The Deuce makes the New York sex trade into a patient, humane drama about work and power. Maggie Gyllenhaal gives it a compelling centre, though the crowded storytelling and James Franco’s double role can make the opening unnecessarily demanding.
The Deuce is a patient, humane crime drama that earns the attention it asks for, though its crowded opening will test anyone expecting a quick route into the story. Creators David Simon and George Pelecanos approach the sex trade in 1971 New York as a workplace, where people need money and somebody else usually has the stronger bargaining position. The early episodes spend time establishing the neighbourhood and the people working in it. We are asked to learn who deals with whom before we can understand the consequences of those dealings.
Maggie Gyllenhaal is the strongest reason to stay. As Eileen ‘Candy’ Merrell, she makes independence feel like something that requires constant attention, and her intelligence gives even ordinary exchanges a purpose. There is no need for a speech telling us this woman has a mind of her own; the performance makes us look for what she thinks of the person opposite her. She remains interesting even when the story is asking us to take in several other people at once.
The relationships between pimps and sex workers are the most difficult material, because the writing allows affection and dependency to sit alongside exploitation. We were unsettled by the warmth in these conversations: a friendly exchange can leave the balance of power entirely unchanged. The writers do not make every person explain the arrangement they live under, which lets the dialogue sound like people who know one another. The sexual violence is hard to watch, and the surrounding tenderness never quite allows us to settle.
The cinematography by Pepe Avila del Pino and Yaron Orbach makes the period streets convincing without making them inviting. Scott Dougan’s production design gives Times Square the dirt and bustle needed for this many working lives to fit together. The recreated neighbourhood remains interesting even when keeping track of the people becomes difficult. Its strongest quality is that the crime and the everyday business appear to belong to the same place.
Keeping track does take work. Editor Shelby Siegel helps the overlapping stories accumulate, but the early stretches ask us to absorb a great many names before the relationships are clear. James Franco, playing Vincent Martino and Frankie Martino, adds another demand: the double casting is conspicuous enough to draw attention away from the men themselves. He supplies useful energy, but we occasionally catch ourselves watching the performance as a technical exercise. The quieter acting elsewhere holds our attention more firmly.
As a crime series, The Deuce gives the routine business between the threats an unusual amount of space, and that is where it earns our recommendation. The conversations make exploitation harder to dismiss as something done only by obvious monsters; people can be funny, companionable and still benefit from somebody else’s lack of choices. It can be slow, and the introductions can be confusing, but the patience allows us to understand people whom a quicker drama might barely notice. Give it an evening when learning the names will feel like part of the pleasure.
