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John Sugar (Sugar)

kevinburtonsmith

Created by Mark Protosevich


 “I don’t like hurting people.”

What the fuck was this?

When I caught the first episode of Sugar, an eight-parter that streamed on Apple TV+ in the spring of 2024, it felt like a dream come true.

A smart, stylish (and parody-free) private eye drama? Aimed at adults? Suitably complex, well-acted, cleverly plotted?

I had high hopes. Both the Girl Detective and I were impressed. That  beautiful opening sequence– LA street scenes rendered in brooding, vaguely noirish pastel brushstrokes, seemed to suggest that, “Yes, this was a private eye story and yes, we know we’re playing with long-established clichés and tropes, but sit back and enjoy. We know what we’re doing.”

I was more than ready. I fell for it.

Colin Farrell was perfect as JOHN SUGAR, a highly-paid, buttoned-down, impeccably dressed Los Angeles private eye with more than a few secrets (of course), who tools around town in a classic set of wheels–in this case, an immaculate “Nassau blue” 1966 Corvette convertible. He’s a man of the world, with expensive tastes in cars and clothes, a multilingual film buff with copies of Cahier du cinema and American Cinematographer scattered around his apartment, justifying the rather cool juxtaposition of film clips from old crime and detective films sliced into the narrative, a sort of meta Greek chorus, which I took to be a knowing wink for fans of the genre. 

After wrapping up an assignment in Tokyo, Sugar returns to Los Angeles, and is hired to find a legendary Hollywood producer’s beloved granddaughter, Olivia Siegel, an ex-junkie with a host of personal problems.

So far, so good. A classic private eye story, as Sugar works the means streets, bouncing from dive bars to the mansions of glory, interviewing an engaging cast of odd ball characters, from skanky perverts, washed-up rockers and brutish thugs to pampered actors and Hollywood royalty. Ego? Ambition? Greed? Violence? Psychosis? They’re all here, brought to life by a truly impressive cast (Amy Ryan, James Cromwell, Nate Corddry, Alex Hernandez, Anna Gunn, etc.). And so Sugar works the case, repeatedly claiming he doesn’t want to hurt people although it’s soon revealed that he’s rather good at it when pushed,  gradually digging up far more secrets than the Siegel family really wants exposed.

The tone is just so right, with occasional voice-over narration by Sugar; a broody, moody jazz score warbling in the background, and those black-and-white flashes of classic noir scenes. And there was no padding. Everything seemed tight and right, with most episodes hovering around the thirty-minute mark. It was good. 

Oh, yes, there were flaws, and a few off-putting moments. Sugar catches an annoying house fly in his chopsticks? His over-the-top, schmaltzy bonding with a strange dog? His boasting that he can drink all night without getting drunk?

I just assumed these were overly enthusiastic drops of love from a writer, creator Mark Protosevich, who I figured must really love the P.I. genre.

But I was wrong. The familiarity with the Shamus Game, it turns out, was not so much droplets of affection as a bucketful of cynical contempt. Or possibly unchecked pretension.

Or were they simply “clues” to “The Big Twist”?

Turns out that spineroo at the butt end of episode six is one of the stupidest “Jump the Shark” moments in television history. It’s the narrative equivalent of Sam Spade, three quarters of the way through The Maltese Falcon, being bitten by a radioactive spider, and having to battle Doc Oak.

The contempt for the audience is palpable; a pointless plot twist that serves no purpose other than to enrage rather than engage faithful viewers, or maybe to trumpet the writer’s rule-busting “cleverness” and general disdain for a genre he’s used to sell six episodes of an eight-part series.

And those final two episodes? Flimsy excuses for resolution that don’t so much wrap things up as spit in the face of the audience, as the final clues seemingly fall into Sugar’s lap. What happened to detective work?

But it all harks back to that Big Twist. It’s so fucking stupid I suggest you watch the first five episodes and all of the sixth episode, minus the last five minutes, and then close your eyes and imagine your own ending.

It’s gotta be better than the shit sandwich Sugar serves up.

UNDER OATH

TELEVISION

FURTHER INVESTIGATION

Respectfully submitted by Kevin Burton Smith.

 

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