‘Law & Order’ review: The Dick Wolf drama that launched a TV empire returns for Season 21. Verdict: Sad trombone

The original “Law & Order” premiered in 1990 and it is the show that launched the Dick Wolf TV empire, running on NBC for 20 seasons and 456 episodes before coming to an end in 2010. But apparently no show is truly gone forever. And so here we are, more than a decade later, with Season 21 of “Law & Order” picking up where it left off, a sad simulacrum of what it once was.

The ripped-from-the-headlines template remains intact, slicing the procedural in two: First there’s the police investigation, then it’s the prosecution’s turn. “Law & Order” went through several cast changes over the years and invariably it worked, but there were exceptions and Anthony Anderson’s Det. Kevin Bernard never felt lived-in enough, nor did his portrayal find room for small moments of wit; that he’s been brought back is not an encouraging sign. The other familiar face is that of Sam Waterston’s Jack McCoy, who, in the original’s last few seasons, had ascended to the top job of district attorney, and that’s where we find him now. This, too, is cause for concern; Waterston and the show’s writers had a real grasp on the character when he was full of ego and righteous indignation and champing at the bit to get into a courtroom. The guy had a sense of humor, too! But once he was elevated to district attorney, McCoy’s characterization became stiff and ossified and thuddingly grim, which has carried over into this incarnation as well.

Filling out the “law” side of things are Camryn Manheim as Lt. Kate Dixon (with the right kind of no-nonsense impatience) and Jeffrey Donovan as Det. Frank Cosgrove (very intense, possibly racist and sporting a chip on his shoulder). On the “order” side is Hugh Dancy as assistant district attorney Nolan Price (an empty space where a character should be) and Odelya Halevi as ADA Samantha Maroun (smart, beautiful and given almost nothing to do). These are their stories. Dun-dun.

I had so many mixed feelings when the continuation of “Law & Order” was first announced, both thrilled and wary, because this is a show I find myself returning to again and again. But Wolf’s ensuing spinoffs have tended toward the ridiculous and overheated. Plenty of audiences are fine with that, but I would argue the original has remained a favorite — in a constant loop of reruns and streaming on Peacock — because it is so grounded. Show me a couple of people hashing out ideas over hot dogs they bought from a street vendor and I’m in. I always liked the workaday energy of it all, of the cops who found so much of the job boring, and of the prosecutors crouched over their desks late into the night, rolling up their sleeves to dig through more paperwork. It’s a well-built show that allows for easy dipping in and out, with stories rooted in fair play (an enticing fantasy) and an attempt to untangle the knots of human nature. The unassuming brilliance of actors such as Jerry Orbach as Det. Lennie Briscoe, S. Epatha Merkerson as Lt. Anita Van Buren and Steven Hill as D.A. Adam Schiff made it look easy.

I’m not sure “Law & Order” ever fully recovered after Jerry Orbach left the show in 2004, but it worked as well as it did, for as long as it did, because it took a deeply satisfying approach to storytelling: Avoiding caricatures, leaving room for thoughtful debates and weaving in the occasional sardonic line that actually landed. It filmed (and still does) in and around New York City in ways that created a texture that felt specific. And everybody who’s anybody showed up as a guest player before becoming famous — spotting them is part of the fun of watching old episodes now — from a baby-faced Sebastian Stan to Ellen Pompeo to Chadwick Boseman.

If the original was unique in the way it eschewed melodrama, the cold open of the new season embraces the opposite, with a showy crane shot swooping down over a dead body. (Just a single episode was provided to critics.) Then it’s a close-up on each detective ghoulishly peering over the victim as they make their observations and there’s not a droll sentiment to be found. These are specific stylistic decisions and instead of hewing to the show’s naturalistic, hand-held look and feel, the entire sequence is shot in a way that brings attention to itself and it plays out like an exaggerated parody.

Showrunner Rick Eid (a longtime Wolf veteran) has jettisoned much of the nuance and realism of the original in favor of something labored and clunky, as if the scripts were WRITTEN IN ALL CAPS and too often the actors follow suit. No one’s underplaying anything. That detectives Bernard and Cosgrove are at odds from the word go feels especially tedious and cliched, as does Cosgrove’s subsequent clash with a prosecutor, literally poking him in the chest with his finger: “I catch ‘em, you cook 'em, that’s how this is supposed to work.” Funny thing about that line: Wolf initially developed the show in 1988 under the title “Catch ‘Em and Cook ‘Em.” That he’s still wedded to such an off-putting (not to mention hacky) phrase — so much so that he’s revived it 30-plus years later — gives me pause.

The show has always asked us to put our faith in the criminal justice system, no matter its flaws, and that remains firmly in place. The police department is “our partner,” McCoy gravely intones at one point, steam practically blowing from his ears “and in case you haven’t been paying attention they’re under attack. Every decision, every arrest is scrutinized. There are people trying to defund them, for God’s sake.” It’s a monologue that goes unchallenged, which seems antithetical to “Law & Order” of old, and it doesn’t help that Waterston sounds as if he’s delivering his lines with a piece of balled up wool in his mouth. Dancy, who is British, also struggles to locate a workable American accent.

But more to the point, the episode is dull. Nobody functions as an intriguing foil to anyone else because there’s no chemistry. Scenes play out like clunky Twitter exchanges rather than two people talking with human inflection. The unwavering paradigm of a white male lead prosecutor paired with an extraordinarily gorgeous female helpmate is played out. And we see so little of the absurdist details that were always there amid the human tragedy. Or just the labor — the bit by bit efforts — involved in building a case. The show feels like a walking corpse brought back from the dead, but lacking any of the important animating qualities that made it standout in a well-worn genre.

So why does this new version exist? As someone who thinks a lot about TV and film and how it shapes our ideas about the world, I find it both cynical and interesting that broadcast networks can’t get enough cop shows — with the police as point-of-view characters — even after the history-making protests of police killings and brutality that took place following the murder of George Floyd nearly two years ago. These shows are also extremely financially remunerative for Wolf personally; Forbes reports his fee is as much as $200,000 per episode, and that’s on top of an unusually lucrative deal that entitles him to half his shows’ profits.

Last year, an entirely different “Law & Order” project was in the works called “Law & Order: For the Defense,” set inside a criminal defense law firm. Now that would have been interesting, and it would have shifted the emphasis in Wolf’s kaleidoscope of shows (which also includes the “FBI” franchise on CBS) away from the law-enforcement-as-protagonist formula. But somewhere along the way, that idea was scrapped — would love to know why — and “Law & Order,” the mother ship, was revived instead.

If only it bore a meaningful resemblance to the original.

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'LAW & ORDER'

1.5 stars (out of 4)

Rating: TV-14-LV (may be unsuitable for children under the age of 14 with advisories for coarse language and violence)

Where to watch: 8 p.m. ET Thursdays on NBC

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