Television Review: Justice: Part 1 (Homicide: Life on the Street, S4X13, 1996)

Justice: Part 1 (S04E13)

Airdate: 16 February 1996

Written by: David Rupel
Directed by: Michael Radford

Running Time: 46 minutes

The first instalment of Homicide: Life on the Street’s two-part episode Justice invites a curious comparison with its NBC counterpart Law & Order, particularly given that both series had just concluded a crossover event a mere week prior. This crossover had positioned the two police procedurals as rivals, each vying to showcase their distinct approaches to crime-solving and justice. Yet, Justice: Part 1 seems to initially mimic the rigid narrative structure of Law & Order, following a criminal case from its discovery through to courtroom resolution. This raises the question of whether Homicide is attempting to capitalise on its competitor’s formulaic success or, conversely, to subvert it. The episode’s adherence to procedural tropes is undeniable, but beneath its surface lies a darker, more complex critique of the justice system that diverges sharply from Dick Wolf’s polished, outcomes-driven narratives.

The script by David Rupel adopts the Law & Order template—a murder investigation followed by a trial—but infuses it with a tone and resolution far removed from the latter’s reassuring predictability. Where Law & Order prioritises procedural efficiency and moral certainty, Justice: Part 1 presents a labyrinthine investigation fraught with bureaucratic inertia, human error, and systemic failure. The episode opens with the discovery of retired Baltimore Police detective Edgar Rodzinski, strangled at his late wife’s grave. His son, Jake (Bruce Campbell), now a fraud squad officer and old friend of Meldrick Lewis, demands swift justice, but the investigation led by Munch and Russert progresses glacially. The Rodzinski colleagues’ offer of a reward for information backfires spectacularly, initially hindering progress. This tension between institutional pride and personal vendetta underscores the episode’s thematic focus on the fragility of trust within and beyond the police force.

The plot’s resolution further distances itself from Law & Order’s tidy closures. After a breakthrough witness identifies Kenny Damon—a petty criminal who killed Rodzinski for his car—the trial devolves into a farce. The jury, deadlocked and unmoved by evidence, delivers a not-guilty verdict not out of principled doubt but sheer expediency. Jake’s outrage—voiced in a chilling final scene where he warns Damon—captures the episode’s central irony: the system’s failure to deliver justice, leaving individuals to seek retribution outside its bounds. This outcome contrasts starkly with Law & Order’s emphasis on procedural closure, instead mirroring the chaotic, unresolved realities of real-world justice.

The episode’s bleakness is heightened by its roots in real-life tragedy. The script’s ending, particularly the jury’s compromise, was inspired by the 1987 attempted murder of Baltimore Police Officer Gene Cassidy, an event detailed in David Simon’s 1991 book Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets. This case had already informed Homicide’s Season 1 storyline, in which an investigation of the incident and its aftermath were covered in multiple episode. In the real life, jury was originally about to let perpetrator walk free until a single determined juror talked them into delivering guilty verdict. Here, the scenario is reversed—single juror makes their peers into letting the crime go unpunished. By echoing real events, the episode underscores the show’s commitment to unflinching realism, refusing to soften the harsh truth that the legal system often lets the guilty go free.

Director Michael Radford, a British filmmaker known for austere, dialogue-driven works like 1984 and Il Postino, brings a restrained yet meticulous approach to the material. His direction is largely effective, though his aesthetic choices occasionally clash with the show’s grounded tone. A notable instance occurs early in the episode, where Rodzinski’s barking dog—a symbol of the victim’s unresolved grief—becomes an overly deliberate metaphor. Such moments risk undermining the procedural’s gritty authenticity, leaning into melodrama where subtlety might have sufficed. Radford’s pacing, however, remains steady, allowing the script’s moral ambiguities to simmer.

Justice: Part 1 ultimately succeeds as a masterclass in subverting expectations. While superficially adopting Law & Order’s structure, it dismantles the latter’s faith in institutional efficacy. The episode’s refusal to deliver closure—both narrative and thematic—reflects Homicide’s ethos: a relentless examination of the cracks in the system, where good intentions collide with human fallibility. By anchoring its fiction in real trauma and resisting easy answers, it transcends mere procedural storytelling, offering instead a haunting meditation on justice, grief, and the limits of law. In doing so, it reaffirms Homicide’s position as a series unafraid to confront the messy, unresolved realities that its network counterpart so neatly sidesteps.

RATING: 7/10 (+++)

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