Pubdate: Fri, 4 Apr 2008 Source: Record, The (Kitchener, CN ON) Copyright: 2008 The Record Contact: http://www.therecord.com/ Details: http://www.mapinc.org/media/225 Author: Joel Rubinoff WIPE THE CRUMBS OFF YOUR FLAK JACKETS, GUYS My issue with DEA (11 p.m. on Spike), a reality show tracking the clandestine activities of elite agents from the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration, is that despite foreboding promises by the show's portentous narrator, nothing actually happens. "It's one of the most dangerous jobs in the world," booms the disembodied overseer as the camera pans over flak-jacketed drug crusaders fiddling boyishly with high-tech pistols. "From the poppy fields of the Middle East and jungles of Columbia to our city streets, agents of the DEA battle cold-blooded criminals who will do anything to protect their global drug empires!" This battle, as far as I can tell, involves a lot of sitting around in unmarked vans, eavesdropping on cellphone calls and -- probably more representative -- joshing convivially about snack foods. "Give me one of your crackers!" Rick (Woody) Gatewood tells a fellow agent as they kill time between busts. "Let me have a sip of your water . . . make sure there's nothing floating in it this time!" Har, har. This is what the American public is paying for in a 35-year-old war on drugs that, frankly, seems in no danger of being won anytime soon. No matter. There's a sanctimonious sense of purpose as these burly, bearded he-men muse indulgently about the selfless sacrifices required to put things right in the land of freedom and opportunity, although nothing on screen suggests any such thing, even when the narrator announces, "Next on DEA: an undercover meeting is suddenly compromised and agents' lives are on the line!" Wow, I thought, lives are on the line? This sounds intense -- an unexpected glitch that could lead to tragedy. And their cover was blown? Except for the fact their honking big minivan looks like an Apollo moon rocket in the neighbourhood alley they're using as a hiding place, I don't see how this could happen. So it was with some amusement that I watched a suspicious bystander approach the team's van like a teacher confronting unruly teenagers making armpit farts, demanding to know what the heck they were doing. "We're from Channel 7 doing a thing on dilapidated buildings and cleaning up the alleys," stammers Gatewood, sounding like the biggest liar since Pinocchio. The man looks unconvinced. "You got a business card?" Gatewood avoids eye contact. "No." Good cover, guys. Way to deflect attention. I'm sure he doesn't suspect a thing. And then -- wait for it -- the police radio crackles to life. "You know I got my nine and my hustle!" crows a two-bit pusher, unaware she's been bugged. "And I'm good at it -- and just keep it real!" I have no idea what she's saying, but the cops monitoring her conversation evidently take this as a signal to put their snacks away, wipe the crumbs off their flak jackets and prepare "to risk their lives to take down an armed dope dealer." That may be, but all we actually see is a bunch of guys with guns banging in the front door and -- after a swift cut to handcuffed suspects face down on the lawn -- recounting their incredible feats of heroism. "It was a tense situation," insists John Greer. "But she decided to drop her gun and nobody was hurt." You know what's gonna be a tense situation? Asking U.S. Congress to cough up more dough for drug enforcement after this farcical attempt at propaganda gives all cops a bad name. - --- MAP posted-by: Richard Lake