The fact that American Crime premiered the day after the Department of Justice announced criminal charges would not be brought against a former Ferguson, Missouri, police officer for the death of Mike Brown is purely coincidental. The case has forced the country to talk about how crime and punishment play out in America, and it's one that has dominated headlines for more than seven months now.
American Crime is the latest network television show to put race front and center, and it could be the jumping-off point for more fiery conversations. The series, which debuted on ABC Thursday night, centers on the murder of a war vet and the brutal assault of his wife, both of whom are white. And when a drug-addicted black man, his drug-addicted white girlfriend, a Mexican-American teenager, and a Mexican man who has been in trouble with the law before are revealed as suspects, it quickly becomes clear that American Crime will go to uncomfortable places with regards to race, forcing viewers to consider their own prejudices as the characters do. Obviously, the series is timely as hell, and out of all of the new shows to join the network TV landscape with diverse casts this season, American Crime, created by 12 Years a Slave's Oscar-winning screenwriter John Ridley, is the one that gut-punches its audience with its approach to racial and economic issues.
In the show's premiere, for example, grieving mother Barb Hanlon (Felicity Huffman) speaks tersely to her ex-husband Russ Skokie (Timothy Hutton) as she reminds him of what he put her through: succumbing to a gambling addiction, losing all they had as a family, and forcing her — "a white mother and her two white kids" — to live in public housing. In the upcoming March 12 episode, Barb begins to unravel at the very thought of her war vet son not getting the same public empathy and outcry that someone like Brown, Jordan Davis, or Trayvon Martin received when each of the three black teens was killed by someone who wasn't black, signaling what many believe to be a larger problem with race relations in America. As a result, American Crime feels like a sociological experiment, brazenly forcing its audience to see another point of view — even when you're dead-set that what you believe is right.
Clearly, the new series isn't deliciously campy like Empire, familiarly funny like Black-ish or Fresh off the Boat, or whimsical like Jane the Virgin. On American Crime, we see how infractions are handled with regard to race, class, and gender through the drama's meth addicts, black cops, white cops, white parents, Latino parents, prosecutors, victims, white drugs dealers, and Latino drug dealers. And considering the current social justice climate, American Crime feels like a multifaceted docuseries, putting a face to all sides of the equation. In effect, Ridley has taken Facebook fights, political talking-head jabs, and grassroots protesters and included all of those vantage points into American Crime in grand, dramatic fashion.
Thus far, Huffman's character seems to be the most egregious, her language constantly peppered with racially provoking intentions. She negatively reacts to being questioned by a black female detective about the idea that her dead son could have possibly been a drug dealer himself. And when her ex-husband tells her one of the suspects is possibly Latino, she asks, "Some illegal?" "No, just Hispanic," he replies.
Because of its unfiltered dialogue and storytelling, American Crime could be more effective than Empire or Black-ish in changing minds, or at least helping people see another perspective. Ridley doesn't only tap into the real conversations people are having today, he puts them front and center and basically says, "Now deal with it." That's what it feels like when Alonzo Gutierrez (Benito Martinez) can't believe his teen son Tony (Johnny Ortiz) is being held in a juvenile detention center, and that, as his father, he doesn't know how to legally protect his son because he failed to ask questions about the judicial system and didn't know that his son didn't have to speak to detectives and was entitled to a lawyer. In next week's episode, Alonzo – who embodies the hardworking, "stay out of trouble so you can succeed" character we see often with immigrant stories — is questioned by his daughter about his allegiance to being brown. "You wish you were white so they would like you better," she yells at him, admonishing her father for trying to assimilate.
On American Crime, everyone has a voice — some of which may make viewers cringe, cheer, or cry — and they use it to talk about who we are, the way we live, and the sacrifices that come with our choices and actions. Yes, the show asks a lot of its viewers, but that's because it deals with convoluted, contemporary issues that we haven't quite figured out how to resolve yet.