When you hear the name Dick Wolf, you probably think of sprawling cop dramas like Law & Order or Chicago P.D.—shows that have been staples of TV for decades, delivering gritty tales of justice with a side of procedural comfort food. So, when Amazon Prime Video dropped On Call, the latest from Wolf Entertainment, expectations were high for something that’d hit hard, keep you hooked, and maybe even shake up the formula. This time, it’s a half-hour police drama set in Long Beach, California, following a veteran training officer and her rookie partner as they tackle the streets. Eight episodes, all streaming now, promise a lean, adrenalized ride. But does it deliver the goods, or is it just another beat cop beatdown? Let’s dive in.
First off, the setup. On Call kicks things off with a punch—literally. In the opening minutes, Officer Maria Delgado (Monica Raymund) takes a bullet to the neck during a routine traffic stop. It’s a brutal, no-nonsense start that sets the tone: this isn’t your granddad’s cop show. From there, we meet Traci Harmon (Troian Bellisario), a seasoned training officer still reeling from Delgado’s death—she was her former trainee, after all. Enter Alex Diaz (Brandon Larracuente), the fresh-faced rookie stepping into the squad car with Harmon. He’s green, he’s eager, and he’s got a chip on his shoulder from a family that doesn’t trust cops. Together, they’re tasked with patrolling Long Beach, responding to calls, and chasing down Delgado’s killer across the season. It’s a tight premise, one that could’ve been a slam dunk for a quick, punchy series.
The half-hour format is the big hook here. Unlike the usual hour-long procedurals that can drag with filler, On Call keeps it snappy. Each episode feels like a burst of action—think less chit-chat over coffee and more sirens blaring, tires squealing. The pacing is relentless, almost like the show’s daring you to look away. You’ve got domestic disputes, overdoses, gang shootouts, and a tent city murder scene that’s as grimy as it gets. It’s the kind of chaos that keeps your pulse up, and the short runtime means there’s no fluff to bog it down. You’re in, you’re out, and you’re on to the next call. For guys who like their entertainment fast and furious, this could be a win.
Visually, On Call leans hard into a gritty, almost documentary-style vibe. The show mixes traditional handheld shots with bodycam footage, dash cams, and even the occasional cell phone angle. It’s a bold choice, and when it works, it’s electric. A chase through a street takeover feels like you’re riding shotgun, the shaky cam and timestamp adding a raw edge that’s more Cops than CSI. The Long Beach setting—think sun-bleached streets and seedy underbellies—grounds it in a real, lived-in world. But sometimes the gimmick overstays its welcome. Random zooms and constant switches to bodycam POV can pull you out of the story, making it feel more like a tech demo than a drama. It’s cool in bursts, but it doesn’t always serve the narrative.
The meat of the show is Harmon and Diaz. Bellisario’s Traci is the standout—a tough, no-BS cop with a tight bun and tighter morals. She’s the kind of character you’d want watching your back in a bar fight: steely, principled, but with just enough cracks to keep her human. Her arc wrestling with Delgado’s death and the department’s old-school politics gives the show some heart. Larracuente’s Diaz, meanwhile, is the wide-eyed newbie learning the ropes. He’s got a backstory—rough upbringing, cop-hating mom—that adds some depth, but he’s often stuck playing the straight man to Harmon’s grit. Their chemistry is solid, though. There’s no forced romance (thank God), just a mentor-student vibe that builds into something real by the end. You can feel Diaz growing into his badge, and Harmon softening her edges, even if it’s subtle.
Supporting players round out the precinct. Eriq La Salle’s Sergeant Lasman is the grizzled vet who pines for the days when cops could “handle business” without all this “woke” nonsense. He’s a caricature at times, but La Salle sells it with a scowl and a swagger. Lori Loughlin’s Lieutenant Bishop is underused, popping in to bark orders or look stern, but she’s a steady presence. Rich Ting as Officer Chen gets a few moments to shine, especially in a tense motel raid. The cast isn’t huge, but it doesn’t need to be—the focus stays on the streets, not the station.
Story-wise, On Call splits its time between the day-to-day calls and the overarching hunt for Delgado’s killer. The episodic stuff is hit-or-miss. Some calls—like a domestic dispute turned ugly or a gangbanger’s severed head in a tent—stick with you. Others, like yet another overdose or a noise complaint, blur together. The serialized arc, though, is where it picks up steam. By episode five, “Not Your Savior,” the stakes ramp up with a harrowing call that tests Harmon and Diaz’s trust. The finale delivers a satisfying showdown, tying up loose ends without feeling too neat. It’s not groundbreaking, but it’s got enough juice to keep you watching.
Where On Call stumbles is in its ambition. It wants to say something about modern policing—bodycams, public scrutiny, the clash between old-school brutality and new-school ethics. Harmon’s by-the-book approach butts heads with Lasman’s fists-first philosophy, while Diaz grapples with what “bad guys” even means in a gray world. There’s potential for real meaty debate here, especially with policing under a microscope these days. But the show doesn’t dig deep. It raises questions—why do cops do this job? Who are they serving?—then shrugs them off for another chase scene. The half-hour format doesn’t help; there’s no room to breathe, let alone unpack the big stuff. It’s less a conversation and more a loud “cops have it tough, okay?”
The writing’s a mixed bag too. When it’s good, it’s sharp—Harmon’s “I’ve got your back” to Diaz feels earned, not cheesy. But there’s clunky dialogue that lands like a lead balloon. Lasman’s “back in my day” rants feel ripped from a boomer meme, and some of Diaz’s earnest lines—like “I guess you’ve got to define bad guys these days”—sound like they’re trying too hard to be profound. It’s not quote-worthy stuff you’ll be reciting at the pub, but it gets the job done.
For a Dick Wolf joint, On Call is surprisingly unpolished. That’s not a bad thing—it’s rougher, swearier, and bloodier than his network fare. There’s nudity, gore, and F-bombs aplenty, which gives it an edge you won’t find on NBC. A scene with a strung-out addict bleeding out or a gang shootout in a motel doesn’t pull punches. It’s not gratuitous, either—it feels like the real, messy underside of the job. If you’re into that raw vibe, it’s a plus. If you want polish, look elsewhere.
So, is On Call worth your time? It’s a quick binge—four hours total—and that’s its biggest strength. You can knock it out in a night, no commitment required. The action keeps you locked in, the leads are easy to root for, and the visuals give it a fresh twist. But it’s not a game-changer. It’s too shallow to leave a mark and too familiar to stand out in a sea of cop shows. If you’re a sucker for sirens and squad cars, it’s a solid weekend watch. If you want twists that’ll blow your mind or characters you’ll lose sleep over, it’s not that. It’s End of Watch lite—gritty, fast, and fun enough, but it won’t haunt you.
The real kicker? It’s got potential. Harmon and Diaz’s dynamic could grow into something special, and the Long Beach beat has stories to tell. If it gets a second season, a bit more depth and a tighter script could elevate it from “meh” to “must-see.” For now, it’s a decent shift on the streets—nothing more, nothing less. Grab a beer, hit play, and enjoy the ride. Just don’t expect it to change your life.
