
In the premiere of Donald Gloverâs FX series Atlanta, a deliberate anti-show, his broke, industrious protagonist Earnest Marks tries to gain a favor from a white friend who works at a local radio station. Failing at the power of persuasion, Earnest tells Dave, âIâm not âevery dude,ââ a statement we know to be false. Because Earnest is precisely that. âUh, you kind of are,â Dave responds. Atlanta, in a nutshell, is Gloverâs proof that a story about a black everyman within the rarely depicted blue-collar framework of hip-hop can be just as interesting as any other.
To achieve that goal, Atlanta had to be intentionally sparse. Instead of blaring drama or drenching sarcasm, the show packs its leisurely paced episodes (the first two aired last night) with loaded monotone statements, blank stares and weighted glances. (Even in its previous trailers, nothing really happens.) Implicit in these moments is deeper commentary about rap, capitalism, guns, love, masculinity, survival, systems, cultural tipping points and black identityâin a deceptively mild-mannered package.
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The initial four episodes (provided as screeners via FX) feel designed for the jaded, excruciatingly observant rap and/or internet obsessor who loves and criticizes these cultures with equal fervor. Like us, the material takes a stab at figuring out what it means to traffic in brokeness, blackness and rap shit with subtle levels of seriousness and cynicism. It masters that sweet spot where nothing and everything happens. Dually, the show is as much a wellspring for TV artistes who fish for offbeat content. Itâs as good as everyoneâs saying.
At the center of this drama about the exploration of struggle in a big city where people feel small is a penniless black dude (Earnest, or Earn for short) who reconnects with his estranged cousin Alfred (Brian Tyree Henry)âan aspiring rapper nicknamed Paper Boi, who notes resentfully that Earn hasnât spoken to him since his momâs funeral. Together with Paper Boiâs friend Darius (Keith Stanfield, who plays the sidekick role stupidly well), they seek out some version of fame. Paper Boi initially rejects Earnâs offer to become his managerââI need Malcolm. You too Martin,â he saysâbefore eventually caving. It makes sense that a show like this comes from the mind of Glover, a Georgia-raised actor with a brand as an internet weirdo comedian who moonlights as Childish Gambino, a rapper who makes a living as a contentious black fringe player popular amongst the nebulously-defined hipster set. Those are the divisive sensibilities that color this series made in Gloverâs straight-faced image. Its point, it seems, is to make viewers settle in and parse all the seemingly small things in life, because life and relationships are really about those middle moments.
As such, the lines are designed to be read between. In Episode 1, when Earnâs boy Dave recaps a story about Flo Rida, he retells it twice, first to Earnest, a black man to whom he feels safe saying âniggaâ (the punchline is âReally, nigga?â) because Earnest seems safe. Earn later forces Dave to tell the story again when theyâre in company with Paper Boi and Darius. The second time, as you might guess, Dave neglects the ânigga.â The scene lets the story tell itself. âI donât know, man, I like Flo Rida,â says Darius, confounded. âMoms need to enjoy rap, too.â
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These first four episodes find smart ways to comment on and toy with clichĂŠ through observation. In Episode 2, after landing in jail, Earn finds himself in the same room as a man who drinks toilet water and wonders out loud, âWhy is he in here every week? He look like he need help.â In another scene, when a neighborhood boy imitates Paper Boi by slinging a water gun on the sidewalk, the implications are understood. Paper Boi pops up to advise the boy that, âShooting people isnât cool.â The boyâs mom is already sidetracked, though, more focused on getting a picture with a future rap star.

Lack of bombast is precisely what makes the series pop. Minimalist strokes exist because of a self-awareness in the writing and execution. Whatâs potentially frustrating to people who want absolute theses is that whatever statements are made arenât decisive and that the show is content to frolic in muddiness, presenting ideas for the public to dissect on its own. Itâs fun to watch nonetheless. And visually, the scenery is just as thoughtful and patient as the content, with wide snapshots of Atlanta blocks and overheads of building tops and freeways, with a dirty color contrast. Just as comforting is that the visuals are overlaid with ambient sounds of a city thatâs full of life and yet not often depicted substantially on TV. Mid-commute, over the droning hum of a bus engine, Earn tells-slash-asks a strange, black-sage-archetype passenger, âI just keep losing. I mean, some people just supposed to lose? For balance in the universe? I mean, like, are there just some people on Earth who supposed to be here just to make it easier for the winners.â You donât get the sense that Earn is âsmarterâ than his friends, but he is an adjacent outsider. Paper Boi is perceptive, and so is his right-hand man Darius, though the latterâs layers are willfully hidden under the pretense that heâs high and loopy all the time. For a generation that favors over-explanation, Atlanta consciously plays with, and against, type in this way.
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Itâs probably predictable to wish for more interaction between Earn and Van (Zazie Beetz), but Iâll do it anyway. The mother of his daughter (who lets him stay in her place) and the showâs only female supporting character, thus far sheâs seen primarily in passing. Their relationship is secondary to the storyline about him and his rap friends. When we do get those moments, though, thereâs clear history behind whatâs said, even if thereâs no visible drama. You can tell they used to be something good and that Earn wants some of that back. âYou know, youâre lucky that I like corny ass dudes,â she tells him.
In conversation among friends recently, the Netflix series Love came up, namely the fact that itâs a simple take on a rom-com about two terrible, regular white people who may or may not fall in love. Itâs truly a show about nothing. Itâs been renewed for a second season. For anyone who wishes for a down home show about contemporary black life, Atlanta is something reliably special.