Brian Tyree Henry is one of Hollywood’s most charismatic actors, and he comes out of the gate like gangbusters in Dope Thief, radiating mega-watt hustler charm and humor as a streetwise Philadelphia criminal with a plan to make some money while cleaning up the streets.
Posing as a DEA agent to rob low-level drug dealers with his partner and best friend Manny (Wagner Moura), Henry’s Ray is a cocky crook who justifies his feloniousness by arguing that he’s setting wrongdoers on the right path (or at least “culling the herd”), and his bravado and wit are only matched by his dedication to his conniving craft. Professionalism is the name of Ray’s illicit game, and as he demonstrates during an opening stick-up, he’s nothing if not an expert at talking fast, moving faster, and intimidating marks through sheer force of will.
Ray believes that getting people to do what you want is all about projecting authority, and in its first episode—helmed with vigorous muscle by the indefatigable Ridley Scott—Dope Thief exudes confidence. Adapted from Dennis Tafoya’s novel by Peter Craig (writer of The Town, which feels like a spiritual forefather), this eight-part Apple TV+ series, premiering Mar. 14, is an initially surefooted crime drama about loyalty, respect, atonement, and family.
The series is electrified by its personality-rich cast, its distinctive underworld action and suspense, and a bone-deep feel for its grimy Pennsylvania locales, be it the dilapidated sections of its capital or the rural regions populated by grungy meth heads and reclusive Quakers. It begins with a bang, led by Henry and Maura’s irresistible chemistry as a couple of ne’er-do-well Robin Hoods who steal from the rich in order to give back to the poor—namely, themselves and their loved ones.
Dope Thief is such an immediate delight that it’s all the more painful when it proves incapable of following through on its promise, drowning under a tidal wave of increasingly muddled convolutions. Those late disappointments, however, aren’t telegraphed at outset, as Ray and Manny rejoice in yet another successful heist.
For Ray, that means continuing to care for Theresa (Kate Mulgrew), the long-time paramour of his lousy imprisoned father Bart (Ving Rhames), who raised him as her own and now spends most of her time playing scratch-off lottery tickets and doting on her dog Shermie. Manny also has someone to support: Sherry (Liz Caribel Sierra), his faithful girlfriend, who doesn’t know about his illegal vocation and isn’t particularly enthusiastic about Ray.
Things go south for Ray and Manny when the former decides that they’d benefit in future endeavors from a third accomplice and the latter responds by hiring Rick (Spenser Granese), a man whose physical shakiness speaks to his shadiness. Rick has a perfect target for the trio: a remote farm that’s the base of operations for a narcotics crew.
They agree to this plan and suffer greatly for it when Rick kills Jack (Gabriel Ebert), one of the men working in the makeshift lab. An ensuing shootout leaves Ray with a bullet in his shoulder and another drug cooker, Mina (Marin Ireland), with a bad gunshot wound that lands her in the hospital and partially mutes her, forcing her to use an electrolarynx to communicate and, ultimately, turning her speaking voice into a rasp.
(Warning: Minor spoilers follow.)
Ray and Manny loot the place and then torch it to cover up any evidence. However, when they leave behind their radio, they’re contacted by a mysterious man whose patois (which Ray describes as some “John Havlicek-stole-the-ball s---”) indicates that he’s from Massachusetts, and who isn’t happy about having his drugs and cash pilfered.
The protagonists thus wind up in the crosshairs of an angry and seemingly omniscient bigwig. If that weren’t enough, Dope Thief further boxes them into a corner by revealing that Mina is an actual DEA agent who was working undercover with Jack. Having played pretend as federal agents, Ray and Manny suddenly find themselves hunted by the real thing, all as they attempt to evade gangland forces that additionally number Mexican cartels and the facially tattooed sicarios they send to recover their goods.
This is a prime set-up for a sprawling, multifaceted crime odyssey, and Craig balances his various concerns with skill, including flashbacks to Ray’s youth and the girlfriend whose enigmatic fate has left him with traumatic guilt—fragmentary black-and-white sequences which are smoothly integrated into the action proper.
Better yet, Henry and Moura make for an amusing pair of miscreants, their conduct questionable but their bond strong and their hearts (reasonably) pure. With Rhames and Mulgrew as grouchy foils, and the always fantastic Ireland as an intense law enforcement agent determined to bring Ray to justice, the show is consistently compelling simply on the backs of its ace performers.
Unfortunately, Dope Thief can’t assuredly keep things together to the end. By the time it crosses its midway point, Craig’s tale has grown too entangled for its own good, complete with complications stemming from Ray’s relationship with his handler Son Pham (Dustin Nguyen), who doesn’t want himself or his family embroiled in the thief’s troubles, and lawyer Michelle (Nesta Cooper), who’s working to get Bart out of jail (much to Ray’s chagrin) and who, in clichéd fashion, falls for Ray, at least temporarily.
Shootouts, dismemberment, torture, decapitations, and other assorted nastiness add grim flavor to the proceedings, while Ray and Manny’s fleeting run-in with a group of hillbilly Nazis in clown make-up—their leader quoting Hobbs and Rousseau—contributes some out-there colorfulness. After a while, though, it’s too much of everything, and the series’ concluding three installments are full of both unnecessary plot padding and overly intricate conspiratorial twists that drain the material of its verve.
Eventually, Dope Thief loses sight of what works, heading down narrative avenues that reap few dividends. In the process, it consigns Moura to the periphery and mires Henry in a morass of ho-hum developments and uninvolving confrontations. Given the liveliness of its introductory passages, it’s simply a shame to watch the energy slowly drain out of the series, and moreover, to see such a big, bold, vibrant turn from its marquee headliner squandered on a story that can’t sustain its original high.
