Terrible cast. Terrible acting. Terrible script. The only thing good about this junk series is the backdrop of the old 42nd Street between Broadway and 8th Avenue, which was a wonderfully energized, honky-tonk place to go at any time between noon and six AM -- and the sex aspect being pushed was in no way as prominent as the series is making it seem. There usually was a hooker or two, typically tired-looking junkies, strolling mainly on Eighth Avenue, but the main attraction for me and lots of others was the movies that lined both sides of the block.
Forty-Second Street during the pre and early tv era was a movie-lovers candy store. With a dozen theaters, each showing two movies and some showing three, and with the average ticket price from fifty cents to a dollar, the only difficulty was deciding which of so many really good movies one wanted to see.
So I watch The Deuce because it's there, but I really wouldn't care if I never see another episode.
I will say I'm surprised to see how unattractive Maggie Gillenhall really is without a lot of makeup and artful photography.