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“Darlin’, Sometimes I Remember Who I Am”:Fragmentation, Juxtaposition, Dissociation, and Dissention in Miami ViceA Thesis Submitted in Partial Fulfillment of theRequirements of the Renée Crown University Honors Program atSyracuse UniversityBethany MarsfelderCandidate for Bachelor of Artsand Renée Crown University HonorsSpring 2020Honors Thesis in English and Textual StudiesThesis Advisor: _______________________ Will Scheibel, Associate ProfessorThesis Reader: _______________________ Crystal Bartolovich, Associate ProfessorHonors Director: _______________________ Dr. Danielle Smith, Director ? Bethany Marsfelder, May 2020 AbstractThis project examines the television show Miami Vice (1984-1989) within the context of the resurgence of noir in the 1980s, as well as the socio-political and cultural landscape in Reagan’s America. This thesis seeks to support the idea that 1980s noir writ large, with Miami Vice being a microcosm of this phenomenon, was created to reject and contradict these traditional, Reaganite morals and values by exposing the rampant corruption, crime, and structural violence during this time, as well as showing the falsehood of the traditional, moralistic American dream that Reagan preached. Miami Vice explores this specifically by use of the continual cinematic, aesthetic, and narrative motifs of dissociation and fragmentation, most commonly in the use of facades and masqueraded identity. It also explores the revolutionary progressive ideals championed by the show and the significance of the selection of Miami as a setting to illustrate these themes. Lastly, it seeks to show that the series’ breakout character, Sonny Crockett, is a powerful example of this fragmentation.Through a combination of close reading and critical, textual analysis from both primary, secondary, contemporary, and historical sources, this thesis concludes that there is significant evidence to show that, because of this intentional fracturing being present in almost every aspect of the show, Miami Vice is a compelling, intelligent, revolutionary encapsulation of the fraught, contradictory nature of this period in history that forever was shaped by and shaped both its time period and genre. Executive SummaryThis project examines the ramifications of the resurgence of film noir in the 1980s and the Reagan era in the creation and execution of the television series Miami Vice (1984-1989). The Reagan era, marked by the presidency of Ronald Reagan, spanned the period of time from 1981-1989. This era was characterized by more conservative and moralistic ideals such as the war on drugs and the war on crime, but also, conversely, by an increase in reported crime. Similarly, despite these more conservative policy changes, identity politics grew to a new level of prominence, bringing attention and validation to LGBTQ+, feminist, and multicultural communities. This uncertain and oppositional time led to a resurgence in film noir, which is a bleak and dark form of urban crime fiction, usually thought of as more ‘realistic’ than classic crime fiction, but with a significant number of its own tropes, which, in the 1980s, found themselves updated for contemporary audiences and situations. This dramatic interest in the socio-political sphere, as well as the creation of 1980s noir, led to the creation of Miami Vice, the creators of which selected Miami as the exemplary setting to showcase this period, as it was a city characterized by significant contradictions, and could accurately be described as both a place of paradise and as a place of paradise lost. As America was struggling with its own identity and direction, the creators of Miami Vice, most notably Michael Mann, sought to depict this accurately by intentionally designing a series that revolves around dissociation (a psychological term characterized by the disconnect a person feels from the reality around them, sometimes extending to their own bodies) and the fragmentation and disguising of characters’ identities, motivations, and morals to speak back against the damaging traditions and values Reagan championed as part of his campaigns and policies at its locus. Not only are these themes written into the series’ narratives and characters, they are also woven into the aesthetics and cinematography (essentially, the artistic qualities of a film or television series and the way in which it is shot in order to help tell the story) by way of motifs (recurring images), such as mirrors and colors, and are best exemplified by the series’ breakout character, Sonny Crockett. This thesis examines six storylines that span the breadth of the show’s run (1.1 “Brother’s Keeper”, 1.21 “Evan”, 2.4 “Out Where the Buses Don’t Run”, 3.6 “Shadow in the Dark”, 4.22 “Mirror Image”, 5.1 “Hostile Takeover”, 5.2 “Redemption in Blood”, 5.4 “Bad Timing”, and 5.17-5.18 “Freefall”). This thesis proceeds to examine each of them in terms of narrative, individual characterization, aesthetics, and cinematography as a way of demonstrating how these themes permeate the series, as well as how they impact Sonny Crockett as a character. This thesis, through examination of this evidence as well as analysis of the context in which it was produced, lends credence to the reading that Miami Vice is a revolutionary show that not only brings light to, but problematizes and condemns, structural violence and corruption, as well as casts Sonny Crockett and the rest of the cast as progressive, revolutionary individuals that champion women’s, LGBTQ+, and racial rights, seeking justice and attempting to do the morally right thing in an unjust and corrupt world. Similarly, it also exposes that Sonny Crockett’s identity issues as a result of his undercover work manifest themselves in what can easily be described as a dissociative disorder and serves to showcase the fragmented identity that both Miami and society at large was experiencing. The significance of this thesis is to explore the impact and the place that Miami Vice has in terms of genre and in terms of cultural history, both when it was contemporary and in the modern era. Miami Vice utilized significant conventions from classic film noir, as well as 1980s noir, but it also forever changed the landscape of crime and mystery fiction by its focus on characterization and serious, contemporary issues. Similarly, it is undeniable that the series and the aesthetics have become an indispensable part of contemporary culture. Miami Vice also, in world that is plagued by police brutality and significant structural failings within the criminal justice system, shows how crime fiction can continue to exist even in our contemporary climate. By exposing the wrongs inherent in the system, one can attempt to do the right thing and be the best person that one can be, even if this means abandoning the system altogether and going rogue. Table of ContentsAbstract ………………………………….……………….………….. iiiExecutive Summary …………………….……………….………….. ivChapter 1: Introduction……………………………………………… 1Chapter 2: Season One……………………………………………… 4Chapter 3: Season Two……………………………………………… 12Chapter 4: Later Seasons ……………………………………………… 16Chapter 5: Conclusion……………………………………………… 29Works Cited …………………………………………………………… 31Chapter 1IntroductionThanks to an abrupt increase in reported incidents, American public consciousness in the 1980s found itself both more highly attuned to and terrified by the prospect of crime and violence. As Vanessa Barker describes, “for a generation, crime wreaked havoc in the inner city and wrecked people’s lives, with urban minority youth disproportionately involved in and victimized by crime” (Barker 490). The reasons for this increase, Gary LaFree notes, began in the 1960s as “a result of increasing distrust of political institutions” as well as “increasing stress produced by economic institutions” (LaFree 1325). Additionally, identity politics, such as those found in the LGBTQ+, feminist, and multicultural communities, received massive prominence and justification in 1980s culture as well as vilification (Poletta and Jasper 283). Amid this maelstrom of uncertainty and upheaval was the Reagan presidency, marketed as a candidate delivering on “principles and traditional American values,” even though they “rested on little, if any, factual basis” (Herrnson 810, 811).This contradictory state of affairs led to a resurgence in noir fiction. However, while containing the typical aspects of classical noir, such as in R. Barton Palmer’s words, “a bleak vision of contemporary life in American cities (…) presented as populated by the amoral, the alienated, the criminally minded, and the helpless” (Palmer 30), 1980s noir also saw the genre updated for the current socio-political context, usually in the form of speaking out against corruption and hegemony (Miami Vice 73, 74). The decade also saw the emergence of ‘sunshine noir’, most notably exemplified by the series Miami Vice (1984-1989); a 1980s noir and police procedural television series created by Anthony Yerkovich and Michael Mann. The show centers around the Metro-Dade Police Department’s Vice division, or Organized Crime Bureau, a group of detectives (consisting of Detective James “Sonny” Crockett, Detective Ricardo “Rico” Tubbs, Lieutenant Martin Castillo, Detective Gina Calabrese, Detective Trudy Joplin, Detective Stan Switek, and Detective Larry Zito) who specialize in undercover work in Miami and the difficulties they face in their work solving cases. It is widely considered to be a significant part of 1980s pop culture, having shaped and popularized contemporary fashion, aesthetics, music, and it revolutionized the crime fiction genre for the contemporary era. Richard Martin characterizes Miami Vice as “a daylight world of vice, criminality, explosive violence, universal corruption, paranoia, and psychosis… a fractured world of unstable relationships and unstable affiliations founded on fear and mutual distrust” (Martin 123). This sense of fracturing and psychosis is pivotal, especially regarding the setting of Miami itself that the show uses. As Stephen Sanders describes, spurred on by the 1970s economic collapse, the 1980s brought racial unrest and crime, with allegedly the highest rate of homicide in the United States as well as widespread, largescale drug smuggling. Added to this the boom of Cuban immigrants, consisting of “political dissidents, misfits, mental patients, convicted felons from Castro’s prisons, and families in search of freedom,” Miami became a place of both ruin and revolution, and home to misfits, outcasts, and outsiders to the perfect vacation town. Miami also was in a constant cycle of “redevelopment and renewal (to be followed, inevitably, by decline, decay, and further repetitions,” making it the perfect setting for a sunshine noir (Miami Vice 21, 23). The purpose of 1980s noir, as R. Arnett postulates, is to reject the traditional values popularized by Reagan’s America by showcasing the corruption, crime, and structural violence inherent in the American dream. This is frequently accompanied by a sense of dissociation and unreality, which, as J.G. Butler and Sanders argue, is central to the television series Miami Vice, accompanied by other noir themes such as alienation, a disguised and fragmented identity, and the blurring of the line between both moral blackness and whiteness. Additionally, the series investigates the ramifications of the police procedural routine, with the increasingly difficult task of individuals attempting to do good in the high-rolling consumerist and political world of the 1980s. This world is one that the characters find themselves both diametrically opposed to as well as embroiled in. Similarly, R.L. Rutsky’s discussion of the use of aesthetics, juxtaposition, and cinematography help to showcase the concepts of vice, paradise lost, deception, and entropy, as well as progressive imagery and ideals, especially regarding feminism and queer studies. This intentional fracturing, written into the show’s aesthetics, narratives, and characters, especially that of the series’ breakout character, Sonny Crockett, reflect not only the equally fractured politics, society, and culture of Reagan-era America, but also to illustrate how media shapes and is shaped by the time period and genre in which it is created.In order to illustrate this point, I will first investigate the series’ beginnings in the first season and how these concepts of masquerade, disguise, deceptive appearances, and dissonance are introduced as recurring motifs. I will then talk about the evolution of the show’s continual criticism of corrupt structures and exposure of societal breakdown throughout season two and three, and how signs and symbols of a fractured identity often accompany these revelations. I will also discuss how Sonny is portrayed as a symbol, and, indeed, a mirror of conflicting ideals about Miami life and culture in the 1980s, and how the motif of mirror imagery, as well as dissociative cinematography and narrative elements, continues to persist throughout seasons three and four. Finally, I will show how all of these elements come together to create Miami Vice’s ultimate statement in seasons four and five with the series’ major story arc and finale, as well as analyze what these elements illustrate about life in the 1980s, and the ramifications and significance they have in contemporary society. Chapter 2Season OnePrevalent in “Brother’s Keeper” (1.1) are the ways in which the confusion of identity through masquerading, the corruption of the American dream as evidence of the breakdown of 1980s society, and aesthetic juxtaposition and dissonance are illustrated from the very beginning of the show. Indicative of this confusion of identity, so central in Butler’s mind to the series, is the way in which Crockett and Tubbs are shrouded in moral ambiguity, the concept of their true identities and intentions being obscure and contradictory. Introduced to Tubbs first, the audience sees him thwart an attempted robbery by, quite literally, bringing a gun to a knife fight, then apparently tailing a richly-dressed light-skinned man (Tubbs himself being a dark-skinned black man, largely hinted at to be Afro-Latino) and shooting two others in the very first minutes of the episode, which primes the viewer to see him in a certain manner as negative, predatory, and threatening, which is later proved to be false, seeing as how Tubbs serves as the series’ moral compass on many occasions. Similarly, when Crockett is introduced, the audience is unsure of what to make of him: he discusses life as an overworked, low-paid policeman, only to meet with a drug dealer, leaving the viewers unsure of whether or not he is a corrupt, or ‘dirty’ cop, someone well-meaning who was drawn into the situation by necessity, or if this is simply part of his job. Additionally, Sonny is not referred to by his proper last name, Crockett, at first, but is instead referred to by his undercover name, Burnett, which is significant to the confusion Sonny faces between his different identities later in the series. Furthering this confusion of identities is Sonny’s ex-wife, Caroline’s, comment that “in a lot of ways, you and your vice cop buddies are just the flip side of the same coin from these dealers you’re always masquerading around with,” and Rico’s complete change in identity from a calm, menacing presence strongly hinted to be the ominous ‘Colombian’ to a hard-partying, fun-loving Jamiacan character, introduced to the audience as Teddy Prentiss, who drops the fa?ade as soon as the opportunity arises. When Crockett eventually does catch up with Tubbs, who reveals himself to be a policeman, Tubbs still does not go by his proper name, but instead claims that he is his brother Rafael only to, at last, be revealed to be his true identity: Ricardo Tubbs when Sonny figures him out (“Brother’s Keeper”). However, the most explicit, and the most compelling, example of the fractured identity comes in a conversation between Calabrese and Crockett—Crockett being, as the series progresses, the character who is most associated with identity problems and dissociation, as argued by Sanders—where Gina poses the question, “you ever forget who you are,” to which Sonny replies, incredulously and with a laugh of disbelief, “forget who I am? Darlin’, sometimes I remember who I am.” This conversation shows the disastrous and deeply concerning impacts working in Vice and being undercover all the time must have on the detectives, yet, instead of Sonny allowing himself to be vulnerable with Gina, he brushes it off, putting on a fa?ade, which Gina sees right through—“you can play that beach-bum cowboy routine with the football lingo and the beer commercial mentality from now ‘til doomsday, but I don’t believe it,” which he admits to, while still keeping up appearances. As a result, the audience never truly gets a grasp on what Crockett’s true identity is, as he does not drop this fa?ade, and perhaps Sonny does not know what his identity is either. The only time he does seem to be sincere and truly himself is when he apologizes to Gina. Interestingly, in this scene he seems to be cast in the more stereotypical feminine role by offering her the sentimental gift of rose following a tender apology, and Gina seems to play the more masculine role expected of the traditional noir detective by saying that a romantic relationship, and, in particular, one with Sonny, is “the last situation [she] wanted to find [herself] in, Crockett. [She] [doesn’t] need it, y’understand?” As seen in the rest of the episode, however, appearances can be deceiving, which is seen as the way in which the world of Miami Vice works: people are not who they say they are and not who you expect, suspicion and double-crossing are abundant, and nobody trusts anyone. Crockett requests a computer background check run on Tubbs as he does not trust him, only to find out that Tubbs has done the same for Lieutenant Rodriguez; as it turns out, both of their suspicions are well-founded, as Tubbs is not who he says he is (he is Ricardo, not Rafael), and Rodriguez has come into a questionably large sum out of nowhere. Similarly, Scotty Wheeler has betrayed Sonny, and the drug dealer from the beginning of the episode, Corky, is not only surprisingly philosophical, but also discusses wanting to sponsor children and farmers in Bogota and is a staunch supporter of western democracy and free enterprise (“Brother’s Keeper”). Also present in this episode and, therefore, setting the tone for the rest of the series, is the way in which the American dream is exposed as broken and corrupt, in keeping with Arnett’s philosophy that 1980s noir was meant to showcase the dark side of Reagan’s America and serve as a rejection against traditional values, thereby upsetting the status quo. There is a children’s birthday party, as would be expected of the ideal American home, but it is the end of the evening, with everything being hectic, messy, and needing to be cleaned up in a way that is realistic, not idealistic; Sonny is a traditional father who clearly adores his son and gives him a birthday present, but is late to the party because he and his partner got caught in an explosion, with his partner having been killed. Sonny has a wife, but their marriage is falling apart, and Sonny was an All-American star football player, but his career ended before it even began, as he was drafted to Vietnam, with all the trauma that that entails, as seen in later episodes. Tellingly, the conversation he has with Rico about his football career is held in a luxury apartment that is ransacked, in a building that has fallen into disrepair, run not by luxury staff, but by typical ‘mom and pop’ style landlords. Scotty Wheeler, another family man with “15 years as a standup cop (…) two medals of valor” and who “took a bullet for [Sonny],” gets revealed to be the leak in the police department at a family dinner with his children and wife, and the only way he could provide his family with that life was to be ‘bought’ by Calderone, the Colombian. Both are broken, damaged, good old American boys, with broken and damaged American dreams to match, set against a backdrop of a paradise lost, in keeping with Rutsky’s view (“Brother’s Keeper”). Similarly, the aesthetics of the episode are used to emphasize the dissonance of the main characters and the narrative. The episode begins with hallmarks of classic noir fiction, such as the setting of New York at night, characters clad in trench coats and suits with evocative lighting— before immediately cutting to the theme song with its sunshine, bright visuals, lush vistas, and peppy music, then to the slow pan up Crockett’s body, clad in white and pastels, against a sunshine-flooded downtown street with palm trees. Violence is contrasted with the lighthearted banter of Zito and Switek or the sense and sexuality of luxurious surroundings the characters find themselves in: indeed, immediately after Rico finds himself in the middle of a New York street in pursuit of Calderone, or the Colombian, the show indulges in shots of swimsuit-clad women and the provocative pan up Sonny’s legs. As Leon gets murdered on the beach, Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” play over a game of volleyball played by shirtless men and pretty women. When Sonny and Rico finally meet, it is the juxtaposition of the two cities they represent in an aesthetic sense as well: Sonny, with his pastels, beach blond hair, and tan, standing above the Miami waters, looks over at Rico, dressed in a dark suit and tie on an industrial steel bridge, with the Lieutenant between them. The beautiful city of Miami is contrasted sharply with the humble police building, home of the humdrum quotidian routines of its occupants, and information is fed to the viewer in fragments as the perspective shifts from Crockett to Tubbs, and the flashbacks are disjointed. Similarly, light and shadows provide chiaroscuro in the climax when Rico, in the shadows, tries to reconcile with given the opportunity to kill Calderone, his brother’s murderer, despite knowing that he should let him live and be prosecuted, while Sonny, bathed in light, tries to protect him from himself and save him from doing something he would regret. This important decision rings hollow, however, when Calderone eventually winds up walking despite their efforts. In “Evan” (1.21), societal breakdown and the connotation between corruption and disjointed, frenzied identity is personified in the titular character, as he is posed both as a societal mirror, a dark parallel, and a foil to the Vice crew on the whole, but particularly to Sonny. From his first appearance, Evan is marked as a threat; he talks very predatorily to three, very obviously biologically female dummies, and then proceeds to obliterate them with reckless abandon, which serves as both an example of wanton, damaging violence and sexual violence and stands as a representative of just how far gone Evan has become. When Sonny is undercover at a Neo-Nazi compound, despite playing a character, when he does target practice, he ‘kills’ the cartoon cardboard cutouts with precision and only uses as much force as necessary. Similarly, while Evan uses slurs, Sonny refuses to use most derogatory language when talking the Neo-Nazi rhetoric to his contact. Throughout the episode, Sonny and Evan wear similar colors (primarily beige and white). While putting on airs in the same way that Sonny does in an attempt to appear more collected than he actually is, he comes across as manic and unhinged in a way that Sonny never does, pinwheeling between friendly and threatening, remorseful and lighthearted. His fragmented personality may be in reference to his shattered psyche and the mixed feelings he has about what happened with Orgel, but he also stands to represent a society that Sonny finds himself both a part of and diametrically opposed to, as well as the threat to Sonny that the outside world provides. When he threatens to kill Sonny, mentioning that “there’s a bullet somewhere with your name on it,” is not only representative of both the threat he poses individually, but also a threat to the city of Miami and the society to which it belongs. Similarly, when Evan and Sonny talk, dressed in white, in the white conference room at the police department, they both blend into the literal, tangible authority structures which surround them. Evan accuses Sonny of wanting to “hang that rap on me,” despite having recognized that he made a mistake, and, yet again, he is used to atone for society’s prejudiced ways. He begs Sonny’s forgiveness, though Sonny, tellingly, does not respond one way or another (“Evan”). The meetings between Evan, Gusman, Crockett, and Tubbs take place in a junkyard and in a shipyard full of abandoned ships, literal ruins of society and broken, rusty hulls, where Gusman makes the comment that “what is this country coming to when you can’t even trust the police to be honest.” It is in the shipyard where Evan also sacrifices himself to save Sonny and Rico, when Peter Gabriel’s “Biko” plays in the background, the chorus stating “the man is dead” – both referring to Evan himself dying, as well as ‘the man’, or the societal structure which he has represented throughout the episode, being laid to rest as well. At the end of the episode, Evan’s dying words are “now it’s your turn… Sonny,” both leaving him not only in charge of his own decision about life and death, but also in how he wants to live life and how he wants to deal with society as it stands (“Evan”). It would be somewhat irresponsible, in discussing one of the episodes that deals most with LGBTQ+ issues, not to also bring attention to the queer readings that other scholars have made regarding Sonny, and, indeed Rico, themselves, and how their identities shape how they are depicted and perceived. Benjamin Scott King notes that “Sonny is feminized by his objectification… this pretty displayed human is, counter to our expectations, a man,” stating, in essence, that “in Miami Vice, the object of the [male] gaze, the fetish, is primarily male” (King, 283-284). As a result, King argues, this supports “homoerotic implications,” and a “’feminine’ position” within Sonny’s character (King, 284). This “gender role confusion” is especially seen regarding his duality as both an object “in the spectacle of the show and then by his deconstruction [in] the show’s narrative” (King, 285). Similarly, Butler references the series’ film noir roots, specifically the trope of the ‘spider woman’, which he describes as “the central disruptive force: disturbing narrative equilibrium, generating enigmas, and thus catalyzing the entire diegesis,” especially characterized by her “stylistic dominance,” the disruption being carried over “to visual style and the cinematic system of signification” (Butler, 129-130). Similarly, Butler points out that this archetype is, at first glance, missing from Miami Vice’s ensemble, until one recognizes that “in a sense, the masquerades of Crockett and Tubbs place them in a conventionally feminine position… [acting] for the benefit of the active gaze [of] underworld figures… much as the spider woman lures her prey,” and that they “must ‘unmask’ themselves before the denouement in order to reestablish their position as law enforcers and prepare for subsequent masquerades” (Butler, 133).One such unmasking takes place in “Evan” when Crockett finally decides to tell Tubbs exactly what happened between himself, Evan, and Mike Orgel in the past, admitting that Evan acted incredibly homophobic towards Orgel upon finding out his sexual orientation, with Orgel later, in essence, committing suicide over the ostracization and betrayal. After hearing this information, Rico’s follow up question, “How’d you handle it,” seems to be a reasonable one to ask, but Sonny’s response is unusual, replying, “I didn’t. At the time… I didn’t know how to handle that. I… hell, I couldn’t say anything,” to which Rico responds with, “you’re allowed.” Sonny again repeats that he “couldn’t find a way to handle it” and Rico comforts him by saying that he “had the right feelings” and that, while Sonny “didn’t know how,” Rico “know[s] [Sonny] ha[s] it… in [his] hear[t].” Additionally, later in the episode, waiting for Evan, Rico brings it up again, seemingly apropos of nothing, telling Sonny that he “can’t carry it around forever” and that it has “been eating away at [him]” to which Sonny returns that he “can’t.” Rico reiterates that “you got the courage to do this job every day. Have the courage to tell Evan what it is you have to say” (“Evan”). Many have interpreted these exchanges to simply be an attempt to detail Sonny’s past homophobia and a desire to change and atone for his past sins. However, the f-slur is bluntly and explicitly stated twice by Sonny in the first scene in order to describe Evan’s attitude and opinions about Orgel, so this conversation seems unusually vague, and surely, had Sonny shared the same feelings, he would have said so, as he acts particularly honest and genuine when explaining things to Rico. Instead, Rico’s continual encouragement of Sonny, telling him that he must say what is on his mind and it is okay for him to do so, and that, as well as Sonny’s key assertion that he could not say anything about the situation at the time, and cannot say anything now, could be interpreted to be hinting at something much more in line with what Butler and King describe. Perhaps Sonny is himself some variation of LGBTQ+ and closeted, and Rico realizes this. A reading such as this would be exactly in line with the transgressive nature of Miami Vice, and it would make Evan laying the future of society and Miami in Sonny’s hands at the end much more effective and narratively sound, and would perhaps serve to elucidate some of Sonny’s identity problems if he is actively trying to hide and conceal part of himself for fear of reprisal or retribution. Chapter 3Season Two“Out Where the Buses Don’t Run” (2.3) continues to explore these themes of structural corruption in the police force and society at large, mirroring, and, for the first time, having a real focus on spirituality and unreality, both as a narrative device to communicate these ideas and a cinematic motif. The central conflict within the episode comes from the tension between the old establishment, represented by Hank Weldon and Tony Arcaro, versus the new, represented by Sonny, Rico, and the rest of the cast. Weldon, by his own description, “used to be a detective with Miami Vice” and literally intrudes into both their space and their narrative, interrupting the story already in progress to point the detectives in the direction of the cold case of Arcaro, “mister founding father of cocaine in Miami, mister start of the business in 1962, the invisible man.” Much emphasis is placed upon how accomplished Weldon was in his police career, with Sonny at first recognizing him and greeting him warmly, calling him “one hell of a cop” and remarking that he has “commendations out the ying yang.” However, as the episode progresses, he becomes increasingly distrustful of Weldon’s credentials and character, as well as the relevance of the past that Weldon’s pursuit of Arcaro represents. Sonny likens Weldon’s desire to join them on the case to wanting to take them on a “field trip, the history of cocaine in Miami,” with a historical broadcast referencing Carter playing in the background, calling Arcaro’s release on a technicality a “signpost of justice in America today.” This is accentuated by the ending, where it is revealed that not only is Arcaro dead, he has been dead the entire time since his release, and the model cop Weldon is the one that killed him, with he and his partner having hid his body in the wall in a shell of an old, broken down building. Yet again, the motif of the urbane, societal ruin returns, shown both through the ruined building as well as the literal decay that Arcaro’s body represents. This ruination is representative of both the ruin of the old police system that Weldon represents, but also of Weldon himself; a ruin of a once good cop with a literal skeleton in the closet (“Out Where the Buses Don’t Run”).Two instances of mirroring are made very clear. Earlier, Sonny makes the comment that “the more [he] think[s] about it, the more [he] [doesn’t] like it,” then having to clarify that he is talking about Weldon, not Arcaro like Rico assumes. Similarly, in the final scene, Weldon talks about himself, but uses Arcaro and the third person to express these thoughts by implying Weldon is talking about Arcaro instead, saying statements such as “he’s spillin’ his guts, man. Confession time,” and “he’s just a tired ol’ man. Guess he’s kinda relieved it’s over” regarding Weldon’s own confession and admission of guilt. Similarly, when Weldon finally reveals Arcaro’s location, he nods to the wall, where Weldon’s own shadow is cast. When Rico says, “there’s no one here, Hank,” Weldon says “he’s right there” and begins to violently attack the wall where his shadow was with a pipe, revealing the body, implying that they really are one and the same, or two halves of a whole; the police system and the drug trade. Similarly, when Weldon’s partner enters and Sonny questions him that he knew about the cover-up, Weldon states that “he was my partner. Y’understand?” and Sonny admits that he does. Earlier in the episode, too, Sonny has oftentimes been associated with Weldon. Rico jokes that they are very similar, and Sonny, as they are trying to figure out the case, poses the question “if I flipped out one day,” which shows how he and Weldon have apparently similar thought processes. However, there is one key difference between Sonny and Weldon; Weldon is respected and praised by the establishment, whereas one of the tenets of Sonny’s characterization is that he is incredibly anti-authoritarian and insubordinate. While Weldon is what Sonny, and indeed, the rest of Vice could be if they were just a little closer to the edge, this difference is what separates them, and indeed, saves them from this fate. Similarly, Weldon’s strange behavior, pinwheeling between the loveable and affable comic relief trope and something much darker, creepier, and unhinged immediately sets the cast, as well as the viewer, on edge; he is like them, but there is also an intense and visceral difference that separates them (“Out Where the Buses Don’t Run”). For one of the first times in a significant and meaningful way in the series, the concepts of dreams, spirituality, and unreality, especially in regard to their relationship with mental health, is explicitly explored. Weldon’s mental stability is constantly called into question, being called “a little off the wall,” “a nutcase,” “wacko,” and a “crazy cop” by Sonny. Interestingly, this disruption of both the narrative and the tone of the episode carries over into the characters’ subconscious; Sonny and Rico both discuss shared dreams they had about Weldon, and, not for the last time in the series, Sonny describes having a preternatural intuition about events that transpire when Weldon is nearby of which Rico is also cognizant. When they discuss this around Weldon, he is the one that remarks that they are “startin’ to sound crazy.” This is another way in which Weldon and Sonny are mirrored: both of their fragmented identities originate from their police work, which, in turn, seems to be granting them unusual narrative powers even as it is corrupting and damaging their psyche. Additionally, there is an increased emphasis on religion, the cold open focusing heavily upon a black preacher and his congregation as Sonny, Rico, and (unbeknownst to them), Weldon, look on, with Rico asking Sonny if he “think[s] that’s his last chance of getting saved.” While Rico is referring to the small-time drug dealer they are tailing, this comment holds new light if applied to Weldon and his process of confession and, presumably, redemption, which can also be applied to this foreshadowing of Sonny (“Out Where the Buses Don’t Run”).Brenda Abalos, in discussing the series, makes the argument that while “the stars were intended to be peers… Don Johnson was the real star of the show” (Abalos 168). While these two points may seem diametrically opposed, they are both true; while the cast is truly an ensemble, it is Sonny who receives the majority of the attention, interest, and notoriety, even in the modern day. The reason for this is because, throughout the entirety of the show, the character of Sonny and the city of Miami have not only been associated with each other, but indeed, serve as mirrors of each other. Sonny is meant to stand in as the personification of Miami’s morality, society, and culture: he is the living, breathing heart of not only Miami, but of the show itself. A few aforementioned examples of this mirroring can be seen in the juxtaposition between Crockett and Tubbs (standing in for New York, and complimentary to Crockett’s Miami) in their first meetings in “Brother’s Keeper”, as well as how Sonny is forced to confront and correct the hate crimes perpetuated by the rest of society and is entrusted to change it for the better in “Evan”. This comparison not only accounts for the emphasis placed on Sonny, but it also sheds light on Sonny’s fractured identity, as he exemplifies two very different sides of Miami. Prior to Miami Vice, Miami was most known for, in Alison Meek’s words, “drug cartel shoot-outs, Cuban refugees, and race riots” as well as being the recipient of the moniker of “the murder capital of the world” (Meek 286). However, with the popularity of Miami Vice came a revolutionary new image for the city: one of “youth and vitality, sunshine and yachts, fast cars and wealth, beauty and intrigue pastel visions [sic.] and deco décor,” in Deeny Kaplan’s words. The reasons for this paradigm shift are none other than both Michael Mann’s cinematography and the character of Sonny himself. As King notes, “the emphasis of the show lies (…) on Sonny’s image” (King 283). He continues to state that “the visual beauty of the show lies… also in its aesthetic construction, its mise-en-scene. The set design, costumes, lighting, composition are carefully constructed” (King 284). In regards to this meticulous management of the cinematography and aesthetics of the series, Kaplan adds that “art became life, and life became art. The show copied the city, and the city copied the show.” This is true not only from an aesthetic standpoint, but also from a cinematic and symbolic standpoint: Miami becomes, as Rutsky describes, “… a world where appearances are deceiving… where the signifiers of luxury, tropicality and leisure [are present]… yet the show also trades on Miami’s reputation as a center for international drug trafficking and (…) as the nation’s leader in violent crime” (Rutsky 77). Much of the show’s symbolism and significance comes from this dichotomy. Miami Vice’s Miami, then, is a place of sinful pleasure, of paradise and paradise lost, and of conflicting ideas which are portrayed through the noir themes of fragmentation, dissociation, and the loss of identity that are present in Sonny. He, like Miami, is a living juxtaposition, and the struggles in the show with his morality and his desire for justice are not only personal struggles for him, but also characteristic of a struggle present in both Miami and in the United States as a whole to do the right thing.Chapter 4Later SeasonsThe transition from the second season and early parts of the third season to the latter part of the third season and beyond reflects a transition both of creative direction and tone of the series. As Sanders summarizes, Dick Wolf “was brought in as the show runner during Miami Vice’s third and fourth seasons,” but Michael Mann continued to be involved in some degree, as “his influence was so substantial that he did not need to be on the set daily” (Miami Vice, 14). Once Wolf took the lead, the show became, quite literally, darker; gone were the pastels, replaced by moody blues, blacks, greys, greens, and deep purples. Additionally, Wolf’s storylines, overall, tend to be focused on what was going on at the moment that the episode was written, taking inspiration from news stories and headlines to generate content. As a result, it is in this era of the show that the focus falls more squarely upon questions of politics, criminality, and justice. One of the earliest examples of this exploration of criminality and justice, as well as fragmented identity and dissociation, is “Shadow in the Dark” (3.6). Themes of identity and dissociation showcased here are perhaps the most unsettling of any episode so far; the episode is haunted by strange and eerie music, blurry visuals, crossfades, strange lights, and shadowy figures. The new, darker visuals seem to be invading and infringing upon the remnants of the old visuals, as seen by the antagonist of the episode first being shown as literally a shadow on the wall of a very pastel building. The antagonist, a cat burglar only known as the Shadow, makes very strange, unnatural movements that border between erotic and horrifying, and his modus operandi—breaking into people’s houses while they are sleeping, caking himself in flour, eating raw meat, and drawing on the walls with lipstick—seems like something out of a dream rather than something based in actual reality, and it deeply unsettles the audience as well as the Vice team. Sonny, however, is captivated, especially after the former detective on the case, Gilmore’s, involvement leads him to a complete breakdown. However, Sonny, too, gets fixated on it, and begins to decline and deteriorate, losing himself in the identity of the Shadow as he attempts to understand him. He explains to Castillo that “the whole world seems like it gets out of sync with you. It’s like you can sneak up on it” after staying up all night working, and Castillo’s well placed concern that “thinking undercover… sometimes you can’t stop when you need to” is only met with Sonny saying that he “[doesn’t] need to think straight… [he] need[s] to think like [the Shadow]” and that the answer is “in [the Shadow’s] head,” implying that this loss of identity and the psychological damage it begets is necessary in order to do his job well (“Shadow in the Dark”). The line between reality and fiction continues to blur where, immediately afterward, Sonny appears to go investigate a crime scene, and then is attacked by a shadowy monster, only to wake up. He then asserts, as he tries to get more and more involved with the Shadow’s psyche that he’s “getting’ so close to this guy, [he] know[s] this guy” in regards to the Shadow, and also asks Rico and Castillo if they “think [he’s] losin’ it.” Additionally, this almost total immersion in the Shadow’s identity leads to Sonny acting very erratically, screaming at Rico one minute and then pleading with him for his help in tears the next. When they finally catch the Shadow by breaking into the house and his victim to be is visibly terrified of Sonny, he desperately tries to tell her that “[he’s] a cop” but he does not sound convinced by his own assertion. What is perhaps the most compelling evidence for this, though, is the fact that at the end of the episode, Sonny wakes up from a nightmare, the episode fading into blackness with only the sound of him breathing. This leads the audience, like Sonny, to question whether the events they have just born witness to was indeed reality, or if it was all just a dream, with the Shadow being quite literally something inside Sonny’s head (“Shadow in the Dark”). Additionally, there are several aspects of this episode that deal with the similarities and differences in criminality and justice. One of the earliest tensions in the episode is the outside pressure that falls upon the police to attempt to solve this case, and the lengths that both Sonny and Gilmore go to in order to try to get it solved, even though Gilmore is more easily swayed by public opinion. Sonny is almost portrayed as too good of a cop: he will literally stop at nothing to make sure that the case is solved, even if he ends up destroying himself in the process. Similarly, there is significant parallelism between not only Gilmore and Sonny, but also Sonny and the Shadow, and therefore, criminality and justice. One shot in particular is framed such that the audience sees a figure from behind applying flour to their face; the audience is set up to expect that it is the Shadow, but, instead, the shot cuts away to Sonny looking in a mirror. Additionally, what wakes Sonny up at the end of the episode is when Sonny looks through the two-way mirror, behind which the Shadow is being questioned, only to find the Shadow looking back at him, as if he can see through the wall, before he lunges at Sonny, screaming and shattering the mirror. What lends further credence to this is the character of the Shadow himself and how he is set apart from almost everything else in the narrative. One of the characters in the episode is a reformed, disabled ex-convict, who expresses that the Shadow is “totally different from [him]” and acts genuinely affably, only for Gilmore to lash out at him simply because he was a criminal. Indeed, the Shadow is such an enigmatic, mercurial presence that he seems to be not so much a character, but a concept brought to life. What frightens everyone most about him is not what he has done, but “what’s gonna happen when he does wake someone up;” he is literally a sleeping threat which enters without “any sign of forced entry.” Similarly, it is said that “walls don’t mean anything to him,” which casts him in a supernatural light, but also as an abstract concept, a living symbol for the idea of crime, and, given the adverse effects he has on both Crockett and Gilmore, mental illness. The Shadow also has very cryptic and vague answers when he is being questioned by police, stating that he is from “where the sun never shines,” that he was born “in your mind,” that he “[doesn’t] have a name,” and that “[he] is sick.” This also explains Sonny’s dedication to trying to bring him down as well; for someone who is the ideal cop and the ideal persona of justice, naturally, he would do everything in his power to bring down all crime, even an abstract, intangible representation of it like the Shadow (“Shadow in the Dark”). ‘The Burnett arc’, as it is colloquially known, a series of episodes consisting of “Mirror Image” (4.22), “Hostile Takeover” (5.1), “Redemption in Blood” (5.2), and “Bad Timing” (5.4), continues to showcase the themes displayed in “Shadow in the Dark” by expanding upon them and taking them to the extreme. As ‘the Burnett arc’, placed in the transition period between the fourth and fifth seasons, is the only story arc in the show that explicitly focuses on one of the main characters, instead of the ensemble, it makes sense that Sonny would be its locus. After all, he is the series’ iconic representative: it is his sense of style and persona, more so than anyone else in the cast, that came to be associated with the show, and indeed, with Miami itself. Therefore, it is striking that the arc consists of Sonny being, in Sanders’ words, “traumatized and transformed” in the most brutal of ways—by losing touch with his identity and believing that his true identity is not Sonny Crockett, Vice detective, but instead believing that it is Sonny Burnett, his undercover personality in the Miami underworld (Miami Vice, 71). Emphasizing Sonny treading the lines between justice and criminality, fa?ade and genuine self, personhood and depersonalization through juxtaposition, motif, music, and visual symbolism, these episodes also reveal the series’ faithfulness to its noir heritage, as well as the demonization of Reagan-era corporatism and foreign policy by having this lost and corrupted version of Sonny becoming its agent, all of which hold serious ramifications for the future of the show.One way in which the arc illustrates the notion of masquerading the genuine self visually is how Crockett constantly uses his sunglasses throughout the episodes to conceal his true thoughts, feelings, and persona. In the very first scene of “Mirror Image,” Rico approaches Sonny, concerned about the potential dangers of the mission at hand as well as Sonny’s mental state following the death of his wife, Caitlin. Sonny insists, while wearing his sunglasses, that, “[he’s] fine… [he’s] fine,” though he sounds very uncertain, as if he is trying to convince himself. Similarly, when Sonny wakes up being tended to by doctors, he does not have his sunglasses on, and appears confused and unsure of who he is. Later, when he is with Manolo, the episode’s main antagonist, who is talking about how his roosters are “symbols of [his] past,” Sonny listens to him while wearing his sunglasses—specifically, his mirrored sunglasses, which do not allow the viewer to see Sonny’s expression, only a literal mirror image of the people around him who he is trying to imitate—and laments his inability to remember his own past (“Mirror Image”). In “Redemption in Blood,” this point is made even clearer, as he takes off his sunglasses as a memory returns to him in a flashback, experiencing a moment of clarity and a return to his behavior as Crockett. He then puts them back on when he is trying to hide himself slipping from his Burnett persona. His sunglasses also come off when he orders that one of Burnett’s underlings show mercy, and, when he regains his memory, he wakes up in the hospital with his vision covered by white gauze, only for it to be taken off, allowing him to see clearly literally and figuratively. The sunglasses serve as a literal mask throughout the Burnett arc, and they help the viewer to differentiate between Sonny as Crockett, Sonny as Burnett, and, crucially, Sonny as Burnett within the narrative constraints of these specific episodes. When Sonny goes undercover in earlier episodes as Burnett, he is not nearly so violent and hostile, yet, because Sonny in the Burnett arc is essentially a blank slate with no remnants of a personality to go on, he is simply mimicking the behavior to which he bears witness. As one might assume from the previous point, mirroring and glass are extremely significant in this arc as they invoke the fragmentation of Crockett’s identity. The first time Sonny kills someone under his Burnett persona in “Mirror Image,” the gunshot shatters a window in the car they are in, representing the shattering and abandonment of his previous life as Crockett. Later in that same episode, during a dream sequence, Sonny sees Rico in a coffin after having shot him in the waking world, with Tubbs banging on the glass coffin lid and silently screaming Sonny’s name. A moment later, the visage in the coffin turns to his own, and he falls into the grave, implying that the two Sonnys meet face-to-face but are separated by a pane of glass, again invoking the image of a mirror. After Sonny wakes up from this dream and he goes into the bathroom, the room around him is strange, starkly juxtaposed in black and white, giving the impression that he is suspended in a dark void, filled with nothingness. He looks up to the main mirror and reaches out a hand to touch the glass, as if not recognizing who, or what, he sees and appearing very vulnerable, enhanced by his appearing shirtless, as if to evoke his emotional rawness. In “Redemption in Blood,” after regaining his memories, he looks into the mirror in a direct parallel of the mirror scene from “Mirror Image,” but the mirror is instead dirty, not pristine like in “Mirror Image,” and Sonny is clad entirely in white, which is coded throughout the Burnett arc as being representative of moral whiteness and goodness. When he shows mercy and compassion to Celeste, the woman he gets involved with as Burnett, he has a flashback which ascertains, in his own voice, albeit through fragments, “Oh yeah. That’s me, all right. I’m just happy to be back in the real world,” which cements a recognition and realization that he is, at last, who he remembers: a somewhat damaged and flawed, but fundamentally good and moral person, as well as implying that he is somehow back to reality after departing from it (“Redemption in Blood). Sanders describes Sonny’s state in these episodes as “suffer[ing] from amnesia and display[ing] symptoms of dissociative personality disorder,” meaning the modern diagnosis for the mental illness formerly known as multiple personality disorder, defined as “experiencing two or more distinct identities that recurrently take control over one’s behavior” as a way of examining this departure from reality (Miami Vice 70; van der Kloet et al. 160). However, his behavior seems to be more indicative of dissociative amnesia, “extensive forgetting typically associated with highly aversive events,” dissociative fugue, “short-lived reversible amnesia for personal identity,” or, most compellingly, depersonalization disorder, sometimes called depersonalization-derealization disorder, “feeling as though one is an outside observer of one’s body and feeling like (…) living in a dream or a movie; an experience technically referred to as derealization,” which is what best fits what Sonny experiences (van der Kloet et al. 160). Although alienation is a typical noir theme and has been a recurring motif throughout Miami Vice, and Sonny has been shown to exhibit some symptoms, it is in these episodes where it is made explicit that Sonny is suffering from dissociation and continues to suffer even after his memory has been returned. This is shown in the many dreamlike, surrealist sequences littered throughout the Burnett arc, which are usually accompanied by strange and haunting music and atmosphere, hazy, echoing voices, and disjointed visuals. Sonny recalls his memory in oversaturated, nonsensical fragments that seem to fade in and out of reality; as a result, the audience experiences Sonny’s dissociation. It bleeds into the narrative, even in scenes that are supposed to be realistic, such as Sonny shooting Rico in the alley, accompanied by hazy fog, strange lighting, and unsettling shadows, and Sonny encountering Rico at the broken-down, dark lighthouse. As aforementioned, his mental stability is questioned even from the beginning of “Mirror Image” when Rico continues to ask after him, and questions about his health are furthered when he is being treated for the aftermath of the explosion and one of the antagonists mentions “amnesia, schizo breakdown… whatever.” When a dirty cop who finds out both Rico and Sonny are cops, reveals this information to Manolo in “Mirror Image”, he states that “if [Sonny]’s undercover, he’s out of mind.” In that same episode, Rico stresses to Castillo that “there’s something really wrong with Sonny” (“Mirror Image”). Similarly, in “Hostile Takeover”, Celeste confesses to Sonny that she is “scared… of what’s happening to [him]. [He’s] becoming just like them,” referring to the drug dealers that Sonny is surrounding himself with (“Hostile Takeover”). This is especially evident in “Bad Timing” when Sonny, after having regained his memories and attending a trial hearing about his alleged criminal activities, states that “I can’t believe that that was me. Jesus, Rico. What kind of a person am I?” as if he is himself uncertain; returning to color theory, while he is clad in white, he says this whilst staged against a backdrop split between light and shadow, moral blackness and moral whiteness, criminality and justice, Crockett and Burnett. When Sonny goes to see a psychiatrist later in that same episode, he describes how:I’m in these scenes all the time where I, you know… uh, my job. I, uh, go undercover, and I’ve had to live these—these lives where… where I forget who I am. Bury my identity. Take on another. Maybe that’s the reason, huh? Maybe… because I never had one. Since I came back… I felt so… distant, like I’m—like I’m on the other end of this tunnel, this long tunnel, and everybody else is way over there, and I’m sitting here in this black room, all by myself. You know, when I… when I’m under, I have to deal with all these low-lifes, sleazoids. But I’m not afraid. In fact, I feel most comfortable there. But these days… now… I’m scared.The reference to ‘scenes’ reveals that Sonny thinks of his life as some kind of movie or film, in keeping with depersonalization disorder, and it shows that he feels distant not only from others, but from himself, as he himself states that he believes that he never had an identity of his own and that he is scared of himself. Sonny’s identity is further questioned by the antagonist of this episode, where he asks Sonny, “What kind of man are you? You a hero, huh? You’re a tough guy? Huh? What are you, Blondie? You a good man? Maybe a… maybe a bad man? Huh?” and Sonny, pointedly, does not answer (“Bad Timing”). This is significant not only because of character analysis. If Sonny—a character who is, as aforementioned, the symbolic representative of both Miami and Miami Vice—has a sense of self that is so shattered, disjointed, and broken and becomes very easily corrupted, what does that have to say about the series and the worldview that the show projects? This is something that the Burnett arc itself investigates, as it puts Sonny quite literally on trial for his actions, as previously mentioned. However, the evidence that is provided for his defense is not entirely based on his mental state: Castillo states that “all Detective Crockett did was his job,” which in context was in reference to how Sonny broke out of jail to prove his innocence and bring down Burnett’s organization, but it could also refer to the actions he committed as Burnett (“Bad Timing”). Interestingly, Burnett is not evil because of any kind of ultraviolence: while, indeed, he is seen killing and manipulating a few people, it is no more (and is indeed, almost less) than Sonny does normally. What is most insidious about him is how he organizes and streamlines the criminal organizations he encounters: in “Hostile Takeover”, he attends a shockingly corporate-style board meeting for the patriarchal Carrera organization which focuses on increasing profits and avoiding losses from the competition. Burnett states that “thinking of the business” is something that he has to do, which is furthered by want to “buil[d] an organization” and become “management.” He then goes to meet with a Cuban military commander who is “under indictment,” wanting to “update and expand” by buying into a corrupt military smuggling scheme. While Crockett is anti-authority and insubordinate, Burnett brings corporatization and corruption, and that is what makes him dangerous. Burnett is dangerous explicitly because he is mimicking Reagan’s policies of expansion and involvement in military foreign policy in Central America and the Caribbean. However, by his return to himself and exoneration of bringing down the corruption that he himself has wrought, he is redeemed (“Hostile Takeover”). Furthering this political statement, as well as bringing to a definite and explicit conclusion the series’ statements on corruption, identity, structural violence, and morality is “Freefall” (5.17-5.18). Politics is everywhere in the episode; one cannot escape it, and it disrupts the narrative on a number of occasions through interspersed footage of riots, protests, and revolution, showing in detail the military brutality that Costa Morada, the fictional stand-in for many countries in Central America, are undergoing at the hands of a corrupt dictatorship with a cartel at the helm. The episode begins with General Borbon explaining that it is “the work of a few thugs” and “means nothing,” even as the journalists point out that “perhaps the people are trying to tell you something. Your economy is collapsing” and “the camera doesn’t lie.” Not only is it revealed that the cartel is running the government and, indeed, running Borbon, he also murders his finance minister for stating that he could “no longer stand by and watch [Borbon] pilfer state assets while our people starve.” Later on in the episode, when Sonny and Rico actually arrive in Costa Morada, they are rescued by the very revolutionaries that they have been assigned by the Federal government to rescue the General from, who treat them kindly. One of the rebels, Felicia, remarks that she “[has] faith that we can make a difference… [she] believe[s] the bloodshed will stop,” and Rico sympathizes with her by saying that “we have a lot of the same problems. Poverty, drugs, gangs,” which serves to indicate how similar the two countries are. However, Felicia dies a martyr. While this emphasis on wartime politics may seem bizarre at first, it has two purposes. Firstly, it serves as a metaphor for Sonny and Rico’s entire careers. They are caught up in a war zone; the war on drugs is horrible, destructive, unfair, and incredibly damaging to Sonny and Rico themselves. Secondly, it is the most explicit critique of Reagan-era policies and reveals how they breed corruption and structural violence (“Freefall”). While Borbon is certainly an antagonist, he is not the most insidious in the episode. Sonny and Rico are forcefully recruited by Federal agents, led by Baker, to evacuate Borbon as he has “high-level ties to our government” and “is in a unique position to provide us with valuable information.” Baker markets this to Crockett and Tubbs as a way to “cut the drugs off at their source,” despite the obvious conflict with their personal morality and politics; he is encouraging them to buy into government corruption and the dangerous circumstances that the Reagan administration has catalyzed to sanction an obvious wrong for the sake of some hypothetical greater good. Additionally, when the Miami Chief of Police objects to this, Baker sways him into compliance by referencing the fact that he “[has] these very important friends in the national GOP, and (…) [the Chief is] going to need their help” to run for political office. It is later revealed that the real reason Borbon was wanted was “because he knew something about someone high up in the government. Very high up;” Baker, and, in Sonny’s words, “this whole damn mess was a setup from the get.” Baker attempts to defend himself by saying that “real estate’s turnin’ red all over this hemisphere… there’s only two things that count—American interests and anything that’s counter to ‘em,” to which Rico responds, “you’re what’s counter to it, Baker.” In essence, the true antagonist is not a corrupt foreign power vying for an escape route, but, in fact, the corruption and self-serving interests of the American government itself that is utterly disinterested in true justice (“Freefall”).Sonny and Rico, however, constantly fight to protect their identities and morality despite the overwhelming adversity against them. Throughout the episode, it is hinted at that Sonny and Rico are becoming old or irrelevant; Sonny explains that he fell asleep during a party and laments that “there has got to be a better way for me to spend my adult life” while Rico explains that he understands, “but this is the life, man, to serve and protect.” They are very obviously getting burnt out and tired of life as Vice cops, and the scenery matches this, with emphasis being placed on the partners driving on a bleached white, tire-track worn, cracked highway. When they are taken to see Baker, they are brought into a dark, shadowy room with only two lights on; one behind each of them, as they are the only good and redeemable things about this situation. Indeed, Sonny points out that Rico believes “if we could bring in Borbon… for once we can really make a difference,” and, when Rico asks him if he is being na?ve, Sonny responds that he “think[s] [he’s] bein’ hopeful,” and warns that “it’s probably suicide,” yet agrees to go. To further this point, Sonny seems to already accept the fact that he is going to die, making reference to his “old age” and stating that he “never figured to make 65 anyway,” and Rico’s optimism is destroyed when he witnesses Felicia’s death. He believes that he, too, “might not make it through this one,” as he is getting a “funny feeling,” but Sonny flagrantly denies and, indeed, forbids these feelings. He refuses to let Rico be corrupted by the same forces that corrupted him, nor does he let Rico become a casualty in the warscape they find themselves in, and they both decide to write the wrong themselves by attempting to bring Borbon and the Feds down themselves and going rogue. Sonny is called “burned out,” “delirious,” and “crazy” by the Chief of Police, but what is crucial is that Sonny agrees with him instead of trying to deny it: he is not trying to hide his identity anymore. However, it is clear that Sonny and Rico could be seen as remnants of an earlier time: Baker chides them by saying that “it’s not about your personal sense of justice” and that “your brand of law and order went out with Wyatt Earp,” as Honeymoon Suite’s “Bad Attitude” plays in the background, referencing “yesterday’s heroes with no room to grow.” Once they realize that there, seemingly, is no place for them in the system anymore, they simultaneously give up their badges, choosing their morality, their honor, and their lives above politics, corruption, and the system (“Freefall”). Chapter 5Conclusion This thesis has illustrated how the traditional noir themes sense of dissociation and deception are woven intricately into Miami Vice’s characterization and narration in order to represent the fractured state of 1980s American society and politics. It has also discussed the significance of Miami as a setting in regard to those themes and how the aesthetics, juxtaposition, and cinematography serve to showcase themes of paradise lost, deception, and entropy. It has also shown how Miami Vice is an incredibly progressive, revolutionary piece of media that serves to speak back against and criticize Reagan-era ideals and expose them for their falsities. However, it has yet to explicitly explain why such assessments are necessary or significant.Not only have Miami Vice’s aesthetics and iconography become an indispensable part of contemporary culture—when one thinks of the 1980s, it is very likely one of their first thoughts will be of pastels, sunshine, and white suits—but it changed the crime fiction genre for good. After Miami Vice, Michael Mann continued to innovate through film, and Dick Wolf went on to create the Law & Order series, arguably the cornerstone of twenty-first century crime fiction. The focus on characterization, and the willingness to deal with serious, contemporary social and political issues, such as AIDS, racial unrest, and domestic violence is now almost a default for most crime fiction series. One of the many questions that current scholarly conversation has found itself embroiled in is the merit, or lack thereof, of crime fiction for contemporary sensibilities. Police brutality, racial instability, hate crimes, and profiling, not to mention the cruel injustices and structural violences in the criminal justice system, have served to sour the taste of police procedurals and film noir. While this may sound bleak for Sonny and Rico, and indeed, for Miami Vice on the whole, the story does not end there. At the end of “Freefall”, Sonny and Rico end almost exactly where they began: they drive back into Miami, finally free, as the dawn breaks. They have abandoned the system, yes, as the system is fundamentally broken, and they cannot erase the wrongs that it has done. However, their actions have helped people, and, in the end, they chose to do the right thing, even if it meant going against everything they had known before. Similarly, Miami Vice both reinvented classic film noir tropes for a 1980s audience and appropriated the socio-political landscape of Reaganite America, but it also forever changed both its genre and the culture. Works CitedAbalos, Brenda. “Straightness, Whiteness, and Masculinity: Reflections on ‘Miami Vice.’” Race and Ideology: Language, Symbolism, and Popular Culture. Ed. Arthur Spears. Detroit: Wayne State UP, 1999, pp. 167-80. Arnett, R. (2006). “Eighties Noir: The Dissenting Voice in Reagan’s America.”Journal of Popular Film & Television, 34(3), pp. 123-29. doi:“Bad Timing.” Miami Vice, season 5, episode 4, NBC, December 2, 1988. 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