Television Review: Alliances (The Wire, S4X05, 2006)

Alliances (S04E05)

Airdate: October 8th 2006

Written by: Ed Burns
Directed by: David Platt

Running Time: 58 minutes

The relentless march of the zombie – a creature once confined to B-movie schlock – has permeated contemporary culture to such an extent that its decaying grasp now seems inescapable, seeping even into the most rigorously grounded narratives. To witness such an icon of speculative fiction fleetingly brush against the uncompromisingly realist canvas of The Wire feels, initially, like a jarring dissonance, a genre collision utterly out of place. Yet, in the haunting cold open of Season 4’s "Alliances," we encounter a figure stumbling through the pre-dawn gloom of West Baltimore: a drug-addled man, eyes vacant, movements jerky and uncoordinated, emitting guttural moans that send the season’s young protagonists – Michael, Randy, Namond, and Dukie – run in primal fear. This is no Romero-esque horde, but the chillingly plausible zombie of addiction, a human reduced to a shambling shell. The episode then closes with an image of profound, quiet horror: the boys, led by the unassuming Dukie, standing frozen in the desolation of an abandoned rowhouse, staring down at the corpse, a victim not of the undead, but of Marlo Stanfield’s ruthless regime. These bookends frame a masterclass in how The Wire absorbs and subverts pop culture tropes, using the idea of the zombie not as fantasy, but as a lens through which the traumatised children of the corners interpret their incomprehensible reality.

Crucially, writer Ed Burns, stepping into the show’s demanding narrative framework, commits no betrayal of The Wire’s foundational realist ethos. The zombies exist solely as the desperate figments of the boys’ imagination, born from the terrifying void left by vanishing neighbours. Faced with the inexplicable absence of so many familiar faces from their corner – individuals who, they dimly perceive, crossed paths with Marlo Stanfield – these children, starved of adult explanation and institutional trust, turn instinctively to the cultural vocabulary most readily available: horror films and video games. Their neighbourhood’s grim mysteries find expression through the only mythological framework they possess. This stands in stark, ironic contrast to the efforts of Lester Freamon, newly returned to Homicide and burdened with the task of investigating these disappearances. Lester, the consummate professional, methodically searches the most logical dumping grounds – the woods, the sewers – engaging in utterly futile investigations blind to the brutal, banal reality of Marlo’s disposal methods. Lester operates within the system’s flawed logic; the boys, operating outside it, grasp the terrifying truth far sooner, albeit through a distorted, pop-culture-filtered lens.

Indeed, the boys are significantly closer to solving the mystery than Lester’s entire unit. Their urban legend crystallises around Chris Partlow, Marlo’s chillingly efficient enforcer. Having seen Chris near the rowhouses with some of the missing, and witnessing the zombie-like stupor of addicts daily, the narrative forms itself: Chris turns victims into zombies. This theory gains chilling credence during the cold open’s encounter and fuels Randy’s paralysing fear after his inadvertent role in Lex’s disappearance – he believes he might be next. The terror intensifies when Michael is summoned by Chris; the boys interpret this as a death sentence, a transformation awaiting him. The episode’s narrative brilliance lies in how this "zombie" mythology, while factually wrong, is psychologically and contextually understandable for children in a world where people simply vanish without trace or explanation. It is the quiet, observant Dukie, often overlooked, who pierces the myth. His street-level perception, honed by necessity, leads him to the grim reality of an abandoned rowhouse, where the body provides the horrifying, undeniable truth that no zombie apocalypse could match.

This nocturnal descent into myth and fear starkly contrasts with the boys’ diurnal reality: the stifling confines of Edward J. Tilghman Middle School. Here, Prez, still bearing the scars of his disastrous policing career, struggles to connect with his pupils. Yet, Alliances reveals tentative, fragile progress. His disastrous start is acknowledged, but now he actively seeks bridges. Namond, the boy desperately trying to emulate his incarcerated father Wee-Bay’s gangster persona, undergoes a significant moment of vulnerability, returning to apologise after lashing out at Prez – a crack in the facade of performative toughness. Even Prez’s own minor incompetence (locking himself out of his car) is mitigated by the unexpected utility of his students; Donut’s (Nathan Corbett) car-theft skills, learned on the corner, become a practical tool for the teacher, highlighting the complex, often contradictory, transfer of knowledge between the street and the classroom.

Simultaneously, at Tilghman, Howard "Bunny" Colvin finalises the controversial framework for his "Hamsterdam" pilot program. His goal is starkly pragmatic: to identify the true "corner boys," those deeply embedded in the drug trade and its attendant dysfunction, separating them from students from relatively stable homes. Dr. Parenti, young intellectual, embodies a certain liberal ideology, initially dismissing Bunny’s approach as discriminatory and contrary to the ideal of equal treatment for all. His stance, while well-intentioned, reveals a dangerous naivety, a refusal to acknowledge the vastly different realities and needs of children raised in environments saturated with violence and poverty. Bunny’s realism finds support in Mrs. Grace Sampson, the English teacher, who recognises the futility of applying a one-size-fits-all educational model to students whose primary concerns are survival. This tension – between ideological purity and pragmatic intervention – mirrors the larger societal failures the series dissects.

West Baltimore itself becomes the target of another ill-conceived operation, this time by the Major Case Unit under the arrogant and incompetent Lieutenant Charles Marimow. His heavy-handed, poorly planned drug raids predictably collapse into humiliating failure. Marimow, unable to accept his own tactical ineptitude, immediately assumes Marlo Stanfield must have received an "inside tip." The bitter irony, of course, is that Marlo needed no informant; Marimow’s unit was so visibly clumsy and loud that anyon* with eyes could see them coming. Marlo himself quickly discerns the video surveillance operation targeting him. This pressure becomes the catalyst for a pivotal strategic shift: Marlo, the fiercely independent new kingpin, finally acknowledges the limitations of his isolation. He realises that a temporary alliance with Proposition Joe, whose strength lies in his deep connections within the established co-operative and crucially, his own sources within law enforcement, is not a sign of weakness, but a necessary, coldly rational move for survival. Power, the episode argues, demands pragmatic, however temporary, alliances.

Marlo’s strategic recalibration extends to his handling of Omar Little. Eschewing the futile and reputation-damaging pursuit of directly hunting the legendary stick-up man, Marlo employs a far more insidious, diabolically clever tactic. Chris Partlow, embodying Marlo’s ruthless efficiency, enters Old Face Andre’s store. In a scene of stomach-churning normalcy preceding horror, Chris calmly assists a delivery woman with her packages before shooting her execution-style in front of Andre. He then forces the terrified shopkeeper to falsely identify Omar as the robber and murderer. This act is profoundly more terrifying than any zombie myth. It weaponises the police system itself; Marlo doesn’t just kill an innocent bystander, he manipulates the entire justice apparatus to do his dirty work, framing Omar and potentially eliminating him through the courts or a police bullet. Chris’s fleeting kindness makes the act not less monstrous, but more so, revealing the banality of evil within the drug trade’s new, hyper-rational order.

The Homicide Unit is simultaneously embroiled in its own scandal, stemming from the murder of witness Braddock. This killing, occurring just before Mayor Royce’s crucial primary, creates political panic. Royce, seeing his poll numbers slip, is furious when the media spotlight falls on Kima Greggs replacing the experienced Detective Patrick Norris on the case. He blames Commissioner Ervin Burrell for the perceived misstep, a move eagerly watched by Deputy Commissioner William Rawls, who sees an opportunity to topple Burrell. To contain the scandal, Kima is sacrificed: humiliatingly removed from the case and forced to publicly lie, claiming she was merely Norris’s partner and that he had always been in charge.

Royce’s political woes deepen when State Delegate Odell Watkins breaks their long-standing alliance. Rawls, ever the political predator, swiftly gathers this intelligence and delivers it to Tommy Carcetti, Royce’s ambitious challenger. Carcetti seizes the opportunity, successfully wooing Watkins to his camp. This shifting political landscape, driven by raw ambition and the fracturing of old loyalties, underscores the episode’s title: "Alliances" are fragile, transactional, and constantly in flux, whether on the corners, in the police department, or City Hall.

Alliances stands as another high-calibre episode in The Wire’s formidable canon. It proves that even without David Simon’s direct, hands-on scripting for every beat (he delegated significant showrunning duties to Burns for Season 4), the series retains its unparalleled depth, complexity, and narrative power. The episode’s structure, particularly the journey of the boys telling tales by night and searching for the dead body, functions as a semi-ironic, deeply melancholic homage to Rob Reiner’s Stand By Me. The narrative cohesion, weaving the boys’ story, the school dynamics, Marlo’s strategic moves, and the political machinations into a seamless tapestry, is exemplary.

Ultimately, Alliances is a profoundly dark chapter, arguably darker than its predecessors. It starkly illustrates how Marlo Stanfield’s ascension marks a qualitative shift for Baltimore. Gone is the (relative) code and community of the Barksdales; in its place is a regime defined by chilling efficiency, absolute paranoia, and a terrifying rationality that makes its violence more horrifying, not less. The cold-blooded murder of the delivery woman, staged to manipulate the police against Omar, exemplifies this new nadir. Chris Partlow’s momentary, almost gentle assistance before pulling the trigger is not a contradiction, but the essence of Marlo’s world: evil wears a calm, even helpful, face. The episode masterfully uses the suggestion of the zombie – a pop culture phantom – to illuminate the far more pervasive and devastating horror of the real: a city where children interpret disappearances through horror movies because the truth is too terrible to comprehend, where institutions fail at every turn, and where power consolidates through the most diabolical of pragmatic alliances. This is The Wire at its most devastatingly clear-eyed.

RATING: 8/10 (+++)

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