25 Essential Episodes of Homicide: Life on the Street

As a seasoned viewer of crime dramas and a connoisseur of police procedurals, I must say that Homicide: Life on the Street has always held a special place in my heart. The way it delves into the human side of law enforcement, the raw emotions, and the complex relationships between its characters is unparalleled.

After a gap of twenty-five years since “Homicide: Life on the Street” completed its 122-episode series; and following a span of 24 years since the cast largely reunited for the television film “Homicide: The Movie”; numerous pleas from fans and creators later, one of the most undervalued yet consistently excellent police dramas is now available for streaming. Prepare your “Sure, it’s copaganda, but…” discussions, as it’s time to indulge in a binge-watching marathon.

Throughout its duration, “Homicide” didn’t attract as many viewers as its NBC counterpart “Law & Order” or garner the consistent critical acclaim of “NYPD Blue.” However, created by Paul Attanasio and based on David Simon’s 1991 nonfiction book “Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets,” this series boasted an exceptional ensemble cast of acting legends (many of whom have since passed away). Over seven seasons and a 2000 TV movie, showrunner Tom Fontana and his team demonstrated remarkable skill in developing complex characters as well as executing intricate multi-episode storylines and surprising weekly murder mysteries. The series’ musical score was filled with unusual clanking and synth sounds that perfectly complemented each dramatic episode; the editing style was fast-paced and emotionally raw; and it often challenged our presumptions about police, scrutinizing their practices and suggesting that the criminal justice system could strive for improvement. This questioning attitude, combined with its Baltimore setting, Simon’s role as a writer and producer, and numerous actors who appeared in both projects, made “Homicide” a clear precursor to the multi-layered, every-piece-matters approach that Simon would later employ in “The Wire.”

The gritty crime drama Homicide certainly had its flaws. Characters like Meldrick Lewis and Terri Stivers, portrayed by Clark Johnson and Toni Lewis, deserved more compelling storylines than they received. Romantic subplots frequently felt forced or lacked development. An episode titled “Full Moon” leans heavily on elements reminiscent of Twin Peaks.

“Gone for Goode” (season one, episode one)

In a somewhat predictable sequence of events, we commence with the pilot, overseen by executive producer and Baltimore native Barry Levinson. Titled “Gone for Goode”, the narrative borrows its primary plotlines – a woman killing her family members for insurance money and the senseless murder of an 11-year-old girl – from Simon’s book, skillfully intertwining them to introduce viewers to the characters within this BCPD unit. These individuals have their own domestic issues and professional conflicts, while also grappling with pressures from superiors, the community, and the media.

“Night of the Dead Living” (season one, episode three)

Initially, NBC took control of the show Homicide, making adjustments from the beginning, such as shifting an essential episode focused on character development – originally scheduled for the third slot – to the end of the season due to worries it had too much dialogue for a premiere episode. The series, however, is not typical of most police dramas, as it primarily centers around detectives conversing during a heatwave in their sweltering squad room, since they receive no calls and merely converse. This lack of conventional action allows the characters to reveal more about themselves and subtly convey their motivations. A side plot involving a candle that mysteriously lights up each night in the squad room adds a delightful touch, while the finale scene featuring everyone shedding clothes on the rooftop so that Commander Al “Gee” Giardello could spray them with a hose to cool off serves as both an emotional bonding moment and a humorous relief.

“Three Men and Adena” (season one, episode six)

If you’ve only watched a single episode of Homicide, it’s likely this one. Written by Fontana and directed by Martin Campbell, known for blockbuster films like GoldenEye, The Mask of Zorro, and Casino Royale, this tense episode sees Pembleton, Bayliss, and their suspect confined in the squad unit’s interrogation room, or “the box,” for a grueling 12 hours. This visually and thematically intense episode is the most claustrophobic of the series, with outstanding performances from Braugher, Secor, and theater legend Moses Gunn as suspected murderer Risley Tucker. The partnership between Frank and Tim can be stormy, but here their tension is effectively utilized as Braugher and Secor switch roles in good-cop, bad-cop tactics, while Gunn shifts between being dignified and sneering. And true to the nature of Homicide, the episode concludes with Frank and Tim debating whether this suspect confessing to improper feelings for Adena is indeed their man.

“Black and Blue” (season two, episode two)

In this first episode of “Homicide,” titled “Homicide‘s first ‘cops may be flawed individuals,'” Pembleton delves into the murder of a drug dealer, encountering uncooperative colleagues along the way. He clashes with Gee, who encourages him to investigate suspects outside the police force. Gee is a likable character, thanks to Kotto’s charisma, but his insistence on following “chain-of-command” protocol in “Black and Blue” underscores the destructive nature of police tribalism. Although the ending seems to favor Gee, “Black and Blue” foreshadows that the series would challenge the idea that even cops might betray their duties.

“Bop Gun” (season two, episode four)

25 Essential Episodes of Homicide: Life on the Street

The television series “Homicide” featured numerous well-known actors, celebrities, and locals from Baltimore during its broadcast: John Waters, Jay Leno, Bruce Campbell, esteemed character actress Margo Martindale, as well as future cast members of “The Wire” such as Jim True-Frost, Peter Gerety, and Richard DeAngelis. However, none left a greater impression than Robin Williams, who portrayed Robert Ellison in this episode – a husband, father, and tourist whose wife was brutally murdered before his eyes and those of his children while exploring Baltimore. This particular episode was a collaborative effort, with Fontana and frequent partners Simon and David Mills overseeing the storyline, and Stephen Gyllenhaal directing; you may recognize his son, Jake, who appears in the episode as Ellison’s child. Williams delivered an exceptional, stoic performance that saw his character clashing with arrogant Detective Beau Felton (Daniel Baldwin), who boasted about the overtime he’d earn from this case while in Ellison’s presence, and rejecting the apology of the murderer’s wife. While season one primarily focused on the members of the homicide unit, “Bop Gun” instead spotlighted the survivors, demonstrating the show’s ability to shift focus away from its main characters when necessary for the narrative.

“Extreme Unction” (season three, episode three)

In every episode, Braugher’s exceptional performance meant that Pembleton faced the most complex emotional dilemmas and moral d predicaments, and “Extreme Unction” stands out as one of the series’ most significant in this aspect. The relationship between Pembleton and Catholicism is central to his character, but this episode disrupts it significantly when Frank interrogates Annabella Wilgis, a woman with multiple personalities who is believed to be a serial killer targeting female churchgoers. As the interview progresses, he becomes flirtatious and manipulative, deviating from his usual professional approach. This slip-up, which shows the extent of his desperation to prove her guilt, ultimately proves detrimental as Wilgis and her lawyer exploit it later in the case. It’s unusual to see Pembleton so shaken, and Braugher skillfully reveals vulnerabilities beneath his confident exterior that help us empathize with how this case has, and will continue to, challenge his faith.

“Crosetti” (season three, episode four)

This one’s a heartbreaker. In the first and second seasons of the series, Jon Polito’s Detective Steve Crosetti was a history buff and a devoted friend, an overprotective father and a dogged investigator, and a loyal partner to Meldrick Lewis, the latter of which made it particularly odd when season three premiered and he was nowhere to be found. The character is mysteriously off-screen for a while, until in “Crosetti,” a reveal: His body is found in the Inner Harbor, and his autopsy reveals enough alcohol and drugs in his system that the medical examiner rules his death a suicide. It’s a jarring character exit that was partially shaped by NBC’s pressure to increase viewership and miscommunication between Polito and Fontana about how Crosetti’s role would change in season three, and made worse by NBC airing the episode out of order, after another episode had already mentioned Crosetti’s death in passing. But the shock value worked as a way to suggest that Crosetti — and by extension, all of Homicide’s characters — was dealing with demons and regrets that might not make it on-screen but that nevertheless affected his decisions, and to create another wedge between the homicide unit and the department’s administrators, who deny Crosetti a funeral with full honors because he died by suicide. And “Crosetti” also finally provided a spotlight for Clark Johnson, who handled all of Lewis’s conflicting feelings about his partner’s death with relatability and grace.

“The City That Bleeds” (season three, episode 13)

As a captivated viewer, I found myself utterly gripped by the intense three-episode arc titled “The City That Bleeds,” a testament to the unparalleled storytelling prowess of Homicide. In this gripping tale, the detectives are drawn into a seemingly routine warrant operation that takes an unexpected and violent turn, leaving three critically injured, one traumatized, and the rest of the team scrambling for answers. The ensuing chaos makes me question whether our beloved characters have stepped too close to danger’s edge, yet this series masterfully avoids feeling contrived. Instead, it skillfully weaves a narrative that keeps us on the edge of our seats, as it subtly hints at the very real threat of losing one or all three of the wounded detectives.

“The Gas Man” (season three, episode 20)

In a quirky twist, homicide episodes can be quite eccentric at times, as demonstrated in season four’s tribute to Edgar Allan Poe, “Heartbeat”. For this particularly zany installment, Levinson reprised his directorial role. This episode, reminiscent of the film “Friends of Eddie Coyle”, is a modern noir that focuses on a duo of less-than-stellar criminals. One of them harbors a grudge against Pembleton for imprisoning him years ago and seeks revenge. This installment, titled “The Gas Man”, provides ample screen time to Williams, allowing guest stars Bruno Kirby and Richard Edson to let loose, pursuing Pembleton, becoming embroiled in a case involving a severed head, and exchanging quick-witted dialogue. It’s an unusual pleasure, featuring one of the most distinctive and eye-catching pieces of ’90s furniture ever shown onscreen. You’ll recognize it instantly when you see it.

“Fire, Part 2” (season four, episode two)

The fourth season initiates by eliminating characters Baldwin’s Felton and Ned Beatty’s Stan Bolander from the series, with Reed Diamond’s Detective Mike Kellerman stepping into their roles. This new character, Detective Kellerman, seems to serve as a substitute for Felton. He is initially portrayed as a charming and attractive figure, later developing an unstable romance with the new chief medical examiner Dr. Julianna Cox (Michelle Forbes). Representing Baltimore’s white working class, Kellerman exhibits questionable racial attitudes and harbors a growing animosity towards the series’ most sinister antagonist, drug dealer Luther Mahoney (Erik Dellums). Balancing between street-smartness and reckless impulsivity, the two-part “Fire” episodes delve into Kellerman’s unique abilities (initially working in the arson unit before joining the homicide team due to Gee’s influence) and hint at a prolonged plotline concerning his potential corruption. The second part of this story arc is more crucial because it offers insights into Kellerman’s personal life, and Diamond effectively conveys a sense of melancholy in this scene, making for an intriguing introduction to the character’s complexities.

“A Doll’s Eyes” (season four, episode four)

It’s best to approach “A Doll’s Eyes” without much prior knowledge, as it’s an experience you should have firsthand. The story is heart-wrenchingly powerful, Marcia Gay Harden delivers an outstanding guest performance, and the episode provokes deep thoughts about life, death, and the connection between body and soul. These themes may spark intense self-debate for quite some time after viewing.

“The Hat” (season four, episode 12)

In this episode, we have another amusing and delightful installment featuring Lily Tomlin portraying a woman under suspicion for murdering her husband. Lewis and Kellerman are tasked with picking her up from Pennsylvania, and Tomlin’s portrayal of a refined, yet mischievous version of her signature wit is simply laugh-out-loud funny, making it one of the most humorously focused episodes of Homicide. Additionally, there’s an engaging subplot involving Richard Belzer’s Detective John Munch and J. H. Brodie (Max Perlich), the new videographer in the homicide unit. Munch attempts to persuade Brodie to lose a tape that contradicts his theory on a crime scene, but Brodie resists, leading to an interesting exploration of the tension between a rule-bending cop and a journalist who values truth. Both sides present strong arguments, making it an intriguing contrast. Lastly, Walt MacPherson’s Detective Roger Gaffney, a particularly loathsome character on the show, advances to a significant promotion within the homicide unit, and his ongoing petty villainy will be a recurring theme.

“The Damage Done” (season four, episode 19)

Remember Luther Mahoney, the drug dealer loathed by Kellerman? He’s Homicide’s version of The Wire’s Avon Barksdale, Stringer Bell, or Marlo Stanfield, a kingpin who basically every cop and Baltimore citizen in the know are aware of but can do pretty much nothing about, and he’s a major figure in the series’s fourth and fifth seasons. “The Damage Done” follows Lewis and Kellerman as they get on Mahoney’s trail, start piecing together how he shields himself with philanthropy, and argue about the impact drugs have had on the city’s Black community; that’s all good stuff. But the primary reason this episode is an essential pick is for its final scene, which cements Mahoney as one sadistic dude.

“The Wedding” (season four, episode 20)

In this episode titled “The Wedding,” Lewis, who typically doesn’t have many episodes centered around his personal life or thoughts about the job, is given a chance to explore those aspects. It’s a standout moment in the series as Johnson delves into Lewis’s excitement and apprehension, making it perhaps the most authentic and joyful portrayal of Lewis yet. Two other notable subplots include Melissa Leo, playing the tough Detective Kay Howard, also portraying her flighty, flirtatious sister Carrie, who catches the attention of Bayliss and Kellerman. On a more serious note, Gee’s character is involved in an officer-involved shooting that haunts him (and damages his reputation) throughout Homicide: The Movie.

“Work Related” (season four, episode 22)

As a dedicated movie reviewer, I found the “Pembleton’s Crisis” episode particularly gripping and impactful. This pivotal installment was birthed from the real-life decision of actor Andre Braugher to seek new challenges beyond the character of Pembleton post-season three.

“Bad Medicine” (season five, episode four)

As a film aficionado, I find the “Bad Medicine” episode of Homicide remarkably similar to how David Simon might have crafted a storyline for The Wire – raw, gritty, and painfully realistic. This installment offers one of the most compelling portrayals of power abuse, demonstrating how mercilessly people in authority can act to preserve their position.

“The Documentary” (season five, episode 11)

In essence, “The Documentary” follows a clip show structure. Historically, such formats have been perceived as mere filler, serving as a method for extending episode counts when extensive seasons of 20 or more episodes were commonplace. However, “The Documentary” is no ordinary filler; it’s an essential watch, brimming with character development and subtle references to the series itself. Unlike most shows, “Homicide” seldom acknowledges the audience, but “The Documentary” does so boldly, adopting a rebellious tone that feels like the show refusing to compromise and inviting us into its secret.

“Betrayal” (season five, episode 12)

In “Homicide,” Andre Braugher’s character, Pembleton, was consistently acclaimed, yet he remained consistent throughout the series. He grappled with his faith and physical challenges post-stroke, but his love for his wife, personal moral code, and detective skills never wavered. A character like this requires a counterpart who is more dynamic to maintain the balance of opposites attracting, and that role was filled by Clark Johnson’s character, Bayliss. Initially rigid, somewhat homophobic, and unwaveringly loyal to family, even defending his cousin despite the man’s racist actions leading to the murder of a foreign exchange student, Bayliss underwent significant changes over time (his sexuality evolved, he developed an interest in Buddhism). This episode offers insights into the events and experiences that led to his transformation. It’s possible that some traumatic event from Bayliss’s childhood suppressed and molded him as an adult, and when he finally confronts this past, it could drive a wedge between him and the only partner he’s ever had. This episode, titled “Betrayal,” essentially marks the end of a significant relationship on the show, and it’s a notable performance by Clark Johnson, who also directed three episodes of the series (with Johnson directing five, including this one).

“Deception” (season five, episode 19)

Oh, an episode about police officers breaking bad, and then engaging in a massive cover-up to save their own asses? Yeah, that’s gonna be on this list! It’s not just that “Bad Medicine” so effectively suggests maybe policing isn’t a job someone should do long term, especially if that individual’s personality tends toward self-aggrandizing, but also that the conflict and stakes raised by that suggestion feel right for these characters as we know them. The ending is a shock, but it doesn’t come out of nowhere. Lewis’s simmering temper and growing dissatisfaction with getting outplayed by the criminals they’re chasing, Kellerman’s haughty certainty of his own superiority over not just the bad guys, but his colleagues, too, and Stivers’s discomfort with how the homicide unit operates are all in line with what we’ve seen from them before. How these three do, and don’t, see eye to eye about their shared lie reflects the way one institution’s mission can be corrupted and misinterpreted, an issue that will come up with more and more regularity as this conflict reaches a breaking point down the line.

“Narcissus” (season five, episode 20)

Kotto penned three installments of the show “Homicide,” with “Narcissus” being the inaugural and most provocative. This episode’s narrative and uncompromising attitude mirror Kotto’s personal activism as a Black individual, who sought roles that resonated with the African American community and discomfited white audiences. The crux of “Narcissus” revolves around a stakeout and negotiations, where a suspected murderer finds sanctuary within the headquarters of Baltimore’s African Revival Movement organization. The police hierarchy becomes irksome when they learn that the movement is spearheaded by a former officer who was unfairly dismissed from the department. Burundi Robinson (portrayed by Roger Robinson) is driven by a mix of revenge and the conviction that Black people in America can only achieve fair treatment if they seize it for themselves. Gee’s empathy towards this notion causes him to hesitate before storming the building, leading to one of the series’ most distressing — yet compelling — conclusions, which underscores the possibility that Robinson may have been correct all along.

“The Subway” (season six, episode four)

In a remarkable resemblance to “Law & Order”, “Homicide” reaches an uncanny likeness, given their intertwined history through crossover episodes and the bond between Richard Belzer’s Munch and Jerry Orbach’s Detective Lennie Briscoe. What sets “The Subway” apart is its portrayal of the unpredictability that defines “Law & Order”, encapsulating the idea that crime can strike anyone, anywhere, at any time, without any preventable actions. This episode delves into the ethical dilemma of whether a man, despite his unpleasant demeanor, deserves help in determining who pushed him onto the subway tracks. Starring Vincent D’Onofrio as a Baltimore subway rider ensnared between a train and the platform, this question is posed in a gripping, unsettling manner. Additionally, it’s worth noting that Richard Belzer moved his character to “Law & Order: Special Victims Unit”, where he stayed for 16 seasons, and Vincent D’Onofrio starred in “Law & Order: Criminal Intent” for ten seasons, indicating a strong connection between the actors and the NBC crime-drama universe.

“Fallen Heroes, Part 1” (season six, episode 22)

Multiple acclaimed directors have worked on the show “Homicide” – names like Levinson, Matt Reeves, Alan Taylor, and Kathryn Bigelow come to mind when there was a particularly action-packed episode. In the episode titled “Fallen Heroes, Part 1”, there’s a sequence towards the end that truly pushes boundaries; it’s almost as if the episode is the opposite of “The City That Bleeds”. The detectives make a series of unfortunate mistakes leading to a gruesome and intense sequence that left both the characters (and viewers) shaken. This was the start of a two-part episode that marked the end of season 6, and it was also Andre Braugher’s last appearance on the show; revealing more would be a spoiler, but beware of underestimating Mekhi Phifer!

“Shades of Gray” (season seven, episode ten)

In this episode, we delve deeper into Lewis’s character, highlighting both his strengths and flaws as he takes charge of a double murder case following an incident where a bus driver, who is white, strikes a pregnant Black woman in the city. On the positive side, Lewis has an intimate knowledge of the city, enabling him to perceive that the crime scene may not reveal the true events. However, his character reveals a troubling aspect – misogyny – as we witness how his preconceived notions about women’s capabilities as cops harden after his partner, Rene Sheppard (Michael Michele), is assaulted and they narrowly escape death. Although this sexism is problematic, Johnson skillfully portrays Lewis’s struggle to regain trust in Sheppard, which feels authentic throughout the season. A notable scene showcases Lewis’s anger in a nightclub as he tries to recover Sheppard’s stolen gun, displaying a range of emotions including frustration, shame, and self-loathing. This performance is particularly impactful, demonstrating that Johnson has more depth than just being the cool guy the series is known for, a fact further confirmed by his role as the world-weary and streetwise city editor Gus Haynes in The Wire.

“Forgive Us Our Trespasses” (season seven, episode 22)

The last season of the show “Homicide” brought several alterations: Giancarlo Esposito came on board as Gee’s FBI agent son, Mike; Kellerman left the force and became a private investigator instead; the medical examiner Dr. Julianna Cox abruptly departed from town. Not every change was successful, especially the unconvincing illicit relationship between police detectives Paul Falsone (Jon Seda) and Laura Ballard (Callie Thorne). However, when it came to wrapping things up, “Homicide” skillfully focused on the most pertinent lingering storylines such as Bayliss’s increasing recklessness without Pembleton around, and Gee’s ambition that could lead him away from the unit. The finale, “Forgive Us Our Trespasses,” was particularly moving in its reference to the series’ origins, with Lewis echoing a dialogue between him and Crosetti from the episode “Gone for Goode”: “That’s what’s wrong with this job. It ain’t got nothing to do with life.” This line encapsulated the essence of what made “Homicide” so compelling.

Homicide: The Movie

Over the course of Homicide‘s seven seasons, actors occasionally left on good or bad terms, but there’s a charming, comprehensive quality to how most of them returned for Homicide: The Movie, which was broadcast a year or so after the show ended. Directed by Jean de Segonzac, who played a significant role in creating the series’ cinéma-vérité-inspired visual aesthetic, and written by Fontana and series writers Eric Overmyer and James Yoshimura, Homicide: The Movie manages to be both cohesive and innovative. Almost every character’s personality remains consistent with what we’ve come to know, from Gee’s endearing bravado to the complex dynamic between Pembleton and Bayliss, and Kellerman’s nonchalant disregard for protocol.

2024-08-20 21:56