Jerry Orbach, right, starred in Law & Order for most of its existence, until his death in 2004. Photograph: Jessica Burstein/AP
People rave about The Sopranos being the greatest drama on TV since Kenneth Tynan let slip his taboo-breaking profanity, but if you ask me, a show so formulaic Delia Smith could include it in her next collection takes the crown. This show is Law & Order - and it's under threat.
Despite the intense inventiveness that has seen it through 400 episodes and 16 years, Law & Order now finds its head on the televisual chopping block. Its audience in America has slowly been dropping off for the past four years, apparently drawn away by the contorted hokum of Lost and Heroes. Law & Order is not driven by their twisting multiple plotlines or 20-episode story arcs - each is a perfect miniature confection of blood and handcuffs.
Its recipe is tried and true: in each episode, a murder in New York is discovered before the credits; the police investigate and finger a suspect; bang on the 30-minute mark, the scene switches to the courtroom and the drama plays out, with an array of twists and turns. If the formula is eternal, the contents constantly vary: from crimes of passion and of cash, to wives who snap after domestic abuse, each episode contrives a brilliant, complex scenario.
Take the episode where the detectives couldn't determine which one of a pair of criminals had fired the gun used in a murder. Instead of setting them loose, the prosecutors ended up convicting both for murder although it was physically impossible for both to have pulled the trigger. The legal complications made you wish for a legal degree while the metaphysical implications had me calling out for an aspirin.
The show is also famous for ripping stories from the headlines: soon an episode based on Anna Nicole Smith's death will air, and I wouldn't be surprised if Bob Woolmer turns up next season.
One of the best things about Law & Order is the cast - although constantly rotating, it is inevitably brilliant. For most of its existence, until his recent death, it had the gruff, wry Jerry Orbach as the senior detective, and it still has the incomparable Sam Waterston, once a Woody Allen regular, as the principled chief prosecutor. The associate roles have been filled by - among others - Sex and the City's Mr Big, Chris Noth, and Oscar-winner Dianne Wiest.
Law & Order should be kept on air not just because it is the most tightly plotted, most intellectually demanding crime show on television, but - crucially - because it holds up a mirror to our times. As well as the headlines, which are recycled for the show, it deals with burning issues: one week an illegal immigrant is found dead, another the Patriot Act is invoked to protect a government official. For all The Sopranos' brilliance, it is just another family drama (albeit the family is the mafia).
Nothing else in fictional television comes close to Law & Order. It has all the strengths of the best drama - courtroom tension, striking plots, powerful characters - with elements of investigative news programmes, picking up on the outrages and terrors of the world around us. Losing Law & Order would be like losing the crime-fighting, socially responsible government we wish we had.
