‘The Deuce’ smartly strips down porn’s early days
The most surprising thing about The Deuce is how little it tries to shock you.
The new HBO series (Sundays 9 ET/PT, out of four) looks at the rise of the porn industry in New York’s Times Square in the 1970s, when the crime- and prostitution-ridden area near 42nd Street was known as “The Deuce.”
Created by The Wire’s David Simon and George Pelecanos, the series has a sprawling cast of prostitutes, pimps, mobsters and cops who live and work in the area, but its main focus is Vincent (James Franco), a working stiff who gets in with the mob to build his own bar, and Eileen (Maggie Gyllenhaal), a seasoned prostitute who is (eventually) intrigued by the opportunities offered by porn.
The Deuce works because it looks at its subject with the same lens its creators employed on The Wire. A series about people making pornography would be unwatchable if the creators had disdain for their characters. The series makes no judgments, but it also isn’t nostalgic, unlike most recent ’70s and ’80s period pieces. It has an almost clinical approach to its onscreen sex and nudity, and is remarkably restrained in what
it shows on screen. That restraint proves key in preventing the series from feeling as exploitative as the industry it portrays.
Deuce’s heart lies in Gyllenhaal’s Eileen, and her plot moves the sometimes-slow story forward. Eileen, who goes by Candy on the job, quickly sees the opportunity legalized pornography presents. Gyllenhaal plays her with weariness and indifference, as her life on the street becomes more taxing and she sees porn and filmmaking as an escape.
Franco does double duty as Vincent and his twin, the more degenerate Frankie, but Frankie feels like an unnecessary addition. The actor appears to be more comfortable as Vincent, who’s a generally decent guy but not above working with (and serving) criminal elements, or cheating on his wife as their marriage falls apart. Franco manages to give Vincent an air of amiability that’s necessary for him to make friends and influence his customers, from the cops to the working girls and pimps. Everybody drinks, as he so dryly notes.
The slow start might make it difficult to pull in viewers. Sunday’s premiere is a bit of a slog, as the series struggles to introduce its large cast and clarify who’s important and how they are connected. But once The Deuce gets past its introductory phase and focuses on the burgeoning porn industry, it’s much more adeptly paced and more naturally flips between characters.
Overall, The Deuce is the kind of smart, well-written and character-driven series that won’t be overwhelmed by its sex-heavy concept, nor too reliant on it to sustain interest. What’s more important than the titillation its characters are peddling is who they are and why they’re doing it.
If that’s what The Deuce is selling, it’s definitely worth buying.