Duck and Cover (S02E08)
Airdate: July 27th 2003
Written by: George Pelecanos
Directed by: Dan Attias
Running Time: 58 minutes
The Wire, universally lauded as one of television’s most ambitious and socially incisive achievements, is not immune to the inherent pitfalls of epic storytelling. When a narrative sprawls across multiple seasons, meticulously weaving complex institutional tapestries, the very virtue of its deliberate pacing can curdle into a liability. It is a truth often unspoken amidst the critical adoration: within even the most revered series, certain scenes can feel like redundant filler, and, more damningly, entire episodes can occasionally resemble narrative dead weight – competent but inert, moving the plot from point A to point B with such glacial inevitability that even the show’s most ardent devotees might question whether its content could have been compressed, or perhaps excised entirely, without significant loss. Season Two of The Wire, a season already grappling with the challenge of shifting focus from the drug trade to the dying port economy, presents such a candidate in its eighth episode, Duck and Cover. While undeniably solid in its craftsmanship – well-written by series producer George Pelecanos, competently acted, and professionally directed – the episode unfolds with a ponderous slowness that feels less like considered thematic development and more like narrative treading water, leaving the viewer adrift in a sea of minor manoeuvrings rather than compelling drama.
This sense of stasis is particularly noticeable following the previous episode, where the series' nominal protagonist, Jimmy McNulty, was relegated to a perfunctory, almost cameo-like appearance. Pelecanos, perhaps conscious of fan expectations and the character’s centrality, attempts a forceful recalibration in Duck and Cover, signalling McNulty’s return with a stark cold open. We find him not merely down on his luck, but actively self-destructing at rock bottom. Drowning sorrows over the irrevocable loss of his family life and professional exile to the Marine Unit, he sits alone in a bar, a toxic cocktail of alcohol, self-pity, and wounded pride fuelling his actions. This culminates in a deliberate, almost nihilistic act: crashing his car, sustaining only a minor hand injury – a physical manifestation of his internal chaos. Yet, even in this profoundly sorry state, McNulty retains his dangerous, almost supernatural machismo. His seductive abilities remain undimmed, allowing him to effortlessly pick up a waitress (Lisa Bullock) mere moments after his vehicular suicide attempt. This sequence, while showcasing Dominic West’s magnetic performance, feels emblematic of a certain HBO house style – the explicit sex scene inserted seemingly as a contractual obligation, a moment of base gratification that underscores McNulty’s self-loathing but adds little beyond surface-level shock or titillation to his core narrative of professional despair.
For McNulty, however, the drink and the sex are merely anaesthetics; the true wound is his inability to perform the one job that ever gave his life meaning and structure: being a police detective. This profound unhappiness surfaces in a raw conversation with his confidant, Bunk Moreland. It is this simmering frustration, this waste of a uniquely talented investigator, that finally prompts action from Cedric Daniels. Leveraging the fragile compromise he has painstakingly achieved with the obstructive William Rawls, Daniels engineers McNulty’s return to the Major Case Unit, ending his punitive exile. Ironically, upon his triumphant(ish) return to the investigative fold, McNulty – the man who just bedded a stranger in a bar – is immediately tasked with infiltrating the Greeks' prostitution operation by posing as a client. His initial success is almost comically easy: identifying a genuine "john," applying some friendly but firm pressure, and swiftly extracting crucial contact details and passwords. A more promising development is his burgeoning connection with Beadie Russell. He visits her home, sharing a drink, and the mutual attraction is palpable. Yet, both characters, demonstrating a rare moment of professional restraint amidst the show’s usual chaos, consciously decide to keep their relationship strictly platonic for the time being – a small victory for reason over impulse.
While the Major Case Unit gains McNulty and secures new wiretap authorisations, their recent investigative momentum stalls due to Frank Sobotka’s escalating paranoia. Frank notices his disconnected cellphone inexplicably remains active on the network despite his financial woes. His suspicion deepens when he learns Beadie Russell lied about her continued employment with the City Police. Convinced the docks are under surveillance, he devises a test: swapping a container filled with contraband intended for Greeks with a clean one. His theory is confirmed when he observes police vehicles trailing the truck carrying the clean container. Frank promptly informs his criminal associates, leading to a crucial meeting with The Greek himself. The enigmatic boss commends Frank’s clever countermeasure and pragmatically agrees to a strategy of stealing clean containers – even if it means paying off the stevedores to do so – specifically to frustrate the police investigation and force them to abandon the case.
Simultaneously, the Barksdale Organisation faces its own crisis. The declining quality of the drug supplies has crippled their finances, forcing Bodie Broadus to lay off his underlings. Compounding this, independent dealers offering superior product have begun encroaching on Barksdale territory, creating tensions that threaten to ignite another bloody turf war. Bodie’s struggles, while a necessary thread connecting back to Season One, feel particularly underdeveloped here, serving more as background noise than a driving narrative force.
This brings us to the core frustration of Duck and Cover: it repeatedly places the viewer frustratingly one step ahead of characters who are ostensibly intelligent and capable. The entire McNulty situation, for instance, could have been resolved several episodes earlier if Daniels, despite his own precarious political position, had simply insisted on having his best homicide investigator where he was most needed. The delay feels less like organic plot development and more like artificial suspense manufactured to prolong McNulty’s exile for dramatic effect. This pervasive sense of predictability, where the characters’ realisations lag behind the audience’s understanding, drains the episode of tension and contributes significantly to its glacial pace.
Compounding this issue are sequences that feel like pure, unnecessary filler. Ziggy Sobotka’s descent into becoming the Port of Baltimore’s resident clown reaches new lows: a misplaced scene involves him attempting petty revenge on Maui over a paternity suit prank, followed by the absurdity of adopting a duck as a pet, and culminating in the utterly pointless spectacle of him literally throwing hundreds of dollars of drug money into the air as a nihilistic stunt. While Ziggy is undeniably a tragicomic figure, these specific actions feel less like character development and more like attempts to fill runtime with quirky behaviour that ultimately signifies little. Bodie’s business woes, as mentioned, suffer from similar undernourishment, presented as a problem without sufficient context or immediate consequence within this episode.
However, the episode is not devoid of merit. A welcome counterpoint to the pervasive gloom is provided by the regular comic relief of Herc and Carver. Their scheme to recruit Herc’s cousin Bernard (Billy Finnigan) as a false informant, purely to siphon funds from Daniels to replace lost surveillance equipment, is a darkly humorous vignette showcasing the institutional cynicism and petty self-interest endemic within the system. This semi-humorous display of police manipulating the system for personal gain finds a perfect mirror in Judge Vanderwall, who agrees to sign the crucial wiretap warrant only after the Major Case Unit consents to perform manual labour – washing his windows and installing equipment in his home. It’s a brilliantly observed moment of institutional barter, highlighting how even the judiciary operates within a corruptible economy of favours.
The episode’s single, undeniable highlight is the quiet scene in Beadie Russell’s home. Amy Ryan delivers a masterclass in restrained emotion, her performance radiating a profound internal conflict. Beadie is visibly torn between an undeniable, almost visceral attraction – bordering on lust – for the damaged yet magnetic McNulty, and the cold, hard reason screaming that entanglement with this self-destructive man would be catastrophic for her fragile professional standing and already complicated private life. Ryan conveys volumes with a glance, a hesitation, a subtle shift in posture. It’s a moment of genuine emotional complexity and superb acting, a beacon of humanity amidst the episode’s otherwise frustrating inertia.
At the end of the day, Duck and Cover exemplifies the perilous tightrope walk of long-form television. It possesses undeniable strengths – Pelecanos’ steady hand, strong individual performances (particularly Ryan’s), and moments of sharp institutional satire. Yet, its fundamental flaw is one of pacing and narrative necessity. Key plot points feel telegraphed, character decisions seem artificially delayed, and significant portions of screen time are devoted to subplots that contribute little to the season’s central arc beyond filling space. While it successfully transitions McNulty back to the MCU and advances Frank’s counter-surveillance gambit, it does so in a manner that feels unnecessarily protracted. For a series renowned for its lean, purposeful storytelling, Duck and Cover stands as a rare misstep – a solid, well-made episode that ultimately proves the rule: even the greatest epics can occasionally succumb to the siren song of glacial pacing, leaving the viewer not on the edge of their seat, but checking their watch, wondering if this particular journey truly required the full hour to traverse.
RATING: 6/10 (++)
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