THE KNICK: So Much More Than a Darkly Funny Medical Drama

It’s been ten years since the conclusion of one of television’s most perfect series, whose cancellation after only two seasons must be regarded as an irretrievable loss. It is a production verging on masterpiece, virtually free of flaws, and with each episode it ascends to a new level. We are dealing with a premise so exceptional that it cannot be ignored. In this case, a rather overused genre – medical drama – not only was restored to favor, but also transformed into a surprisingly fresh product from which the viewer cannot look away.

Unfortunately, most similar productions remain only halfway toward achieving the greatness of The Knick. They have a successful concept, a solid script, and a good cast, but they fail to conjure the second half of success, namely the execution.

The Knick, thanks to its first season, burst onto the series scene and showed that a good show need not in any way copy the style of HBO productions. It is a complete novelty, in which each element forms a coherent whole that still enchants today. We are, after all, watching a hospital drama set in New York in the year 1900—an era when treatment was based largely on trial and error – mostly error – rather than scientific study, as it is now.

In many respects The Knick is a horror on the small screen, where successive operations and tragedies mirror scenes from slashers.

It is an extraordinary journey to a time when simple procedures could cost a patient their life, when ambulance drivers brawled among themselves to secure wealthier patients, when cocaine was available in every pharmacy, and when the sight of a Black doctor aroused general disgust and scandal.

The series’ creators and writers—Jack Amiel and Michael Begler—have dissected an era in which doctors were not regarded as first points of contact in emergencies but more as magicians whose touch made all ailments vanish, without much thought given to the true cause.

Most fascinating of all, however, is the protagonist, who embodies the well-known antihero motif to its fullest extent. He is an arrogant genius tormented by demons with which he must grapple each day. He is also a talented, ambitious surgeon with an overinflated ego, who spends his nights smoking opium while cocaine and the next cases at work keep him going by day.

He is a star who can afford practically anything, for he possesses not only extraordinary talent but also charisma. Clive Owen, in this role, reached the heights of his craft, giving us an astonishingly multidimensional character. At times he was so irritating that it was unbearable, and in other scenes the viewer could do nothing but root for him to the very end. Moreover, in the second season this character gains a nearly Shakespearean dimension, which unquestionably enhances the entire production.

The series’ concept does not rest solely on its central plot but also superbly develops side stories that are as captivating as the main character’s adventures. The second season steers the narrative so that previously unpopular figures appear in a completely new light to the viewer, and other hospital staff become fully fledged characters rather than mere adjuncts to the main storyline. The series is an extraordinary experience that engrosses the viewer from beginning to end. It also exudes a pervasive, distinctive atmosphere. We have not only masterful camerawork but also scenes that are both unique and enchanting, yet naturalistic and repellent—particularly in their depiction of events in the operating theatre.

Crucially, the director never strikes the same tone twice.

The high production value also stems from the fact that each episode was directed by Steven Soderbergh, who created more of a twenty-hour film than a typical series. One can see the dedication and attention to detail that underpin the entire undertaking, resulting in a breathtaking effect. It is Soderbergh who is the fundamental element of this series—he assembled twenty episodes that are artistry in every conceivable respect. Not to mention the brilliantly executed single-take scenes.

It is also masterful work in lighting—no simple task, given that the action takes place in the year 1900—and in crafting a mood that glides between macabre (all the operations and afflictions) and a kind of mysticism (the drugs fueling Thackery’s life, his demons, and his visions).

Both seasons confirmed my belief that the most important element of the entire production is style, which itself emerges almost as one of the series’ characters. The various figures are nothing more than instruments that Soderbergh uses to tell an extraordinary story through images.

And one might have thought that the second season would be indistinguishable from the first. Nothing could be further from the truth.

The first season concluded with the writers tying up a number of threads, the most important of which ends with Dr. Thackery’s admission to a facility that was an early precursor to what we now call a rehabilitation center. Cocaine had driven his mad passion for surgical experimentation, as well as his quest to discover “cures” for countless ailments, infecting and killing countless New Yorkers in (seemingly) the most macabre ways. In the second season the Knickerbocker Hospital faces fresh problems. The protagonist initially undergoes therapy, but in reality he receives nothing more than Bayer’s “heroin” – yet another detail in the long line of medical facts that Amiel and Begler researched and successfully brought to light in the first season.

The Knick is more than a visual feast. Its screenplay stands out among other productions, its characters evolve, and its performances remain at the highest level. One might think that the creators present only a period drama. Nothing could be further from the truth. It is above all a kind of gallery of personalities from the turn of the nineteenth to the twentieth century, documented by the lens of social inquiry, fueled by their stories and dark humor, and set in a hospital with visionary doctors—who a year later are more inclined to kill you than to save you.