NBC'S
STYLISH DRAMA SOUTH BEACH TURNS THE COUNTRY'S HIPPEST VACATION SPOT INTO
A FOREBODING PLAYGROUND FOR ULTRACOOL CROOKS AND COLDHEARTED LAWMEN.
Remember
the pastel palette of Michael Mann's Miami Vice? Remember all that neon
and pink and blue? Well, kiss those '80s colors goodbye. TV producer Dick
Wolf is in Miami now, and seen through his shades, the world - even as
fashion-forward a world as Miami's trendy South Beach - is strictly a noirish
place, all deep brown and midnight blue. Inside, everyone stays behind
slatted blinds that let in knifelike spears of dangerous light. Outside,
even on the sand, even in full sunlight with the ocean glinting nearby,
bodies cast dark shadows, characters wear black leather and filing cabinet-gray
jackets, and nobody - nobody - is uncomplicated.
Wolf
is at home in this color scheme. His specialty is cops, his preferred setting
is urban, his characters wear their kinks and personality knots like jewelry,
and his creations - Law & Order, last year's short-lived Mann &
Machine, and this year's even shorter-lived Crime & Punishment - lie
firmly on the broody end of the color spectrum. But in South Beach (NBC,
June 6, 9-11 p.m. premiere; June 8 and Tuesdays thereafter, 9-10 p.m.)
Wolf and series cocreator Robert De Laurentis venture into rich new visual
territory in fabulous Art Deco Miami, setting their stories on the interactions
of a cool con artist called Kate Patrick (Yancy Butler, the machine half
of Mann & Machine) and an even colder federal agent singularly called
Roberts (John Glover of Gremlins 2), neither of whom appears ever to sweat.
When
we meet her, Kate has just emerged from the sea - wet, lithe, gorgeous,
with streaming brunette hair, high-beam eyes, extraordinary arrow-like
eyebrows, a wood-smoke voice, the full knockout arsenal. She's off on a
scam, our Kate, because that's how she glides her way around glamorous
Dade County with the help of her Rasta "business partner," Vernon (Eagle
Eye Cherry) - shoplifting dresses in which to burgle safes in fancy houses,
that sort of thing. Kate does fine. But her brother, Andy (Rob Knepper),
doesn't. He's unhappily working undercover for Roberts, he always needs
money, and he, not quite as swift as sis, decides to substitute zircons
for diamonds stolen from the Russian government, thus double-crossing a
Roberts-directed double-cross and blowing off his fed gig once and for
all. Well, guess what. The plan backfires. Andy is kidnapped. And Roberts,
rustling up a fat and detailed dossier on Kate's criminal activities, hauls
her in, ordering her to save the ice (and her brother) - or else go to
jail.
With
his cropped hair, his death's-head features, and his grimace of a smile,
Glover has made a good career of playing bad guys (Masquerade, 52 Pick-
Up). Roberts, therefore, is a nice twist on the typecasting - a man who
can't even cozy up to a first name, let alone another human being. Glover
and Butler have an intriguingly spiky antagonism going, a believable mutual
disdain, occasionally heated by appreciation of each other's intelligence.
(Plus, they share a discriminating taste for exotic, expensive aquarium
fish.) And rounding out the thermostatically unconventional crew in Roberts'
(and, against her will, Kate's) universe is Roxanne, the sybaritic hotel
proprietor played with luxurious gusto by Patti D'Arbanville (Wiseguy,
Wired). Roxanne houses Kate at Roberts' request - she's a former "employee"
of his and he helped her get her boho inn - but mostly she whiles away
her hours receiving facials and massages, changing wigs (first dark, then
rich red, then bobbed platinum), and proffering drinks. It's Roxanne who
urges Kate to carry a gun, giving her guest a piece nestled in a hollowed-out
Bible. But that Kate simply won't do. Neither does she drink. It's not
her style.
There's
style to spare in Beach but not so much, so loud, or so insistent that
you're tripping on the music (cool, subterranean sounding stuff from former
Devo lead singer Mark Mothersbaugh) or pricing the menswear (although,
with time, Kate's offbeat wardrobe is bound to attract fashion followers).
There's also a lot to keep track of, a jumble of mysterious agenty business
that requires you to pay attention, Law & Order style, and not read
magazines while you're watching. This is, after all, still a cop show.
This is still Dick Wolf we're talking about here. Don't expect flamingos.
But
do expect some cool summer viewing if South Beach keeps up this color scheme.
At the end of the premiere caper, as he and his headstrong con artiste
cut a deal for further employ (and, voila, a blueprint for future episodes),
Kate warns Roberts against getting any ideas. "Like what?" he asks, glaring.
"Like that this could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship," replies
she, eyes blazing. "Not in this life," snaps he. So help me, I'm getting
ideas. Maybe it's the heat.
