This is the first of two essays I wrote in 2001, which I have recreated for the purposes of illustrating my point in The Principle Always Applies. So keep in mind that “modern” here means twenty years ago as of the time of writing, and my reflections on dated material are now as distant between then and now as this show was to my younger self when writing this piece in the first place.

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Review

If I was to make the same kind of over-inflated, indulgent, and bombastic remark about Calderone’s Return, Part II, that Francis Ford Coppola made about Apocalypse Now, it would be: ‘this show isn’t about the 1980s; it is the 1980s.’ Of course, it isn’t, but it serves as a useful overture to the style and substance of Miami Vice. Television, because of its particularly populist, disposable nature, marks itself in eras of fashion even more distinctly than cinema. From the supposedly to-die-for clothing (and people do die in them), the artwork, right down to the Michael Mann Productions logo, Calderone’s Return, Part II, is infested by pastels. And pastels were only ever trendy in the ‘80s. 

Television programs, like films, inevitably owe much to their predecessors, and for all its schlock-factor to modern eyes, there is a clear style to Miami Vice that has had an effect on the way detective stories have been told on screen. These guys aren’t hard-boiled; they’re too mischievous for that, even if they are out for vengeance. It’s superior, at least in terms of style and direction, to contemporaries such as the A-Team. Television tends to age with little grace, and even Miami Vice is no exception.

The opening sequence, both an introduction to the show and the first thing seen, is in many ways indicative of the show itself. Fast-paced, sequential shots show location first and foremost; beach, flamingos, dog and horse racing, high-rise buildings, and, most prominently, lots and lots of bikini-clad women. After all, what is Florida if not something to ogle? Even though Calderone’s Return is set somewhere in Bermuda, it is the same cheesy, tropical “paradise” which is much of the focus.

Perhaps the most poignant device used in Calderone’s Return is the travel montage, two of which book-end as opening and closing sequences of the show. Each consists of Sonny’s speedboat thrashing through vast expanses of ocean, backgrounded by vivid (almost pastel) blue skies or soothing (almost pastel) orange sunsets. They serve the purpose of summarising previous events, either of past shows, or recounting events just transpired, intertwined with the scenic vistas and that bloody bouncing boat. The sequences are effective, if a little droll and superficial, though Tubbs’ perpetual look of intense nausea does not help sell the idea that these two travel by sea frequently.

The banter between the protagonists—Sonny and Tubbs—is actually quite witty, and though Calderone’s Return, Part II, is only one of a series, I could not detect any generic, over-developed one-liners or corny context-related gags. Sonny’s most distinguishable feature is his ridiculous hair; height of ‘80s cool it may have been, it’s still clearly blow-dried beyond belief. Though he seems to call the shots, it is his partner Tubbs who gets the girl; though how anyone ever managed to communicate effectively between so many dramatic pauses (interposed with little ‘giggles’ of electronic music) defies any logic I can construct.

Perhaps it is a testament to how either acting methods or social interactions have changed in as little as twenty years that Miami Vice seems to be full of stale exchanges. Many are the moments of exaggerated stiffness or, conversely, interaction of such an over-zealous nature as to border on the laughable. Tubbs’ romance with Calderone’s daughter, Angelina, is almost unbelievably successful, via his liberal application of what evidently passed for charm in the ‘80s; a relentless assault of flattery and extended pauses in dialogue.

Too often, questions are raised, but not answered; why does the bar-tender look middle-aged, but insist on wearing clothes fit for a teen bum? How did Sonny and Tubbs so easily blow off their superior and—despite proceeding to butcher their enemies against his specific request—escape any legal or professional retribution for their ignorance to police protocol and process? I didn’t see a single badge. And, most importantly, why was it necessary for Sonny to sweep the room with his machine-gun when he was firing at just one man? Why then, it follows, was it necessary for Calderone to drown as well as suffer the indignity of his rather flaccid manner of death?

Despite its flaws, Calderone’s Return, Part II, is an enjoyable, if brief, foray back into the land of palm tree ensembles, pink and aqua titling, and treble-heavy, bass-less synthesised music. As long as it stays just that—a brief foray—I can enjoy it for its nostalgic value.

The Revisit can be found here.