HBO's 'The Deuce' Shows Promise as a Series, Despite Slow Opener

NEW YORK CITY—One can only suspect that the creators of the new HBO series The Deuce are hoping that people who are actually familiar with the Times Square area (aka "The Deuce") won't be watching their series ... or at least that they'll be willing to overlook its inaccuracies. Almost needless to say, the series, which is set in 1971, wasn't shot in or around Times Square, but rather Washington Heights, an area of upper Manhattan bounded by 155th Street to the south (putting it well above Harlem) and Dyckman Street to the north, with rivers on each side. It was here that David Simon and George Pelecanos, the show's sires, decided to attempt to recreate the Times Square of the early '70s, on Amsterdam Avenue near 164th Street, by hanging fake movie marquees, fake signage and installing light boxes for movie posters along the street—and with a few special effects, voilà! The 42nd Street of yore, between roughly Seventh and Ninth Avenues. And make no mistake; that looks great. It's just that the rest of the neighborhood, away from the bright lights, just isn't what that area looked like back then. Oh, it comes reasonably close—enough to fool pretty much anyone who wasn't on the scene at the time, as this author was. And Simon and Pelecanos did consult some of the best to try to get it right: Former adult star Annie Sprinkle, one of the few survivors from that era (she began her XXX career in 1974 and spent time in the area even before that); Ashley West, owner of The Rialto Report website, which is devoted to all things classically porn-related, and several others. "I’m delighted they are reviving that history of Times Square and porn in the 1970s, and all of us want to help the show with their research," said Sprinkle, who describes herself and pal Veronica Vera as "paid con-slut-ants" for the show. "Everyone that I have met was really great. I’m sure some people from porn will have a problem with it, like they did Boogie Nights, for it being more dramatic than their own experience. My answer to that is, 'It's art!' And they have creative license to do what they want, and make good drama ... I'm really looking forward to seeing the show. It will bring interest to the 1970s porn history, which is great. There were good things going on there. Great they are putting the sex back on 42nd Street where it belongs!" The show, based on the memories of an unnamed player on the '70s adult scene, seems to revolve around four characters, played by three actors: Vinnie and Frankie Martino (James Franco, who also directed two episodes), "Candy" Merrell (Maggie Gyllenhaal) and Abby Parker (Margarita Levieva), with the possible addition of Lori (Emily Meade), a young hooker who shows up literally fresh off the bus. As Episode 1 opens, Vinnie's a bartender/manager in both Manhattan (hence the 42nd Street connection) and Brooklyn, where he lives with his wife and son. Trouble is, brother Frankie is an inveterate gambler, and owes money all over town—so naturally, all of Frankie's debtors try to collect from Vinnie, the first (and most inept) of whom ambush Vinnie just after he's deposited the night's earning in the bank's night depository, leaving him with a scar on his forehead that helps viewers tell him from his brother. After the opening credits, the scene switches to the Port Authority Bus Terminal (also on 42nd Street) where two obvious pimps—hey, they're black, they're wearing weird suits and they've got great hair; what else are they going to be in a gritty '70s drama?—are looking to pick up nubile new arrivals to The City that they can put on the streets to earn cash for them. One of the guys, CC, approaches Lori and begins to chat her up, offering to buy her breakfast and drive her around in his Cadillac to find her a place to stay—but he's in for a surprise: She knows just what's going on and she's ready for work—after breakfast. Cut to an New York University lecture hall, where the professor can't help staring at the bare knees of one of his students, Abby—and before the episode is over, she's fucking him, partly for fun and partly for the grade ... and one can't help but suspect that somewhere down the road, she'll be making porn to pay for her tuition. BTW, have no worries: There's plenty of nudity in this series, including from some famous actresses, and softcore sex scenes, sometimes fueled by drugs (mostly speed and coke, it appears). And speaking of famous actresses, it isn't long before the camera lands on a blonde beauty in a rabbit fur coat. That's Candy, who's plying her trade (guess what that is) right on 42nd Street, a dicey proposition even in that early era, but one which the producers manage to gloss over. Pimp Rodney (Method Man) tries to get her to work for him, but she's self-employed: "Nobody makes money off of my pussy but me," she tells him. "I'm gonna keep what I earn. I don't need you, I don't need anybody else to hold my fuckin' money but me." (Later, we learn that Candy is in actually a single mom, supporting her young son with her night work—and we can't help but suspect that eventually, some of that work will be porn.) "I love Maggie G," exclaimed Annie S. "She’s a nice person and great activist, and has really tried to get the part of a single mother sex worker right." The next surprise is the "rape scene": A black hooker is "forced" into her apartment by a large white guy—but after it's all over, it's clear that they'd arranged the action in advance, though the guy (who you don't want to see nude ... but do) manages to bruise her face, something her pimp doesn't like, even though the john gave her extra cash for the pain. Anyway, before the episode is over, Vinnie's moved out of his house, because his wife (Zoe Kazan) has been stepping out on him, and into a Manhattan SRO—the same one where Candy has a room; Abby's been busted for buying uppers on the street, though nice Officer Flanaga (his nameplate is missing the final "n") lets her go and even buys her a drink at the bar Vinnie manages—and surprisingly, doesn't try to fuck her; Candy's shown a young virgin a good time—in fact, so good, he cums in her hand, and she won't give him a second shot unless he pays more; Vinnie's managed to snag Frankie's bankroll and gives it to one of Frankie's bookies—an excellent special effects job, BTW, believably having both characters interact in the same scene; a hooker's gotten paid to watch a movie with an old guy (apparently not as rare a phenomenon as some would believe); another one's gotten beaten up by CC because she couldn't score any tricks on "The Deuce" in a heavy rainstorm—and Vinnie's gotten laid by the waitress at the bar. All that may sound like a lot of action, but the truth is, Episode 1 moves pretty slowly, spending most of its time establishing its characters in preparation for the goodies to come—and they've actually gotten the background to possibly pull it off well. "[I]n taking on New York and the Deuce, the co-creators recognized that among the many pitfalls to avoid was any lapse into what Mr. Simon called 'the boys' version of the sex industry'," noted NY Times writer Dan Barry. "He said that the writers, directors and actors engaged in intense, scene-by-scene discussions during the shooting of the first season's eight episodes. Gay and trans writers contributed to the teleplays, women directed four of the episodes, and Ms. Gyllenhaal, one of the producers, shared her notes on scripts and edits of episodes." And one of those contributors was Ashley West, who'll be publishing some of his thoughts on The Deuce on The Rialto Report this weekend. Still, as Barry also notes, "The Times Square of today may be a Disney dystopia, a soul-crushing slice of Midtown where musty Elmo costumes go to die. But the fashionable yearning for the seamier Times Square of yore is to wish for the return of live sex shows, peep-show stalls in constant need of cleaning, men beating women on the street, rampant drug use and underage prostitution. "Yes, those were the days."