Television Review: Cherrypoppers (The Shield, S1X06, 2002)

Cherrypoppers (S01E06)

Airdate: April 16th 2002

Written by: Steve Rosenbaum
Directed by: D. J. Caruso

Running Time: 45 minutes

Shawn Ryan’s groundbreaking police drama The Shield relentlessly probed the murky depths of institutional corruption and moral compromise within the Los Angeles Police Department’s fictional Farmington precinct. While Vic Mackey and his Strike Team operate with a breathtaking disregard for legality and ethics, often seeming irredeemably corrupted by their own power, Cherrypoppers – the sixth episode of the series – serves as a vital, unsettling reminder. Ryan’s vision of Los Angeles, and by extension American society, posits a terrifying hierarchy of evil; Mackey’s transgressions, however profound, exist within a landscape populated by forces exponentially more depraved. This episode masterfully confronts the audience with the horrifying reality that, even amidst systemic rot, there exist individuals whose actions render the Strike Team’s moral bankruptcy almost mundane by comparison, forcing a recalibration of where the true abyss truly lies.

The episode emerges directly from Dutch Wagenbach’s obsessive, yet professionally dismissed, theory in the preceding instalment: that Farmington is the hunting ground of a serial killer targeting sex workers. His superiors’ scepticism evaporates with the grim discovery of a 13-year-old, unnamed Asian-looking prostitute (Ah Chang), dubbed „Sally Sruthers”, found brutally stabbed and positioned face-down – a chilling signature matching Dutch’s earlier, unheeded pattern analysis. Captain David Aceveda, confronted with irrefutable evidence of a predator operating with terrifying impunity, throws the full weight of the Barn behind Dutch’s investigation, but with the crushing proviso of a 24-hour deadline.

One critical resource Aceveda reluctantly assigns is Vic Mackey’s Strike Team, a move Dutch visibly balks at due to his profound discomfort with their "Gestapo tactics." Yet, Vic’s street-level efficacy proves undeniable. Leveraging his network, including the vulnerable street prostitute Connie Riesler, Vic swiftly identifies Sally’s pimps and tracks the missing girl to a clandestine sex club. Gaining entry through coercion, Vic’s initial mission transforms into visceral horror as he witnesses the club’s core business: the public deflowering of underage girls. The subsequent Strike Team raid dismantles this operation, arresting the club’s owner, Mrs. Park (Kim Miyori), and uncovering caches of horrifically titled underage pornography – the "Cherrypoppers" tapes. The rescue of Sun-Lee (Svetlana Ivy Dizon), a young girl working within the club, becomes a pivotal moment. Vic, displaying an unexpected, almost paternal protectiveness, befriends her in the relative safety of the Clubhouse. His ultimate decision – to hand Sun-Lee over to Immigration and Naturalization Service for deportation to South Korea, despite her desperate pleas – is framed as a brutal pragmatism born of compassion. Vic rationalises it as sparing her even six months of life on Los Angeles streets, a choice he claims he "would live with," revealing a flicker of conscience beneath the hardened exterior.

Meanwhile, Dutch’s parallel investigation into the serial killer grinds towards a devastating dead end. A seemingly fortuitous break arrives with Tom Ross (Jay Harrington) claiming to have seen the victim enter a car belonging to Steve Hanraty (Will McCormack). Dutch, convinced he’s finally cornered the perpetrator who fits his profile, applies intense pressure for a confession. The crushing irony arrives when Hanraty casually mentions Tom Ross’s name, revealing their history of cruel pranks against each other. Tom’s subsequent confession to fabricating the entire story – leading to his arrest for obstruction – leaves Dutch utterly shattered. His meticulously built case collapses, the true killer remains free to strike again, and Aceveda, bound by the 24-hour mandate and operational demands, must reallocate resources, condemning future victims to probable anonymity. Dutch’s devastation stems not just from professional failure, but from the crushing realisation he has failed a murdered child.

Compounding Vic’s moral quandary, he is simultaneously drawn into Connie Riesler’s crisis. Crack-addled and paranoid, Connie becomes convinced a customer is the serial killer and shoots him dead. Vic, bound by complex loyalties and perhaps a residual sense of responsibility, orchestrates her cover-up. The most harrowing sequence involves Vic coaching Connie to claim self-defence, necessitating that he inflict brutal, credible injuries upon her – an act performed with palpable disgust. His motivation here transcends mere informant preservation; it’s a twisted, violent attempt to force Connie towards a chance at survival, a grim lifeline he believes she desperately needs. Connie’s tearful promise to "clean herself up" underscores the bleak, cyclical nature of their world.

Written by Scott Rosenbaum, Cherrypoppers risks accusations of sensationalism, diving headfirst into the high-stakes, media-frenzied territory of the "redball" case familiar from shows like Homicide: Life on the Street or The Wire. However, the episode transcends mere exploitation by using this lurid backdrop to dissect Vic Mackey with unprecedented nuance. He remains, undeniably, a corrupt thug. Yet, within the depravity of the Cherrypoppers operation, genuine traces of humanity surface. His visceral disgust at the child exploitation, his fierce pride in dismantling the ring, and his agonised decision regarding Sun-Lee paint a more complex portrait. He operates within a broken system, making broken choices he believes are the least broken available. Michael Chiklis delivers a masterclass in this complexity, particularly in the Connie beating scene; his physical revulsion and the haunted look in his eyes speak volumes about the idealistic cop he once was, and the flickering ember of that belief that still burns beneath the cynicism.

Jay Karnes equally excels as Dutch, whose professional ambition is inextricably linked to a deeper, more vulnerable need for justice. His devastation isn't merely about lost glory; it’s the profound guilt of failing a child, a burden underscored when even Vic, in a rare moment of grudging solidarity, offers the comfort that they "put some bad people down." The episode further grounds its narrative by rejecting procedural fantasy. FBI Agent Jim Portnow (Richard Portnow), brought in for expertise, delivers a sobering reality check to Dutch’s urgency, citing the decades-long struggle to solve the Green River Killer case – a stark reminder that true evil often operates with patient, elusive persistence, far removed from the tidy resolutions demanded by television or 24-hour deadlines.

If Cherrypoppers stumbles, it is in the inclusion of comparatively weak subplots. Julien Lowe’s continued, quixotic attempts to inform Internal Affairs about Vic’s drug theft, despite Aceveda’s pragmatic (and accurate) warning that it’s a dead end, feels increasingly contrived, motivated more by Julien’s rigid religious conviction than narrative necessity. Similarly, the broad comedic relief of malfunctioning toilets flooding the Barn and Aceveda’s $800 plumber bill (a weak attempt at levity) feels jarringly out of place amidst the episode’s otherwise unflinching darkness, serving as little more than filler.

Ultimately, Cherrypoppers stands as a pivotal, deeply uncomfortable episode of The Shield. It forces viewers to confront the uncomfortable truth that within Ryan’s meticulously realised urban hellscape, Vic Mackey’s corruption is merely one symptom of a far more pervasive and insidious societal sickness. By juxtaposing Dutch’s futile hunt for a monstrous predator with Vic’s morally compromised but ultimately impactful takedown of another, equally monstrous enterprise, the episode delivers a profound, unsettling message: the line between good and evil isn't just blurred in Farmington; sometimes, the only victory lies in momentarily pushing back against the darkness that is infinitely worse. It is a testament to the show’s power that it can make the audience root for Vic Mackey, not because he is good, but because the alternative is truly, unspeakably evil. The horror isn't that Vic is corrupt; it's that his corruption might be the lesser evil, a chilling reflection of the society the series so relentlessly scrutinises.

RATING: 7/10 (+++)

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