“The Wire” (5 Seasons, 2002-2008)
Some might have assumed that “The Sopranos” would always remain HBO‘s most seminal achievement, but over time, “The Wire” might have just snuck past it. That wasn’t the case when it was on, however. The show was always a critical favorite, but struggled in the ratings, often facing cancellation before getting a reprieve, and the cult only grew thanks to the coming of the DVD box set age, where audiences were able to digest it at their own pace. That’s the perfect way to do it, really, because the show, a Dickensian epic from David Simon—a former journalist, and Tom Fontana‘s former colleague on “Homicide” (based on a book by the writer)—was the most obvious example of television as novel, with a frankly intimidating number of characters, sprawling plotting and a generally dense approach to storytelling. To begin with, it starts simply enough, centering around a wiretap investigation into the drug-dealing operation of crime boss Avon Barksdale, but the show’s scope expanded more and more over time, taking in Baltimore’s dock workers in the divisive second season, the political world in the third, the school system in the fourth, and the press in the fifth. The result wasn’t so much a cop show as a portrait of a city, and of society at whole, with a fierce socio-economic viewpoint that extended from every character, from the kids dealing on the street corner to the highest levels of political power (all acted, as is usually the case with HBO, impeccably). It might seem a world away from Westeros, and certainly few could accuse “Game Of Thrones” of social realism. But its ever-expanding scope (reflected by those initially magical opening credits, which have grown every time a new location is featured on the series, and now seem to run about the same length as a network sitcom) and vast cast of characters are direct descendants of Simon’s Baltimore tale. Would viewers be able to follow stories from The Wall to King’s Landing, and remember all those faces, without having been trained on “The Wire” first? Probably, as the show regularly attracts audiences several times bigger than its predecessor ever attracted. But at the same time, it undoubtedly helped creators David Benioff and D.B. Weiss think that they could crack the novels, and HBO to believe they could pull it off.
“Carnivale” (2 Seasons, 2003-2005)
Imagine the outrage that would have resulted from the hardcore if “Game Of Thrones” had never connected with a wider audience, and had been cancelled after two seasons. In fact, imagine if fans hadn’t been able to find out what happened from the books, because there were no books. That’s essentially the story of “Carnivale,” at the time HBO’s most ambitious series, and, when it launched, their biggest ever-debut for an original show. A passion project of creator Daniel Knauf, who’d been working on it for over a decade, it’s a furiously dense, complex-to-the-point-of-inscrutability piece of work, like a David Lynch version of Stephen King‘s “The Dark Tower” by way of John Steinbeck, following two-figures in Depression-era Dust Bowl America: Ben Hawkins (Nick Stahl), a young man with healing powers who joins a carnival, and Brother Justin Crowe (Clancy Brown), a terrifying preacher with his own supernatural abilities, who are drawn on an inextricable path towards each other. The show was epic in scope and mythological in background, with the kind of detailed backstory that results when you develop a project for a decade, with Hawkins representing a creature of light, and Crowe one of darkness. It wasn’t necessarily any more complex than the still-only-hinted at gods of ice and fire in “Game Of Thrones,” but the show as a whole fell between two stools somewhat: too supernatural for the arty ‘Wire‘ crowd, too lacking in immediate genre hooks and T&A for the geeks, and with a melancholy, difficult tone that asked you to do much of the work. Knauf intended each season to tell half of a “book,” with three books and six seasons planned, but when ratings plummeted in the second season, and producers couldn’t agree on lowering costs, the show was cancelled with many of its mysteries left unrevealed. Still, its cult has grown in the decade since it premiered, and the show’s sheer weirdness, while not immediately repeated (although David Milch‘s “Deadwood” follow-up “John From Cincinnati” might be even more difficult), helped pave the way to “Game Of Thrones.”
“Deadwood” (3 Seasons, 2004-2006)
A show whose premature cancellation we will NEVER stop mourning, maybe we need to get beyond the cruel way that the excoriatingly brilliant “Deadwood” was snatched from us, and concentrate instead on what a mini-miracle it was it ever got made at all. Firstly, show creator David Milch originally pitched HBO a show about gold and currency in ancient Rome, but since “Rome” was already in the cards at that point, he was asked if he could transpose his ideas about the formation of civilization from chaos to another historical milieu. Milch chose the American West (and can you imagine what kind of vernacular he would have evolved for Ancient Romans to spout?) and specifically the real-life town of Deadwood (based particularly on the book “Deadwood: the Golden Years“) in which to have his epic, grandiose yet immensely grubby stories play out. Next, he attracted a ‘Thrones’-level ensemble of central unknown/rediscovered regulars, surrounded by reliably characterful supporting faces, chief among them, of course, Ian McShane as the indelible Al Swearengen. But the real star of the show was Milch’s dialogue—arch, baroque and anachronistically profane, no show before or since has ever sounded quite like “Deadwood,” and even the most literate and witty of ‘Thrones’ characters can’t hold a candle to the grotesquely brilliant zingers, curses and metaphors that made practically every line so chewy, so rich and so addicting. Otherwise, in terms of the elements it displayed that “Game of Thrones” would go on to use, it has maybe fewer of those than others on this list, but one way in which “Deadwood” could give it a run for its incestuous, head-splitting, torture and murder-loving money, is in the sheer depravity of some of its characters. From ambivalent bastard Swearengen, to ruthless gambling house owner Cy Tolliver, to Wu, the Chinaman who feeds human bodies to his pigs, there’s no perversion, corruption or dreadfulness that the show didn’t positively glory in, meaning you could trace a pretty straight line from that to Joffrey or Roose Bolton’s bastard, if you cared to. Mainly, though, “Deadwood” set a high watermark for just how far we’d be willing to follow a central character, no matter how compromised, if he was well-drawn and well-played enough, and it leaves us with just one overwhelming question: why in name of all that’s holy hasn’t Ian McShane had a guesting role on ‘Thrones’ as yet?
