Honestly, by the time Major Crimes season four rolled around in 2015, the show was finally shaking off the ghost of The Closer. It’s a hard thing to do. Brenda Leigh Johnson was a force of nature, but James Duff and his writing team realized that Major Crimes couldn't just be a carbon copy with a different lead. Season four is where the show really leans into the "team" aspect while simultaneously putting Captain Sharon Raydor through an absolute emotional ringer. If you’re looking for the moment the series stopped being a spinoff and started being a heavyweight procedural in its own right, this is it.
It’s messy. It’s dense. It’s occasionally heartbreaking.
The Shift From Case-of-the-Week to Long-Form Drama
When the season kicked off with "A Rose is a Rose," it felt like business as usual. The squad was dealing with a double homicide during a home robbery. But the writers were planting seeds for much larger arcs that would span 23 episodes—the longest season in the show's history. This wasn't just about catching the bad guy before the credits rolled. Season four introduced the concept of the "five-episode arc" toward the end, specifically the "Hindsight" saga, which fundamentally changed how TNT handled the pacing of the show.
The show's DNA changed here. We stopped looking just at the evidence and started looking at the systemic failures of the justice system in Los Angeles. It’s gritty. You’ve got the squad dealing with everything from high-end car thefts to the dark underbelly of the modeling industry. But through it all, the backbone of the season is the internal growth of the characters.
Mary McDonnell’s portrayal of Raydor reached a new level of nuance. She’s no longer the "Darth Vader of Justice" that we saw in the early days of The Closer. She's a mother now—literally. The adoption of Rusty Beck is finalized, and that shifts the stakes. Every time Sharon goes into the field, there’s a kid at home who finally has a stable life, and the fear of losing that stability hangs over the season like a heavy fog. It's subtle, but it's there in every look she gives the squad.
Rusty Beck and the Alice Herrera Mystery
You can't talk about Major Crimes season four without talking about Rusty. Some fans find him polarizing, but you’ve got to admit his arc in this season is some of the most compelling television the show ever produced. Rusty isn't just a witness anymore. He’s a budding journalist. His obsession with the "Alice Herrera" case—an unidentified girl found dead in a dumpster—drives a massive chunk of the narrative.
👉 See also: Is Heroes and Villains Legit? What You Need to Know Before Buying
This wasn't just a plot device to give Graham Patrick Martin something to do. It served a dual purpose. First, it mirrored Rusty's own past as a discarded kid on the streets. Second, it allowed the show to explore the concept of "The Unidentified." While the Major Crimes division dealt with high-profile murders, Rusty was the voice for the person no one cared about.
The payoff is brutal. When we finally find out who Alice really was—Marianne Wallace—it’s not a moment of triumph. It’s a moment of profound sadness. It highlights a theme that recurs throughout season four: the people we lose are often the ones we failed to protect long before the crime even happened. The tension between Rusty’s pursuit of the story and Sharon’s desire to keep him safe creates a beautiful, friction-filled dynamic that feels incredibly real. Families fight. They disagree about ethics. They worry.
The "Hindsight" Arc: A Masterclass in Escalation
The final five episodes of the season represent a massive gamble for a procedural. "Hindsight" parts 1 through 5 took a single cold case—a double homicide from years prior—and exploded it. We’re talking about the revival of the "Raw 7" gang plotline, the return of Reverend Price, and a deep dive into the corruption that can fester within the LAPD and the District Attorney's office.
It’s complicated. You've got:
- A shooting that kills a young girl and a mother.
- The realization that the gun used is linked to an old case handled by Sanchez.
- The reappearance of Mark Hickman, played with a delightful, oily grit by Jason Gedrick.
Hickman is the perfect foil for the squad. He’s an ex-cop with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Hollywood sign. His presence forces characters like Andy Flynn and Tao to confront their own pasts. It’s not pretty. The season doesn't shy away from the fact that "the good guys" often make mistakes that have life-altering consequences for the people they serve.
✨ Don't miss: Jack Blocker American Idol Journey: What Most People Get Wrong
The pacing of these five episodes is breathless. It’s one of the few times the show felt like a prestige cable drama (think The Wire or Bosch) rather than a standard network procedural. The mystery isn't solved by a magical piece of DNA evidence found in the last five minutes. It’s solved through grueling, frustrating door-knocking and file-searching.
Realism and the Technical Side of the Law
One of the things James Duff always insisted on was the "Deal." Major Crimes is centered on the idea that the justice system is a marketplace. Season four doubles down on this. We see Chief Taylor and Deputy District Attorney Emma Rios (and later Hobbs) constantly weighing the cost of a trial versus the certainty of a plea bargain.
It's a cynical view of justice, but it's an honest one. The season shows us that "the truth" is often less important to the state than "the conviction." Watching Sharon navigate this—trying to remain a person of integrity while working within a machine that demands compromise—is the show's greatest strength.
The Personal Lives of the Squad
We also got some much-needed breathing room for the supporting cast. Provenza, the lovable curmudgeon played by G.W. Bailey, finally finds some semblance of happiness with Patrice Perry. It’s hilarious and touching. Seeing the man who once lived in a cramped apartment surrounded by ex-wife alimony checks actually fall in love is a highlight of the season.
Then there’s Andy Flynn. Tony Denison gets some heavy lifting this year as Flynn deals with significant health scares. The burgeoning romance between Sharon and Andy (often dubbed "Shandy" by the fans) is handled with a maturity rarely seen on TV. There’s no teenage angst here. It’s two adults who respect each other, navigating the complexities of dating a co-worker while dealing with physical limitations and aging.
🔗 Read more: Why American Beauty by the Grateful Dead is Still the Gold Standard of Americana
- Flynn’s health crisis provides the catalyst for Sharon to admit her feelings.
- Provenza’s wedding serves as the emotional anchor for the season finale.
- Sykes’ growth as she starts to take more initiative, even when it puts her at odds with the veterans.
Why This Season Still Ranks High
Looking back, Major Crimes season four was the peak of the show's procedural-meets-serialized storytelling. It managed to balance the "fun" of the banter between Provenza and Buzz with the soul-crushing reality of the crimes they investigated. It didn't feel the need to be "edgy" for the sake of it; the drama came from the characters' choices.
The season also benefited from a stellar guest cast. Beyond Jason Gedrick, we saw incredible performances from people like Kathe Mazur (Andrea Hobbs) and Ransford Doherty (Kendall). The show built a world that felt lived-in. The hallways of the LAPD felt like a real workplace where people have been annoyed by each other for twenty years.
How to Get the Most Out of a Rewatch
If you’re diving back into season four, or watching it for the first time, don't just focus on the "who-dunnit." Look at the "how-it-affects-them."
Pay attention to:
- The background banter: Some of the best writing in the show happens in the squad room when they aren't talking about the case.
- The framing of Sharon: Notice how the directors use her office glass to show her both "among" the team and "separated" by her rank.
- Rusty’s growth: Compare his confidence in the "Hindsight" arc to his skittishness in season one. It’s a masterclass in long-term character development.
For those looking to truly understand the legacy of this show, the best next step is to watch the "Hindsight" five-parter as a standalone movie. It holds up remarkably well. You can see the threads of modern crime storytelling—where the system is just as much a villain as the killer—being woven together here.
Once you finish the season, look into the real-world LAPD protocols that the show consulted on; the "S.O.B." (Special Operations Bureau) isn't just a TV invention, and the way the show handles the bureaucracy of search warrants and the "Murder Book" is surprisingly accurate to California law. Moving into season five, the stakes only get higher, but season four remains the blueprint for how to do a long-form crime drama correctly.