POLICE SERIES ON HBO GRASPS WAR ON DRUGS

In the opening episode of HBO's new series ``The Wire,'' two Baltimore
narcotics cops are talking about the grinding work of trying to stop
the flow of drugs on the city's streets.

``You can't even call this . . . a war,'' says one.

``Why not?'' the other asks.

``Wars end.''

In the world of ``Wire'' creator and executive producer David Simon, a
former reporter for the Baltimore Sun, the drug war never ends. One of his
books was the basis for ``Homicide: Life on the Street,'' the
often-brilliant police drama where drugs, murder and moral ambiguity were
ways of life. Another was turned into ``The Corner,'' the harrowing HBO
miniseries about those who live and die on the drug-plagued streets of
Baltimore.

Now comes ``The Wire'' (10 p.m. Sunday), which combines aspects of
``Homicide'' and ``The Corner'' into an engrossing, complicated and
demanding drama. On the surface, the 13-part series may seem like a standard
TV police procedural: Dedicated cops take on a drug lord despite the
indifference and interference of their superiors. But ``The Wire'' goes into
dark places and murky motivations that even the best of the network cop
shows only touch on.

``The Wire'' asks a lot of its audience, particularly in Sunday's opening
episode, which sets the scene. The episode is choppy and full of seemingly
disconnected scenes and characters. It isn't until almost the end of the
hour that the shape of what's to come emerges, and the story line doesn't
really start rolling until the next week.

The trigger for that story line is homicide detective James McNulty, played
with considerable bite and depth by British actor Dominic West. Frustrated
by a series of court cases in which drug dealers are let go because their
gang has intimidated prosecution witnesses, McNulty makes the mistake of
telling all to a politically connected judge. Blindsided by the judge's
questions about this new drug ``crew,'' McNulty's bosses stick the detective
with the dead-end assignment of bringing down the gang with minimal support
and resources.

(In a prescient bit of business written before the FBI's reorganization this
week, the agency is shutting down its drug enforcement to concentrate on
counterterrorism. When the last group of dealers is busted by the feds, one
higher-up dismisses the operation because ``not one of them is named
Osama.'')

But McNulty is just stubborn enough to actually go after the gang with a
rag-tag team of outcast cops.

McNulty's counterpart in the drug world is D'Angelo Barksdale (a persuasive
Larry Gilliard Jr.), the nephew of gang boss Avon Barksdale. A middle-level
drug dealer, D'Angelo committed an unnecessary murder, and his uncle had to
get witnesses to change their testimony to get him off. Uncle is not happy
and demotes D'Angelo to being a street runner.

But D'Angelo is not your common street thug. He is smart, has some sense of
the consequences of what he does on the street every day and is showing
signs of conscience about the lives he helps to destroy.

Two Parallel Universes

What Simon has done with ``The Wire'' is create two parallel universes: the
world of the cops and the world of the drug dealers. Both are bloody,
emotionally draining places with turf wars, dysfunctional chains of command
and self-serving bosses. Both treat human beings as tissue paper to be used
and discarded. Both have a peculiar set of rules to live by and a certain
code of honor.

Simon plays out this clash of universes with smart, insightful bits of
dialogue.

In Sunday's opener, the first scene involves the murder of one Omar Isaiah
Betts, who is known around the projects as Snot Boogie. Snot, it seems, has
once too often pulled a scam where he rips off a weekly craps game.

``Why did you let him into the game,'' McNulty asks one of Snot's friends.
``I mean, if Snot Boogie always stole the money, why did you let him play?''

``Got to,'' replies the friend. ``This is America, man.''

In another great scene, a perplexed McNulty tells D'Angelo, ``That's what I
don't get about this drug thing. Why can't you sell the stuff and walk away?
You know what I mean? Everything else in this country gets sold without
people shooting each other.''

Flood of Obscenities

All of this is not to say that ``The Wire'' is a flawless piece of work.

Simon makes heavy use of street language and sometimes it becomes too heavy.
(The f-word is used more often and in more creative ways than in a whole
season of ``The Sopranos.'') The result is that some bright dialogue is
obscured by the flood of obscenities.

The character of Avon Barksdale is a bit too unfocused to provide the
necessary dramatic weight the series is going after. By the end of the
second episode, you're almost hoping for the return of Luther Mahoney, the
flamboyant criminal mastermind from ``Homicide.''

And, at least in the first few episodes, the series seems to lack a moral
center -- a character who provides the balance point between good and bad.
In other words, it needs a Fran Boyd, the drug user trying to break the
cycle that Khandi Alexander played so brilliantly in ``The Corner.''

But these are nits to be picked, not major creative failures. Based on the
first few episodes, ``The Wire'' promises to be a compelling, textured and
ultimately challenging series that will keep intact HBO's string of
top-flight dramas.

The Wire

*** 1/2

Airing: 10 p.m. Sunday, HBO

Creators: David Simon, Edward Burns

Cast: Dominic West, Larry Gilliard Jr., Sonja Sohn, Lance Reddick, Wood
Harris, Idris Elba.