Season two of The Deuce prioritises its female characters at the same time that it risks romanticising their world, writes Dan Slevin.
Maggie Gyllenhaal as Eileen/Candy in David Simon’s The Deuce. Photo: Paul Schiraldi/HBO
Like many ensemble TV shows, season two of The Deuce is alternately satisfying and unsatisfying. Some characters really come to life in this season and demand a greater share of screen time but others seems to be treading water, perhaps coasting on that executive producer credit or the promise of another episode to direct.
Which characters am I talking about? All will become clear.
Season two picks up in 1977, five years after season one ended, but everyone is more or less exactly where they were. Maggie Gyllenhaal’s Eileen is making (and directing) pornographic films (which are very big business if the sacks of quarters that James Franco’s Frankie is syphoning out of the peep show business are anything to go by). Twin brother Vincent (also James Franco) is making barrels of money in the nightclub business but is increasingly concerned about his exposure to the mob who have bankrolled every business he is in.
The pimps – Larry (Gbenga Akinnagbe), C.C. (Gary Carr) and Rodney (Method Man) – sense their power waning as their women start to choose parlours and movies ahead of the street. And the young prostitute like Lori (Emily Meade), Darlene (Dominique Fishback) or Shay (Kim Director) are either going to exit the business under new management, shall we say, or deceased.
Gary Carr as CC and Emily Meade as Lori in happier times during The Deuce. Photo: Paul Schiraldi/HBO
Meanwhile, City Hall in the form of closeted politician Gene Goldman (Luke Kirby) and incorruptible sergeant Chris Alston (Lawrence Gilliard Jr.) are determined to clean the area up once and for all.
Where season one differs from season two, and the presence of female directors for all but the first two episodes must surely be a factor in this, is the sidelining of one-note male characters like Vincent and his brother-in-law Bobbie, the parlour guy (Chris Bauer), in favour of Eileen whose arc triumphs over all the others.
James Franco’s Frankie is reduced to comic relief for much of season two of The Deuce. Photo: Paul Schiraldi/HBO
The Deuce is produced by the team responsible for The Wire – David Simon and George Pelecanos with writing and producing support from novelist Richard Price. All these white men are of an age, and I can’t help but thinking that the age that they are of means they might have been exposed to the kind of films that our characters are making at an impressionable point in their development, an experience that – and I’m speculating wildly here – might be encouraging them to romanticise the era somewhat.
It’s all still awful – the violence, the abuse, the drugs, the wasted lives, the hypocrisy – and there’s good dramatic fodder which is exploited professionally as you would expect. I just can’t help feeling that they are, if anything, overplaying the journey to independence that some of these women are experiencing. It makes for a more satisfying story but it can feel as much of a fairy tale as Eileen’s porn version of Red Riding Hood.
Both seasons of The Deuce are on Neon now and HBO has greenlit season 3.
