I often warn against a steady diet of cop shows, cop books and cop culture. That world is too dark to be our primary source of brain food. However, the Netflix documentary “Flint Town” is among the most evocative and intense shows of reality television. It is a police ride-along show that makes you want to send a warm blanket, hot cocoa and some of Mom’s amazing meatloaf to the burdened officers of Flint, Michigan. As with a diet, one might be advised to give up one or two other shows to avoid empathy overdose.
The city of Flint was most recently in the news because of the catastrophic and conspiratorial failure of government at all levels to provide safe drinking water to its residents. This, added to the rapid decline of the city’s economy from its idyllic post-war industrial middle-class economy, is the epitome of insult added to injury.
As I watched the first episode, with the skeptical expectation of the cops being portrayed as brutal, racist dolts, I found myself in solidarity with the real-life personalities unveiled.
The story is of an embattled chief (been there), an understaffed department (been there), in an impoverished, struggling community (been there), and officers overwhelmed with calls for service and working virtually alone (been there).
Early in the first episode we see images of death. A teen boy’s body lies on the snow-covered pavement in the ubiquitous glow of red and blue lights that may be a mix of Christmas décor and emergency vehicles. Shots had been fired, a real family does what real family members do over murdered loved ones, and cops do what real cops do – compassionately go about their business. There’s no attempt to follow the investigation, no procedural aspect to the documentary, just the image left to the viewer of the outstretched hand of the corpse, and the wails of his mother. It is the same body and the same snowfall we see at the end of the episode, the filmmaker’s way of showing an endless cycle of despair.
The real world of policing on display
With typical documentary style, the passing images of abandoned and burned out houses are comingled with somber commentary by officers behind the wheel of their patrol cars, the measured tension of yet another crime in progress call being dispatched, and the ebb and flow of mostly somber music mixed with silence. And yet the view is not overly dramatic, not cynical. Just real.
I liked these officers.
Officer Balasko, arriving at a report of a robbery and assault, apologizes for the response time of 27 hours. She admits her fears and confesses that her friends and family urge her to go somewhere else. Yet she stays, leaving her robbery victim feeling that at least somebody cared.
Chief James Tolbert, now retired, meets with the community to explain why police service is lacking. The department has gone from 300 officers to 98. They are lucky to have nine officers on duty on a shift to serve the town of 100,000. He succumbs to the politics of blame before the show is done.
Officer Frost advises that you do the best you can on the call you’re working on, while trying to ignore the 50 other calls waiting for you.
Sgt. Shuttles, a 25-year veteran, explains how to survive by not taking it personally as he drives away from the latest homicide. But in the same narrative, he wonders what he could have done to prevent the killing and ponders his own son’s similarity to the dead boy. He gives voice to all of us who save our sanity by saying we don’t take things personally, like saying “It’s just a flesh wound” and ignoring the bleeding.
I don’t know how “Flint Town” will affect the average citizen, but so far, I’m a fan. But be warned, this is not Netflix and chill. It’s Netflix with a deep sigh.
