Hollywood and Vino: 'Law & Order' Plays Off Mel Gibson Story

Just in case someone could possibly watch tonight's edition of "Law & Order" on NBC and not figure out that it was "inspired" by last summer's Mel Gibson affair, the episode has been titled "In Vino Veritas," a Latin phrase that Gibson and Diane Sawyer invoked when the TV superstar interviewed the movie superstar on "Good Morning, America."

Gibson scoffed at the expression and its implication that too much booze can cause He Who's Drunk to say things he really means but wouldn't say if sober and self-controlled. That is, just because he screamed vile racist tripe at a Jewish cop who stopped him for reckless driving does not mean, Gibson insisted, that he really believes any of those awful things.

Thus the setup for another ripped-from-the-headlines stunt by "Law & Order" executive producer Dick Wolf, who's made more money chasing ambulances than any lawyer in the land. To add still more sizzle to the episode (which airs at 10 tonight on Channel 4), Wolf has given the Gibsonesque role to another Hollywood bad boy: former leading man and founding father of "Saturday Night Live" Chevy Chase. And you can be glad you're not.

The combination of a topical tale and a casting coup gives this installment of the series an even sharper edge than usual, and though edginess is both an overused term and an overvalued commodity in television, it's quite a feat for a series to be sharp-edged in its 17th season. Only "The Simpsons" can logically make a comparable claim.

So how close is the made-up story to the real thing? The hour opens with cops stopping a car being erratically driven down a dark city street. In the driver's seat they find Chevy Chase as Mitch Carroll, faded star of yesteryear who, we later learn, hasn't exactly been setting records in box office grosses or Nielsen ratings for the past few years.

This angle makes it even more audacious for Chase to take the role. He's still a hugely recognizable figure, but his career hasn't been soaring for some time. Those who've read much about the inside history of "Saturday Night Live" (and probably had a whale of a time doing so) know that Chase managed to alienate various generations of "SNL" cast members on those occasions when he returned to his alma mater as host.

Chase gives an effectively corrosive performance, but he does give the impression of holding back rather than letting loose -- perhaps because this is a case in which an actor does not want to hear anyone say he was "born to play" the role, or that he seemed comfortable and natural spewing Mitch Carroll's hate and rage. You could hardly blame an actor for letting the audience know that he is, indeed, acting.

Back in another century, Jerry Lewis got raves for playing an obnoxious talk-show host in Martin Scorsese's "The King of Comedy," but then came backlash from skeptics who said, in effect, "What 'playing'? Lewis was just being himself." In the 1950s, when live drama was as common on TV as "Law & Order" clones are now, Milton Berle shocked the audience with a performance as an obnoxious TV egomaniac whose braying and bullying behind the scenes were strikingly similar to tales long told, and printed, about Berle himself.

Chase may not be upholding a noble tradition here, in other words, but he is walking in large footsteps -- and having no trouble filling them.

Unfortunately, the details of the Gibson affair are used rather glibly by "L&O," partly because the show's format demands a murder. Gibson's assault remained at the verbal, if just barely human, level, but it evolves that Carroll's hatred of Jews, however acquired, increased during a career-crushing run-in with a Jewish actress. Carroll has a 14-year-old son, meanwhile, whose room is decorated with a poster that features a pop group high on the fascist hit-parade.

The actor's first tirade, when he's arrested, goes on for so long that it risks becoming a darkly comic self-parody. Later in the hour, the character actually uses that classic bit of disingenuousness, "Some of my best friends are Jews." Carroll's lawyer is not only Jewish but wears a yarmulke to court. And when Carroll goes on TV to do his de rigueur mea culpa, his questioner is no classy pro like Sawyer but a talk-show host named Barry Bishop who makes a point of his Jewishness.

In a groaningly believable moment of show-biz hypocrisy, the two men hug warmly once the interview is over.

As with other episodes of "Law & Order," and most TV dramas for that matter, tonight's suffers from the speed at which it must rush through exposition and dish out details. With time for commercials, promos and credits removed, "In Vino Veritas" clocks in at just under 43 minutes. That may hardly be on a par with anti-Semitism, but it's an outrage just the same.

On a more amusing note, the show is preceded by the usual on-screen disclaimer: "The following drama is fictional and does not depict an actual person or event." Oh, heaven forbid! Perhaps we should mention at this point that the conclusions reached in this preview were the writer's own and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of this newspaper, its publisher or any of its dear, sweet, wonderful advertisers.

And you can take that to the bank.

Law & Order (60 minutes) airs at 10 p.m. on Channel 4.