Skip to main content

"Law and Order" Diary

 What a sick, twisted, interesting hour "SVU" produced--this past Thursday.

The episode--"Welcome to the Pedo Motel"--touched on something that many people think about. (The topic was also the topic of a Russell Banks novel a few years ago.) Here's the question. What kind of life should be possible for a convicted pedophile?

As Banks (I think) noted, the laws are so severe, the housing options are so limited, that many people convicted of this particular crime end up homeless, sleeping within the shadows of an overpass. SVU boldly observes that recidivism rates, in this context, are really quite low, much lower than people think. (Olivia Benson shrugs. "No one pays attention to that fact.")

At its best, SVU makes us aware of complexity. So, in the "Pedo Motel," there is one guy who clearly doesn't deserve the hardships that have been dumped on him. At the same time, there's another guy, a creep, who spends his evenings watching "Bad News Bears," and not for any healthy reason. (Leave it to SVU to trudge into that murky terrain.)

Anyway, the actual case in "Pedo Motel" is sensational and more than a little bit silly. A murder occurs; we think the killer may be a teenager. In fact, the killer is a crazed, possessive father, inventing a kind of "Romeo and Juliet" scenario for 2021.

Absurd? Sure. But the characters! The vigilante motorcycle gang. The suspiciously wealthy parole officer, in his mansion on Long Island. The outcast who fantasizes about his own curvy aunt (now deceased?).....

Nothing gets me hooked like SVU.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...