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Crime is consistent. After all, if we look back to the world\u2019s oldest \u201ccriminal codes\u201d (the Code of Ur-Nammu\u2014circa 2100 to 2050 B.C.; the Laws of Eshnunna\u2014circa at least 1930 B.C.; the Code of Lipit-Ishtar\u2014circa 1934 to 1924 B.C.; and the Code of Hammurabi\u2014circa 1755 to 1750 B.C.), we see actions such as false charges and testimony, theft, distraint, trespassing, kidnapping, sexual offenses, bodily harm and murder outlawed, with punishment ranging anywhere from a fine, maiming or death. Although there have seemingly always been penalties, crime continues.<\/p>\n
Some may dream of a utopian society in which there is no pain, suffering, hatred, or crime. But since society remains subject to the despair and derangement accompanying vices such as greed and wrath, we will continue to stray from such an ideal. Moreover, as long as humans suffer from addiction and untreated mental health issues, we will continue to see criminal behavior that spans generations. One such example out of the millions is outlined in HBO\u2019s Life of Crime: 1984-2020<\/em>.<\/p>\n Directed by Jon Alpert, Life of Crime: 1984-2020<\/em> is the third installment in a series following criminals in the Newark, New Jersey area. Beginning initially with One Year in a Life of Crime<\/em> (1989) and Life of Crime 2<\/em> (1998), the final chapter has stand-alone value. I approached the documentary without any knowledge of the first two installments with no issue.<\/p>\n The program starts in an almost whimsical fashion: First-time viewers are introduced to Robert Steffey and Freddie Rodriguez, two low-level thieves in New Jersey. They make their living knocking off small-time storefronts with quick grab-and-go exploits. Their disenchantment with the idea of a typical 9-to-5 is clear, and they\u2019re incredibly proud of the amount of money they make reselling the stolen property. As the audience meets the other players in Steffey and Rodriguez\u2019s circumstances\u2014specifically Deliris Vasquez\u2014it\u2019s easy to see these \u201ccriminals\u201d as nothing more than deviants who aren\u2019t out to do physical harm to anyone else, but they end up hurting themselves.<\/p>\n That tenor changes when another character named Mike McGrath is introduced. The initially folly abruptly turns to one of the most challenging scenes of domestic violence I\u2019ve witnessed. The way McGrath physically, mentally and verbally abuses the mother of his unborn child is infuriating to the point I almost stopped the film. The scene is visceral and intensely unhinged. McGrath is ultimately imprisoned, but his introduction and quickly dissipating story arch form a segue into the drug-addled reality of desperation and destruction soon to follow.<\/p>\n The remainder of the film takes an extremely depressing look at the tumultuous turns of drug addiction. The main characters battle with their demons as they enter and leave prison. The audience experiences their ups and downs as they continuously get clean just to backslide again. Nevertheless, it\u2019s easy to see these are not \u201cbad\u201d people; they have bad genetics and bad circumstances that lead to bad choices with bad repercussions.<\/p>\n The documentary is surreal. As we\u2019ve become accustomed to \u201cdocuseries\u201d and \u201cfound footage\u201d vantage points, we forget those forms of moviemaking are relatively recent developments. Consequently, there were times I caught myself viewing the documentary as a fictional account because so much of the footage is almost unbelievable. But that may be the most vital aspect of Life of Crime: 1984-2020<\/em>; to be an active viewer, you must constantly remind yourself that these are real people, and these struggles really occurred (and still do). The protagonists are repeatedly met with disdain and hurdles based on their status as \u201ccriminals.\u201d Even when they try to \u201cdo good,\u201d they still can\u2019t escape the stigma.<\/p>\nA \u2018Life of Crime\u2019<\/h4>\n