It was January 15, 1981, five days before Ronald Reagan would take residence in the White House. NBC was still reeling from the disastrous beginning of Fred Silverman’s three-year tenure as network head (Supetrain, anyone?), the loss of inventory resulting from the United States-led boycott of the 1980 Moscow Olympics, and the 1980 writer’s strike. A new show hit the airwaves in the 10:00 time slot. Hill Street Blues was not immediately a hit. In fact, although it would achieve respectable ratings, it would never finish in the top 20, and was consistently beaten in its own time slot by Dallas spinoff Knots Landing on CBS.
But it was a critical smash. In its first season alone — which, as one can surmise by the debut date, was an abbrieviated debut of only 15 episodes covering 17 hours — the series garnered 14 Emmy nominations and won six trophies, including the Outstanding Series, Lead Actor, Lead Actress, and Supporting Actor nods in the Drama category. Its critical success, combined with acceptable if mediocre ratings, carried the series through seven seasons before the show finally wrapped in 1987.
Even the critical acclaim (four Outstanding Drama Series wins, 98 total nominations, 18 total wins, and the unprecedented clean sweep of all five nominations for Outstanding Supporting Actor in 1982) wouldn’t necessarily cement the show’s place in television history, although it’s a damned good start. The real legacy of Hill Street Blues came from behind the camera, where it spawned a vast family tree of fantastic television.
Initial showrunner Steven Bochco went on to create hit series L.A. Law and NYPD Blue, lesser-known but critically recognized Brooklyn South and Murder One, and even took a tangent and produced Doogie Howser M.D. Anthony Yerkovich joined the team after the initial five-episode pilot run; he later went on to co-create Miami Vice. Lee David Zlotoff created MacGyver. With the start of season three, David Milch entered the writers’ room, eventually taking over the main production role from Bochco. He would later go on to partner with Bochco on NYPD Blue before creating Deadwood and John From Cincinnati. Twin Peaks co-creator Mark Frost spent some time in the Hill Street bullpen, and as the series came to an end Dick Wolf — creator of the Law & Order franchise — garnered some writing credits.
From all those branches, a laundry list of other top-flight television programs were born. David E. Kelley started at L.A. Law before co-creating Doogie Howser with Bochco, then struck out on his own and built a huge resume with Picket Fences, Chicago Hope, The Practice/Boston Legal, Ally McBeal, and Boston Public. Miami Vice brought John Mankiewicz his first major work; he went on to produce House M.D. and House of Cards. And while there was no direct personnel connection between Hill Street and Homicide: Life on the Street at the latter’s debut, Homicide and Law & Order quickly merged into the same universe… and Homicide led directly to The Wire and Treme via David Simon and Oz via Tom Fontana
Those are just the direct connections. Countless other series that followed Hill Street Blues are at least spiritual successors if not necessarily directly influenced by Hill Street, including The Sopranos, The West Wing, and the Shonda Rhimes creche on ABC. It can’t be understated: without the ground broken by Hill Street, it’s entirely possible none of these shows would exist, because Hill Street redefined what a television drama could be. At the same time, network television also saw the rise of prime-time soap operas; prior to this era, television drama was almost entirely episodic, with virtually no serialization and even a complete lack of concern for continuity from one episode to the next. (Some shows did break this mold to some extent previously, such as Little House on the Prairie, but even there serialization was merely an excuse to deal with the aging of the young actors rather than a core principle.)
Hill Street was different. Continuity mattered. And while each episode had a key storyline which would either be wrapped or reach an important climax, there were also numerous subplots which carried through several episodes. To someone in the current generation, this doesn’t seem strange. In 1981, it was novel and refreshing. But unlike shows such as Dallas and Dynasty, Hill Street Blues was couched in subtlety rather than bombast, and in realism rather than melodrama.
Also novel and refreshing were the characters. Everyone was flawed, some more than others. Nothing was black and white (not even Black and White). The show pointedly shone a light on modern societal problems in a way that few other shows had even attempted, and rarely papered those situations over with syrupy and heavy-handed moralistic claptrap; they were dealt with in a human and realistic manner. One thing that stands out to a modern viewer is the startling way the show handled racism and sexism: some characters were openly or subtly one or both, and they were simply allowed to be… while at the same time other characters reacted to them in the way you’d expect real people to react in real life.
Nowadays, you can’t even do that in media without the internet exploding in outrage, and the sort of person who reacts to any depiction of prejudice which isn’t met with immediate and decisive consequences will find a lot to be disturbed about watching this series. But while at first blush one might think the show is full of ridiculous stereotypes — especially when binge-watching from the start — it soon becomes clear that these are just people, acting like people, with hidden depths and real aspirations. The point is, you probably know every one of these characters in some way.
The show also had a dark and absurd sense of humor. Hill Street Blues was, without question, a dramedy. But it didn’t rely on joke writers for the comedy aspect. The comedic aspects of the show were keyed on the absurdity of life in a police precinct where the cops were desperately trying to stay one step ahead of the chaos surrounding them. That sensibility was also aided by a few characters who were absurdly ridiculous, yet still somehow realistic. SWAT leader Howard Hunter (James B. Sikking) seems like a ludicrous parody until you stop and think about Donald Trump or your average message board lunatic. Detective Mick Belker (Bruce Weitz) seems like a dangerously insane sociopath until you see how deeply sensitive and good-hearted he really is.
Lastly, the show pioneered production methods that changed television forever. The use of hand-held cameras, the decision to rely on realism rather than melodrama, the use of a large ensemble cast who all got major storylines in which to shine, and so many other novel television ideas served to create a show which, as noted TV critic Alan Sepinwall observed, can sometimes seem dated because it invented the very tropes to which current viewers are utterly accustomed.
Before embarking on the rewatch proper, we’ll have one more post where we introduce the cast members and get their personal stories out of the way. I’m going to unashamedly steal the basic format of another veteran re-watcher, Tor.com’s Keith R.A. DeCandido; each post will include a brief synopsis of the episode, followed by a series of categories. We’ll explain those in the next post as well. My hope is to post a new episode once a week, although if I find I can crank out two a week I’ll increase the output at that point.
I hope you’ll join me as we dissect one of the greatest programs in television history, one with which many modern viewers are only aware by reputation. We’ll have fun. (And maybe someone will decide they want to pay me.)
