'NYPD Blue': The series that broke taboos and redefined the police drama
From frontal nudity to the redemption of an alcoholic detective, how Bochco and Milch's fiction shook television
BarcelonaEvery Sunday in the summer, the ARA revisits some of the most controversial series in the history of television. The third installment is New York Police, a crime series that tore the seams of free-to-air television.
Before Netflix normalized adult content in the dining room, there was a series that changed everything. It was 1993 and ABC—one of the Big Three in the United States—was playing its neck out with New York Police, a police drama with a clear objective: to sound and look real. At any cost. It wasn't a conventional police series. Its protagonists navigated a dirty, stifling New York, but also their own personal hell: alcoholism, internalized racism, love affairs, and prejudice. And, for the first time on a public network, there was full-frontal male nudity. And, as is often the case, the controversy fueled the fame. New York Police not only survived, but triumphed. He won 20 Emmys, a Peabody, and, above all, paved the way for everything that would come later. If there are The Wire, The Shield either Breaking Bad It's because someone dared to put an alcoholic and racist detective on the air before everyone else over the course of twelve seasons.
The unintentional protagonist was Andy Sipowicz, played by Dennis Franz. Initially, he was supposed to be a secondary character—a drunken, fascist cop—but the sudden departure of actor David Caruso after the first season forced the writers to reconfigure the series. And the man who was supposed to be a "Sancho Panza" became the core of the show. Sipowicz went from a violent and angry macho man to a father figure, learning to live with Black colleagues, gay superiors, and a sobriety that cost him as much as catching murderers. Unlike other series, here the police officers weren't superheroes, they were human, with resentment, shame, trauma, and remorse. Sipowicz didn't redeem himself in one episode, but over the course of a decade. With him, New York Police exploited the modern antihero. Like Tony Soprano and Walter White later, Andy was unpleasant, but fascinating. And, above all, complex. Audiences loved him not because he was perfect, but because he was real.
A televised scandal
The series was born amid boycotts. Its co-creator, Steven Bochco, wanted an R-rated series—the most restrictive level for films containing excessive violence, sexual content, and coarse language—on a family network, and he got it. The first episode showed a male butt on screen. And it didn't go down well. A quarter of ABC's affiliated stations refused to air the episode. Ultra-conservative groups called for a boycott. And some advertisers fled. But the move paid off; the scandal served as involuntary marketing. The series debuted with nearly 23 million viewers, and, given the noise, many viewers rushed to see what this "scandalous" thing was about. The rejection turned into a reward.
The controversies didn't end there.New York Policeremained a constant source of debate in the years and seasons that followed, with scenes that showed other integral knots—such as that of actress Charlotte Ross in 2003, which resulted in a $1.2 million fine from the FCC, later overturned—and plots that addressed sensitive topics such as police brutality, the colleagues.
If in the nineties New York Police He was the bête noire of conservative morality, but two decades later we still retain his legacy. In a world where Euphoria is accused of making emotional porn for teens, Bochco and Milch's series seems almost mild. But she was the one who opened the door. New York Police He didn't shy away from discomfort; he spoke of addictions, prejudices, mourning, and showed institutional violence and its consequences. And he assumed that the public could—and should—see beyond what was safe or pleasant.
When he said goodbye in 2005, New York Police He did so with a final image of Sipowicz, now a sergeant, assuming leadership of the 15th District. An image of redemption but also of continuity. The series had changed, as had he. And television had changed with it. Its impact isn't measured solely in awards or ratings. It's measured in the acceptance of gray, in the portrayal of flawed characters, in the idea that the truth isn't always comfortable or pretty. Today this seems natural, but in 1993 it was revolutionary.
New York Police It didn't just redefine the crime genre: it redefined what television could be. Without it, the screen would be even more fake, cleaner, less brave. And, perhaps, we'd still expect police officers to be picture-postcard heroes.