After they bust a small-time drug house, stealing the cash and stash of wannabe dealers, Ray (Brian Tyree Henry) tells his partner in crime Manny (Wagner Moura) that it’s all about “authority bias.” See, the two of them pose as DEA agents, scaring the living shit out of easy targets and, essentially, taking some very illicit candy from babies. So when things go off the rails and these “feds” bust down the door, people just want someone in charge, someone who tells them what to do, someone who can get the ordeal over with quickly. With his booming voice and well-rehearsed script, Ray exudes that air of authority like few others, and it’s why his and Manny’s operation works so well—but the same can’t be said about Dope Thief as a whole.
The new miniseries from Peter Craig (writer of The Batman and The Town) revolves around Ray and Manny’s activities and the inevitable trouble that comes from pretending to be federal agents. While they normally limit their hits to the impoverished streets of Philadelphia, they get a tip about a worthy target out in the boonies that they reluctantly decide to pursue for the payday. Their bad feeling is, unsurprisingly, well-founded: this rural derelict drug house ends up implicating them in a massive gang conspiracy that stretches from New England to Mexico, and it makes them the prime suspects in the murder of an actual DEA agent.
There are tinges of The Wire and Ozark in Dope Thief, what with the show’s interest in showing the authorities’ side of things and the focus on local gangs and drug operations. There’s a large ensemble to prop up the plot, from vengeful DEA agent Mina (Marin Ireland) and her by-the-books superior Mark (Amir Arison) to Ray’s stepmother Theresa (Kate Mulgrew, providing the best Delco accent of the bunch) and his incarcerated father Bart (Ving Rhames). Then there’s Son Pham (Dustin Nguyen), Ray and Manny’s would-be boss and a quasi-kingpin himself, plus Michelle (Nesta Cooper), a defense attorney seeking compassionate release for Bart and who slowly develops an interest in Ray.
The first half of the series is riveting as Ray and Manny find themselves in free fall, waiting and wincing for the moment of impact. Scary, shadowy people are coming for them, and these two are amateurs. Both did time in juvie and have been through the seedy side of addiction, but Ray and especially Manny are not killers by trade. They have to adapt to stay alive, Ray doubling down on that whole authority-bias thing to keep everything under control and everyone safe. Henry is captivating in these moments, bringing intensity with an edge of anxiety. An Oscar, Emmy, and Tony nominee, he reminds the viewer damn well of his talents and makes sure no one can watch this series without being utterly taken by his performance. The actor treats every scene like a monologue on the cusp of a Shakespearean climax, even when the material does not meet the same standard.
The back half of Dope Thief drags the show down considerably. Though a miniseries, this show could’ve (and should’ve) been mini-er. Minor altercations with the Mexican cartel lead to nothing, the DEA fall over themselves to try to make a case against Ray, and there’s even a baseless romance between Michelle and Ray, with the former acting more like a therapist than a lawyer. The series overcomplicates itself to hit its eight episode length, with double, triple, and quadruple crosses from Ray’s associates and some consistently foggy motivations from agent Mina.
The show works best when Ray and Manny are cornered, at odds with themselves and each other over how to survive the consequences of their misdeeds. But the series splits them up towards the end, sticking Ray in a bizarrely unpopulated Philly hospital and forcing them to make tough decisions on their own. This combined with an unsatisfying, seemingly omnipotent antagonist makes the show’s quality peter off the longer it goes on. It gets too caught up in creating its own crazy conspiracy to focus on the characters, though the actors are more than willing to pick up that slack.
Dope Thief is derivative and a bit ridiculous (some plot points really don’t hold up to scrutiny), but it’s worth tuning in to watch a masterclass from Brian Tyree Henry and the rest of the cast. Moura, who subbed in last minute for the role of Manny, complements his on-screen bestie with a much more frenetic energy, and though a few too many of their scenes devolve into screaming matches, it’s an undeniably great duo. The same can be said of Henry and Mulgrew, who paint a complex family portrait. The story gets trite, sure, but it’s a worthy enough retread thanks to the ensemble.
The first two episodes of ‘Dope Thief’ premiere on Apple TV+ on March 14th.
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