If all Apple TV’s Dope Thief would have accomplished was to have given Brian Tyree Henry the most fulsome opportunity of his career to show all his acting goods, it would have been worth watching for that reason alone. The fact that it’s one of the best shows of this very young year is one hell of a quality bonus. The story of long-time best friends Ray (Henry) and Manny (Wagner Moura), two low-level criminals with a quality scheme–they’ve “acquired” DEA jackets and badges and use those tools to rob easy mark drug-dealer cash stashes–is not incredibly novel. One need only think of Omar from David Simon’s legendary HBO series The Wire for a comparable. Ray and Manny are grinders. They aren’t too ambitious and aren’t looking to get rich quickly, which would involve taking on greater risk. They’re just two guys with long rap sheets trying to get by.
When Ray and Manny realize they are getting a little too prolific in inner-city Philly, they get a tip from their fence Son (a brilliantly stoic Dustin Nguyen) about a stash house in rural Pennsylvania. Ray and Manny think they’ve got a line on some easy pickings. After all, if they can handle the hardscrabble streets of the “City of Brotherly Love,” how hard can it be to shake up some Pannsyltuckians who will never see a raid coming? If you’re at all familiar with the phrase “stepping on a rake,” that’s exactly what Ray and Manny do, and the handle swings up from the ground and strikes them both flush and square on the nose. Suddenly, what looked like an easy gig (well, as easy as a gig like this can be) turns into an unholy trifecta of unwanted attention from a racist motorcycle gang, a South American cartel, and the real DEA. Ray and Manny are suddenly getting it from all sides, from the hardest of hard cases on both sides of the law.
The pilot, directed by Sir Ridley Scott, is the best work the knighted legend has done in years. Scott’s pacing and intensity are so strong that it’s hard to believe the show could maintain such a heightened level of anxiety and through all eight episodes of the season (Author’s note: while I’ve seen the show in its entirety, I can only write about the first four episodes due to Apple TV’s review embargo dates). One would be wrong. All the directors that follow Scott take his template and successfully make a series about things going from bad to worse to weird and, well, much worse without the wheels coming off. That’s no small feat, considering the trap Ray and Manny have walked into. They have no one left to trust but each other, and while their deep friendship is the core of the show, Ray is the kind of friend who’s easy to like but not a guy who will keep you out of trouble. Manny carries the weight of Catholic guilt, the desire for a future with his girlfriend Sherry, troubles of his own with smack, and a heart too soft for this line of work.
Throw in the fact that they’ve hit a jackpot of an unignorable 400-plus-thousand dollars, and a highly driven DEA agent (Marin Ireland in a tremendous no-time-for-bullshit performance), along with their personal concerns, just breathing in and out is an act of fortitude for both of them. Aside from the fiercely driven nature of the show and the top-shelf performances in every role, what sets Dope Thief apart is that it ends up being a show about family, not just the one you’re born into but the one chosen along the way of one’s life. Ray and Manny may not be related by blood, but they may as well be fraternal twins; their bond is so strong. Their love for one another is a problem for both of them. Neither will cut the other loose, which means Ray has to try to manage Manny’s erratic nature, and Manny’s loyalty to Ray is so heartfelt that he can’t make quality decisions for himself and the life he wants to have with Sherry (Liz Caribel Sierra). Of course, the drug addiction doesn’t help Manny either.
Ray was born into an abusive home with Bart, a hard-hitting (in every sense of the word) father, played by Ving Rhames in his best role in ages. After Bart’s incarceration, Ray was raised by his father’s girlfriend, Theresa (Kate Mulgrew of Star Trek fame), and their bond is so strong that Ray may as well have come out of Theresa’s womb. For a show about living on the knife’s edge, Ray and Theresa’s bickering provides some rare moments of levity–especially when Ray tries to manage Theresa’s mean-spirited, aging rat dog Shermie and the needs of the canine’s bowels. Dope Thief continually upends your expectations by never forgetting that this messy, mixed bag of a family is comprised of people who genuinely love each other, making the series much more than another drug-dealer thriller. Even Sherry, who knows Manny would be better off without Ray, refers to Theresa as “Mommy.”
The tight screenwriting, muscular direction, and momentum of the series, which helps with the occasional plothole, such as Ray’s unlikely relationship with his attorney (well played by the lovely Nesta Cooper), or the rare moment when a turn of a screw is just a bit too conveniently timed to be easily bought, Dope Thief lives and dies with Henry and Moura. They are so believable from the first second that you can practically feel the years of memories they share, whether they are speaking to times gone by or not. Since breaking out in FX’s Atlanta, Henry’s career has been on a steady upswing. Roles in Widows, If Beale Street Could Talk, his surprise Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actor in Causeway, and his excellent work in last year’s The Fire Inside have all shown us pieces of what Henry is capable of, but Dope Thief takes all those tools and affords Henry the opportunity to use them all. In doing so, Henry proves he’s no longer an actor on the rise; he has arrived. There seems to be no limit to Henry’s range. His ability to simply cock his head and side-eye can be used for humor, intimidation, or conveying exasperation. If you are one of those people like me who suspected that Brian Tyree Henry might be one of the best actors working, let’s just say Dope Thief proves us correct and then some.
Moura matches Henry every step of the way. Manny is a million miles away from Moura’s performances in high-quality productions like Narcos (where he disappeared into the skin of the Colombian kingpin Pablo Escobar) and Alex Garland’s teeth-rattling speculative fiction grabber Civil War from last year, with Moura playing a hyper-driven war correspondent.
For all the controlled chaos of Dope Thief’s action-driven set pieces (episode four’s firefight in a quarry is particularly stunning) and the fine work done by series creator Peter Craig holding all the bits and pieces together, what makes Dope Thief truly special is the chemistry between Henry and Moura. The lies they tell themselves to feel better about their actions are aimed at their marks: “These guys deserve worse. They’re fucking poisoning the city.” Of course, without these poisoners of the city, they don’t have a source of income. They may want to believe they’re Robin Hood, but Robin Hood didn’t keep the money for himself. What’s so outstanding about their performances is you can see that they know better (especially Manny) just by the way they carry themselves or in those rare moments of reflection when the two friends become case studies in career criminals who could have taken a positive path but weren’t able to break the cycle they were born into.
In reviewing both actors’ resumes, it caught my eye that the two will be re-teaming for a film directed by Moura called Last Night at the Lobster. Details of the upcoming movie (currently in pre-production) are sparse, but the very thought of these two sharing the screen again so soon put a sizable smile on my face. They are that good, and because of them, more than anything else, so is Dope Thief.
