The Deuce Is Shattering Our Nostalgia for '70s New York

But a big, juicy story is taking shape.


There's a certain lawlessness to New York City in the '70s that, for those of us who have only experienced it second-hand through movies and TV, feels exuberant and alive and powerful and, well, fun. The porno theaters are now a giant McDonald's and a M&M's store. Instead of prostitutes walking the street, low-rent knockoff versions of Minions and Spider-Man roam around, taking pictures with tourists. Times Square isn't what it used to be. Sure, there's still a grime to it, but it's slightly polished, with a Disney sheen.

But The Deuce manages to destroy the notions of an exciting, carefree version of New York City before a plague wiped out a large population of the city and a fresh wave of puritanism swept the city clean, removing the sex trade in its various forms and pushing it (a little bit) back in the closet. On The Deuce, everyone has to abide by somebody's rules, and that strips the era of any glamorous grittiness.


In Episode Six, "Why Me," the cops, who have been turning a blind eye to the area of Midtown between Times Square and the Hudson River, are ramping up their patrols. It's the Christmas season, and they're doing some housekeeping—picking up the pimps and prostitutes on the streets, no questions asked. This new sweep conveniently coincides with Vincent's new business venture, backed by the Italian mob: It's essentially a brothel, a safe space where the customers come to the women rather than them seeking out their clients. The mob has already made a deal with the powers that be downtown, so there's no risk of the cops raiding the place. Even more important: The women keep all of their earnings (that is, they deliver it back to their pimps before taking their fraction).


Meanwhile, Candy has all but ditched her street name and is going by Eileen full time as she attempts to move up in the burgeoning dirty movie business. The times are changing; the definition of "obscenity" is evolving, too. Movie-makers like Harvey Wasserman, who has started casting Eileen in some of his films, are pushing the boundaries of obscenity, slowing moving the needle and showing more and more sex on film. But the movie business isn't glamorous, either. It's hard work, it's exhausting, and it can be unhealthy—as seen when Eileen's scene partner gets "carried away" and forgets to pull out during production.

Plus, Eileen isn't interested in being on screen much longer. She wants a real job where she's not performing all of the time, something that will get her back on her feet and able to get a real apartment and provide for her son. Wasserman is dragging his feet, though; the business is slowly building up, and there's not a ton of work for a woman who doesn't already have the technical skill set.

So she soldiers on, adamant about not going back out on the street. But she does return to play casting agent, grabbing Lori for an easy gig when Wasserman needs another brunette. Lori is game, and Candy gives good direction. "The camera is the john," she instructs Lori. "Fuck the camera." But then C.C. shows up, demanding additional cash beyond the hundred bucks Lori was initially getting paid. He's a manager, and his position entitles him a cut. Again, everyone has to play by somebody's rules and pay their way in this world.


Last week, I complained a little bit about where we are in The Deuce's first season: essentially a narrative limbo in which we're waiting for David Simon and his writing team to build this larger world and establish where these characters will go. There's a bit of a waiting game at play here—not just for us, the audience, but also for the characters on the show, too. Eileen in particular has the biggest stakes here, and we can see how frustrated she is because she can't make a major move immediately. Frankie, too, is working on building something bigger; he and Black Frankie have a grand idea for what amounts to a home for porno booths, where men can come in, watch a movie, come, and then go. He's right when he predicts this could be a game changer for business. But how long before we can expect him to get to the next level.

The Deuce is starting to make some promises that the various plots are going to become bigger and more complex. Take it from Officer Alston, who tells the reporter Sandra that he's not "her source," but he has a big, juicy story to tell her. Considering how the cops and the mob and the pimps and the nightlife entrepreneurs are all in it together, we can only imagine what the story is going to be. We just hope that Alston—and The Deuce—makes good on his promise.

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