodney (Method Man) and C.C. (Gary Carr) who are introduced to us as they sit in the Port Authority bus station, scouting for newly-arrived talent. Their introductory dialogue is very Tarantino-esque in which they conclude that Nixon’s continued involvement in Vietnam and Cambodia is essentially a form of pimping.

Right now, The Deuce is more Blood Ties than it is Boogie Nights, but the porn element has yet to enter the picture so things are just beginning to heat up in the proverbial bedroom. The is more about the hustle required for attaining the American Dream and sometimes you gotta do some shady sh** to achieve your dreams, or at least to survive; one could argue it contains more actual hustling than David O. Russell’s American Hustle. HBO’s definitely got a hit on its hands, but as I’ve told some of my friends, the show could be utter crap and I’d still watch it for the beautiful ‘70s aesthetic and music. I was a big fan of Vinyl (canceled way, wayyyyy too soon) last year for the very same reason.

The show’s use of Curtis Mayfield’s “(Don’t Worry) If There’s a Hell Below, We’re All Going to Go” for its opening credits is another stroke of genius that conveys we’re all going down this deviant rabbit hole together and instead of hookah-smoking caterpillars and watch-consulting rabbits, there’s a whole lot of full frontal nudity and people profiting off of said nudity. This wonderland actually existed and The Deuce will be our guide. In other words, Sex sells and God Bless America.

SONG PICKS OF THE WEEK:

• “(Don’t Worry) If There’s a Hell Below, We’re All Going to Go” – Curtis Mayfield (1970)
• “These Eyes” – “The Guess Who” (1968)
• “Woman, Woman” – Gary Puckett & The Union Gap (1967)