Dial File: Renewing 'Law' is in order

"God bless those who expect nothing, for they shall not be disappointed."

-- Gift shop philosophizing/ TV critic mantra

Armed with that Hallmark sentiment -- which rates as goose bump-level anticipation among TV critics -- nearly a decade ago, this freshman dyspeptic dove into a marathon preview/review of the 1990-'91 TV season, my first as a full-time faultfinder ... uh, TV writer (as opposed to the dabbler into which I've devolved):

One very long day's journey into night of poppin' new season pilots in and out of the VCR like some electronic Pez dispenser: "Parker Lewis Can't Lose," "Uncle Buck," "Cop Rock," "WIOU," "The Fanelli Boys," "The Flash," "American Dreamer," "Lenny." (Priceless memories, huh?; hum Paul Anka's Kodak song quietly to yourselves here.)

I soon found myself frantically wishing I could forge my doctor's signature on Prozac prescriptions. (And discovering, to my chagrin, that in this line of work, you don't have to find fault -- it finds you.)

But after hours of eye candy came ... brain food. I stumbled across something -- smart, brisk, gritty, realistic, riveting -- called "Law & Order."

Peeking out from under garbage was gold -- potentially controversial gold. Remember, this was 1990 -- "NYPD Blue" had yet to wriggle Dennis Franz's fleshy fanny -- when the hot-button hysteria over "vulgar" TV content had zoomed to one of its periodic fever pitches, fueled by potty-mouthed kids overrunning the quaintly antiquated "family hour." (A kid muttering "you suck" on "Uncle Buck" made TV page headlines nationwide.)

The "Law & Order" pilot -- which aired at 10 p.m. and was entitled to more leeway -- contained this quip, quipped by Det. Mike Logan (original co-star Chris Noth) when he finds a male corpse clad only in, shall we say, super-snug skivvies: "Reminds me of a cheap hotel. No ballroom."

"Vulgar! Lewd! Unnecessary!" critics cried. "Sophisticated! Hip! Cutting Edge!" NBC execs counter-cried.

That nonissue got noticed. The real issue was ignored for seven seasons: In a TV world still woozy from the weirdness of "Twin Peaks," 1990's blazing comet du jour, NBC had produced an understated series with depth, respect for its audience and, most gratifying, intelligence.

These were my thoughts, conveyed in a New York newspaper on the day of the "Law & Order" debut, Sept. 13, 1990: "Deliberate, low-key and graced by the common man's class, 'Law & Order' is so quietly excellent that it could easily be overlooked in the noise of the new season. That would be worse than any crime committed on this drama."

Nearly nine years, countless A&E reruns, continuing first-run episodes, a softball team's worth of cast replacements and a shamefully-delayed Best Drama Series Emmy later, it is supremely satisfying to find my fears so stunningly unfulfilled.

"Law & Order" (10 p.m. Wednesdays, Channel 3) was recently renewed for another three years -- through the 2001-2002 season -- at the end of which it will tie for third longest-running series ever (12 seasons) with "Hawaii Five-O." It would trail only "Gunsmoke" (20) and "Dallas," "Knots Landing" and "Bonanza" (14 each). Even Julia Roberts -- gal pal of current co-star Ben Bratt -- will grace the series on the May 5 sweeps outing.

NBC has also commissioned a spinoff, "Sex Crimes: A Law & Order Series," the first branch of what show creator Dick Wolf hopes will be a family tree of series sprouting from the seeds of "Law & Order," a la "Star Trek."

"If 'Sex Crimes' works, hopefully NBC will want to try another one the following year," Wolf told the trade publication Electronic Media. "I hate to sound like I want to engulf and devour, but I would love 'Law & Order' to become the 'Dateline' of drama on TV."

Engulf and devour away, Dick. And enjoy the belated riches rightly bestowed on a series that didn't bust through the wall of media indifference and storm the national consciousness -- and the upper echelons of the Nielsen elite (it ranked ninth last week) -- until its EIGHTH season. That's a sensational survive-and-conquer tale on a TV battlefield littered with the corpses of three-week cancellations.

Cream rises to the top -- even on TV, so often brimming with sour milk.

(It should be noted that the bifurcated "Law & Order" concept -- cops collar criminals, courtroom counselors cook 'em -- is a twist on a setup concocted by ABC's little-remembered "Arrest and Trial" during the '63-'64 season. In that predecessor, Ben Gazzara was the top cop and Chuck Connors was the defense attorney determined to uncage Gazzara's jailbirds.)

Why does this critic feel such a bond with this show? There are surface explanations: We were virginal TV newcomers together and, nearly a decade later, we're both still here, now distinctly un-virginal; we were both Big Apple-born and still sport dat Noooo Yaaawk accent (theirs is Manhattan-based, mine is 100 percent Bronx); and my memorable (for me more so than for them) 1993 visit to the show's pier-side set along the Hudson River.

My most vivid memories of that visit: accidentally tripping then co-star Jill Hennessey in the production office hallway; being studiously avoided by stately Steven Hill; wandering through the squad room and into the interrogation room set with its drab, vomit-green walls, vicariously feeling like a lowlife-junkie-suspect-snitch (none of which are far removed from TV critic); and watching former co-star/Renaissance man Michael Moriarty strut around his dressing room in his Fruit of the Looms, expounding on his latest novel and jazz album. (Alas, lounging around Hennessey's dressing room produced no similarly un-attired moments.)

Today -- with Bratt, Jerry Orbach, Sam Waterston, Angie Harmon, S. Epatha Merkerson and the ever-curmudgeonly Hill filling the principal police/prosecutorial roles -- "Law & Order" is as compelling as the day it debuted. It remains the only show among those regularly taped by this fan that warrants repeat hits on the rerun button -- not for multiple viewing of episodes, like some "South Park"-style cult phenomenon, but simply to understand, to appreciate, to dissect a single episode, scene by scene, keeping pace with its smartly plotted, highly nuanced narratives. And that is its eternal appeal.

So much TV is about watching without thinking. Entertainment without edification. Images without intelligence. Sensation without perception. "Law & Order" is a welcome mental challenge each week, an ode to the power of thought. Beyond inviting us to puzzle out its provocative plot twists, it is rife with candid insights about our complex, imperfect judicial system. It offers no easy answers -- and plenty of hard lessons -- about legality and morality in an America conflicted over both.

It's TV that asks us to think, happily disproving the claim that the phrase is an oxymoron.

Keep your Must-See TV. "Law & Order" is Must-Think TV. And I Must Say that it's still brilliant TV.

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