Source: Criminology.FSU.eduJanuary 15, 2001
TELEVISION REVIEW
'100 Centre Street': The Scales of Justice, and How They Tilt
By CARYN JAMES
For most of us, the news that a series has been shot in high-definition video is so much mumbo jumbo. Wake us when the technology moves out of the realm of nerds and into the hands of artists. Well, that's finally happened. In "100 Centre Street," created by Sidney Lumet, new technology visibly affects style in a tough, absorbing series about the judges, prosecutors and defendants who keep cases whizzing through Manhattan's grimy night court. Oddly enough, that future-oriented technology helps Mr. Lumet evoke the old days of live television drama, where he made his name in the 1950's.
TELEVISION REVIEW
'100 Centre Street': The Scales of Justice, and How They Tilt
By CARYN JAMES
For most of us, the news that a series has been shot in high-definition video is so much mumbo jumbo. Wake us when the technology moves out of the realm of nerds and into the hands of artists. Well, that's finally happened. In "100 Centre Street," created by Sidney Lumet, new technology visibly affects style in a tough, absorbing series about the judges, prosecutors and defendants who keep cases whizzing through Manhattan's grimy night court. Oddly enough, that future-oriented technology helps Mr. Lumet evoke the old days of live television drama, where he made his name in the 1950's.
At the heart of "100 Centre Street" (the address of Manhattan's criminal-court building) are issues that have resonated throughout his career, in films like "Serpico" and "Prince of the City." Here, too, he explores the personal ethical dilemmas that seem purely political to the outside world. But the new series also raises questions about television drama today: can a show with the calm look and earnest soul of an older era attract viewers used to the flash and pace of "E.R." and "The West Wing"?
Tonight's terrific two-hour opening should, because of Mr. Lumet's writing and directing and Alan Arkin's superbly real, understated portrayal of Joe Rifkind, a thoughtful judge so prone to giving criminals every chance at redemption that his nickname is Let-'em-Go Joe.
It takes about 15 minutes for the episode to pick up steam, which is about how long it takes to get used to the slightly unsettling difference in its look. High-definition cameras create a sharper texture resembling that of news coverage, which makes the action feel more alive.
In addition, Mr. Lumet has shot the series by placing several cameras around each scene and letting that scene run to the end, as if he were filming a play. That puts viewers outside the action, rather than in the middle of it. There are no dizzying camera moves, no White House aides dashing down the corridors of the West Wing into our faces. The editing is not static, but there are plenty of quiet scenes in which we watch characters talk in close-up.
In one of those conversations, Rifkind and a black judge, Attallah Sims, discuss how much they like their nicknames. Hers is "Attallah the Hun," for her harsh sentencing and manner. Though the characters' different philosophies and deep friendship implicitly deal with black- Jewish relations, Mr. Arkin and LaTanya Richardson as the wry, brisk Sims redeem the roles from stereotypes.
Rifkind lands in a moral and political nightmare when a subway turnstile jumper, whom he sets free, kills a police officer on that same night. There are even more melodramatic twists in the identity of the dead officer. Still, Mr. Arkin slips completely into the character of a man whose compassion and common sense somehow coexist. He tells his wife (Phyllis Newman, in a beautifully modulated performance) about the mess his decision has created. "I don't know if it's going to disappear," he says matter-of-factly. "I don't know if it should disappear."
Another character's moral dilemma echoes powerfully in future episodes. Bobby Esposito (Joseph Lyle Taylor) is an assistant district attorney whose grandfather was an immigrant and whose slimy brother is a Wall Street success and a drug addict. When his brother is arrested for the third time, Bobby's father (Tony Musante) asks him to delete one of the arrests from the computer records.
As the furious Bobby and his father sit on a bench outside the court building, and the camera lingers on their conversation, the scene is exhilarating and gripping. A return to this old style is not automatically a virtue, though. In the third week's episode, Kate Burton plays a woman tired of her husband's dangerous life on the police force; their long, anguished dialogue carries the stale whiff of old kitchen-sink dramas.
The series's only fundamental weakness is the character of Cynthia Bennington (Paula Devicq), an assistant district attorney supposedly rebelling against her rich Fifth Avenue family. If she were, she probably wouldn't have such long, golden hair or a genuine gold name plate on her desk.
Future episodes are uneven, partly because nearly a dozen different writers and directors are involved, including Mr. Lumet. Next week's (written by Siobhan Byrne O'Connor and directed by Jerry London) feels like warmed-over "Law and Order." But whatever the series' future, this first provocative installment puts technology to a dramatic use that even technophobes can love.
100 CENTRE STREET,
A&E, tonight at 9
Sidney Lumet, writer, director and executive producer; Debbie Elbin and David Black, co- executive producers; Phillip W. Hack, line producer; Delia Fine, executive producer for A&E Network.
WITH: Alan Arkin (Judge Joe Rifkind), LaTanya Richardson (Judge Attallah Sims), Paula Devicq (Assistant District Attorney Cynthia Bennington), Joseph Lyle Taylor (Assistant District Attorney Bobby Esposito), Manny Perez (Ramon Rodriguez), Tony Musante (Albert Esposito) Val Avery (Sal Gentile), Tony Gillan (Frank Esposito) and Phyllis Newman (Sarah Rifkind).
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