100 Favorite Shows: #23 — Atlanta
“Maybe one day we’ll get a good album out of it. A masterpiece.”
When Donald Glover was growing up in Atlanta, Georgia, did he know then that he would eventually create one of television’s most audacious programs that was also based around and titled after the city? Probably not. Besides, most people would have been content with a superstar rap persona (Childish Gambino), a stellar stand-up career, and major roles within 30 Rock and Community. Glover, however, refuses to stop working until he masters perhaps every talent in the world. That includes creating, running, producing, directing, writing, and starring (as Earn Marks) on Atlanta, which debuted in 2016. So far, the bold comedy/drama/horror/anything-he-feels-like FX series has aired two acclaimed seasons (in the first, Glover won an Emmy for acting and for directing) and has two more on the way in 2021. The second arc was Atlanta’s “Robbin’ Season,” but will the next two be subtitled? Perhaps not. On Atlanta, anything goes.
(This essay has spoilers for Atlanta. Jury’s out on if they’ll make any sense.)
When Atlanta’s season one episode, “B.A.N.,” debuted, it was hard to tell if I was actually tuning into the series. Structured like a half-hour block of programming on the “Black American Network,” the installment began with a few fake advertisements before seguing into the fictional talk show, “Montague.” Hosted by Franklin Montague (Alano Miller), it seemed to be a send-up of a Tavis Smiley-type program, once I realized that the ads (the best being an ad for Arizona iced tea — “The price is on the can, though”) were actually part of the Atlanta story, too. It was the seventh episode of Atlanta, but it was one of the first indications that form didn’t matter at all to Glover or anyone who worked on Atlanta.
“Montague” contained commercials populated by black actors and spokespeople, including Deyvonne Johnson (Brandon Hirsch), a celebrity who only exists in Atlanta’s universe. Most networks and marketing agencies gear commercials to and around white people in an example of institutional racism, so this instance alone was enough to indicate that they were trying something different with “B.A.N.”
If it wasn’t clear from that, though, the ad for Coconut Crunch-Os would certainly prove Atlanta as one of television’s boldest, most formless series. In this cartoon ad, Wally the Wolf (Kevin Michael Richardson) tries to steal the Coconut Crunch-Os cereal from three children, a la the Trix Rabbit. Instead of being foiled by children, a cop busts in and tackles Wally, arresting him for the crime of stealing cereal. The cartoon is riddled with tragic iconography (one child pulls out a cell phone to record the arrest, the cop’s knee digs into Wally’s back) and plays out over the delirious dark humor that comes from a slapsticky cartoon — especially when the kids try to give Wally the cereal, joining up against the police officer. It’s funny, but depressing, essentially since the fake ad aired four years ago and things have only gotten worse in terms of racially-motivated police brutality.
Aside from those ads, “Montague” also included a dual interview/debate segment between main character Paper Boi (Brian Tyree Henry) and Dr. Deborah Holt (Mary Kraft), a professor whose agenda on “Montague” is to unpack the internalized homophobia and transphobia in Paper Boi’s lyrics. When Dr. Holt begins her planned statement against Paper Boi’s view that transgender folks are “weird,” he laughs and leans back in his chair. “Tell me about myself,” he says to her, uninterested in her argument that Paper Boi’s raps have coded gay language in them. For Paper Boi, he’s the only one who knows his struggles. He’s the only one who knows the intent behind his writing. It’d be like projecting modern intersectionality onto The Old Man and the Sea while Ernest Hemingway was sitting right next to you.
Given the chance to explain his position (after bemoaning the lack of “ho” being acceptable in his lyrics to which Dr. Holt replies, “A travesty, I’m sure,” and he scoffs, asking her why she speaks that way), Paper Boi states that he doesn’t want to take anyone’s rights away; he just finds some shit weird. Ultimately, his point is that he feels hard-pressed to address the intersectionality of LGBT issues and Black issues in the U.S. because no one possesses tolerance for him. It’s a moment of nuance (neither is completely right, but neither has to be here) that surprises both Montague and Dr. Holt, which is then compounded by a segment regarding “trans-racial identity.”
In this journalistic piece, the Black American Network interviews a man named Antoine Smalls, who is undergoing a transition to become a thirty-five year old white man named Harrison Booth. He sports a thick, brown, leather belt, dresses in Patagonia, orders IPA, and discusses Game of Thrones in a manner akin to Eddie Murphy’s “White Like Me” SNL sketch. It’s considered laughably progressive by Paper Boi, who only delights further when Harrison is interviewed live by Montague and reveals that he doesn’t support gay marriage because it’s “not natural.” It’s a moment that expresses Paper Boi’s perspective fully: people have nuance and some beliefs do not necessarily confirm other beliefs. Even the extremely liberal Dr. Holt understands where Paper Boi is coming from and finds common ground to agree with him. Floored by the moment of bridging between them, Montague doubles down on his questions to sow further debate between them. Opposing viewpoints coming together in chorus doesn’t generate viewership, after all.
It’s hard to even tell if Paper Boi is going to generate viewership for “Montague.” He’s a local rapper who hasn’t burst into the mainstream yet. He’s not even being paid for his appearance. (And for Paper Boi, getting paid is what he sees as the ultimate goal of rapping, not the actual nuance behind his lyrics or the message he’s aiming to convey underneath his beats.) Paper Boi, with Earn and Darius (Lakeith Stanfield) by his side, is just trying to make it in a city with plenty of competition. They’re shooting the shit and making deals in Atlanta and they’re always on the cusp of hitting the big time. And they’re still “all about that paper, boy.”
The grind is mostly applicable to Earn and Paper Boi, though, as Darius just bounces and flows with the rhythm of the city and the people in his life. Incredibly laid-back and enigmatic, Darius vibes to a different tempo of music playing in his head — a tempo that belongs only to him. Any given episode can see him involved in a Cosmo Kramer-esque entrepreneurial scheme or hanging out at a party that the others thought was highly exclusive. His days unfold removed from the experiences of anyone else in the Peach State.
In “Champagne Papi,” Darius’ proclivity for philosophizing is emphasized when he hangs out by a hypnotic swimming pool with Van’s (Zazie Beetz) friend, Nadine (Gail Bean), and waxes about Bostrom’s simulation argument. It states that we’re living in a world controlled by puppet string pullers, similar to The Sims. Considering she’s absurdly high, Nadine is more inclined to believe Darius, especially when he attempts to prove the simulation by taking a bite out of an apple after stating, “I don’t even like apples.” (His philosophy is downplayed when Van discovers him with Nadine asks why he’s there (at the party) and he ponders the question like it’s some grand wonder of the world.)
Darius is like the friend everyone has who gets super introspective about his place in the universe when he takes a hit off a bong. Except that’s literally just how Darius operates in daily life. In “The Club,” he positions himself as “the guy who gets free drinks in clubs” and I’m inclined to believe him. This is a character who was invited to Drake’s party in “Champagne Papi” with seemingly no connections or association to the hip hop/R&B artist. Most people just tend to be drawn to Darius because he accepts all things, believes all things, and finds interest in the oddities of the world. (In “The Club,” he seeks an answer for what his red wristband grants him access to and asks the bouncer if he’s ever had to throw out another bouncer. Amazingly, the bouncer replies affirmatively and remarks that it was tough because bouncers know all the tricks.)
When he’s eventually kicked out of the club for having the incorrect wristband, he protests a little bit, but ultimately decides to just go home and play Zoo Tycoon. For Darius, it wasn’t a big deal that his plans for the evening were interrupted because he trusts that the night will take him somewhere else interesting and original.
Earn and Paper Boi are a bit more grounded in the unfortunate reality of Atlanta and they don’t take so easily to their nights being derailed. Earn spends the entire night at the club attempting to find Chris (Lucius Baston), the promoter who promised $5,000 to the Paper Boi team for appearing that night. Earn’s consistently given the run around (to the point where Chris literally slips behind a fire alarm-triggered trick wall while Earn looks the other way) to the point where he plops down at the bar and complains to the wise bartender, Nia (Dawn Halfkenny), that he hates the club.
Ever the intimidating and easily frustrated figure, Paper Boi fights back and slaps the shit out of Chris’ face with the money he’s paid (to which Chris remarks about Paper Boi’s inherent violence and star quality). It’s partly because Paper Boi wants his money, but also partly because he was disillusioned by the fact that “fame” brought him a group of “friends” in his section of the club that he didn’t recognize. It’s not a strategy Earn would have resorted to because his particular financial situation in Atlanta is fraught enough without having to worry about bail funds or legal fees. For Earn, every day is a struggle to get paid and support himself, as well the daughter he fathered with Van, Lottie. Even when he does get paid, it can be a struggle, as evidenced by the end of “Go for Broke,” which results in Earn reporting his credit card stolen after a dinner date with Van becomes defined by the server’s upcharging.
When Nia listens to Earn’s lament at the bar, she provides him some sage advice that only a bartender could articulate so efficiently: “Leave.” Nia’s skeptical of people who claim to hate the club and go to the club anyway, but she also understands that everyone needs to feel special on occasion — even if the feeling of importance comes from acting superior to the club and to the people having a good time in it. It calls into question what the point of going to a club in the first place is. Nia observes that Earn either wanted to feel good about himself (getting paid) or to stunt. Paper Boi’s trying to hook up with a woman, Darius is trying to make connections with new friends, and Earn’s just trying to make money so he can be the provider the people in his life believe he’s incapable of being.
The intent of partaking in a crowded party is also addressed in “Champagne Papi,” when the motivations for Van and her friend group hanging out with Drake’s massive entourage are split. Nadine, for example, just wanted an excuse to get high and use the “thot-a-thon” as a way to separate herself from the high-class, superficial riff raff that populated the hallways. Tami (Danielle Deadwyler) projects her frustrations over popular perceptions of attractiveness (“Type ‘beautiful woman’ into Google Images!”) onto a confused white woman (Melissa Saint-Amand) who dates Devyonne Johnson (an incredible return to the show). And Van seeks no fun from Drake’s bash. She only wants to prove to Earn (through social media and Instagram stories) that she’s having fun, even though she’s not. It’s convoluted, but in the world of social media, it makes perfect sense. That’s why seeks a selfie with Drake, only to find out that he’s not in attendance at the party. It’s just a cardboard cutout that influencers are charging party-goers twenty dollars to pose with. None of the group finds what they seek at Drake’s party, but would it really have been that different if they had shown up with the intention of having fun? Or is fun something you just can’t plan to have?
Most of what I love about “Champagne Papi” came from the fact that it was a Van-centric episode. Zazie Beetz is giving one of the warmest, most charming performances in all of television as Van and when an episode is devoted to her, it reminds us all just how high the ceiling is for Atlanta. It’s a series based around the endeavors of Earn, Paper Boi, and Darius, but Van broke out as the series’ best character. And they’re all so magnetic on screen that an installment can revolve around any of them and it’s still as enriching as my favorite Van stories (“Value,” “Helen”).
The other aspect of “Champagne Papi” that I love is that it has one of the series’ best single episode endings. While Van wandered aimlessly around Drake’s mansion, she stumbled upon an elderly Mexican man (Carlos Guerrero), who only spoke Spanish, watching grainy television and claiming to be Drake’s abuelo. It’s a brief interlude in Van’s explorations, but it returns as she walks away from the party with her friends and Darius, only to experience the epiphany, “Drake’s Mexican.”
It’s just such a delightfully idiosyncratic moment delivered with perfect precision by Beetz. In a series that had so many incredible endings and pay-offs (Marcus Miles’ (Jason Simon) invisible car plowing through a parking lot of club attendees, Willy (Katt Williams) setting an alligator loose on the police in “Alligator Man”), the “Drake’s Mexican” moment still stands out the most to me. Especially since the joke was furthered by “Cuando suena el bling” by Fuego playing over the credits (a Spanish version of “Hotline Bling”).
In real life, though, Drake is actually half-black and half-Jewish. His having an abuelo is just another example of the flawless surreality of Atlanta. On Atlanta, a knowing student wears whiteface in Van’s classroom, Justin Bieber is black, and “Florida Man” (from the memes) might just exist for real. There are so many dazzling toys and tricks of surreality in Atlanta that it was almost impossible to decide which episodes to rewatch for this project without just undertaking a full rewatch of the entire series. Each installment is just so inventive in never-before-seen ways. It has to be one of the coolest shows I’ve ever seen. It can depict Justin Bieber as black with no explanation needed. It has emphasis geared around rap culture with songs I would’ve never heard otherwise (I’m more of a Jonas Brothers guy than a Migos guy, admittedly). And it also has plenty of episodes deeply rooted in black culture. (“Barbershop” is a classic rigmarole/comedy of errors akin to old Sid Caesar comedies that also forces Paper Boi to question his identity. Van’s identity is put in flux in “Juneteenth” (another enlightening installment), when she doesn’t feel comfortable in a bougie environment.)
It also has one episode that sheds away the comedy form completely and leans entirely into the extremely creepy. Season two’s “Teddy Perkins” belongs holistically to the horror genre.
Physically or metaphysically, a major hallmark of Atlanta’s second arc (subtitled “Robbin’ Season”) is the characters feeling trapped. Willy is trapped with an alligator. Paper Boi is trapped by a barber. And in “Teddy Perkins,” Darius is trapped in an ornate mansion (on the verge of becoming a museum) with the goal of leaving the home that is owned by Benny (Derrick Haywood) and operated by Teddy (Glover in heavy makeup and prosthetics) with a piano posted on Craigslist.
Quickly, the hauntingly uneasy figure of Teddy Perkins proves himself untrustworthy. (Glover’s performance is beyond chilling in the installment. It’s hard to even see him underneath the layers of facial enhancements. The only moment I noticed it was Glover playing Perkins, rather than “Teddy Perkins as himself,” is when the tension is high and Perkins exclaims, “No, you can’t!” at Darius. I’d recognize that upper vocal register anywhere.) A phone call with Paper Boi results in Darius being told that he needs to leave (the Get Out parallels are strong, especially with Stanfield’s (getting to show his range beyond being Atlanta’s Kramer) presence) and this decision is confirmed when Darius inadvertently travels to the mansion’s basement and finds Benny (the home’s Blanche to Teddy’s Baby Jane), who warns him of Perkins, too.
The episode begins with Darius picking up a hat with an embroidered Confederate flag and coloring out the accompanying letters to make it read, “U mad.” From this moment (as “Sweet Little Girl” by Stevie Wonder plays while he drives to the mansion), race is shown to be a prominent theme of “Teddy Perkins,” even more than some of Atlanta’s other episodes. This manifests in Teddy Perkins, who is just as unsettling and eerie as some of the early twentieth century “Tales of the Okefenokee” type imagery. He’s a representation of the Michael Jackson/Sammy Sosa-headed skin bleaching “trend.” The idea of anti-blackness has pervaded Teddy’s psyche in an all-consuming fashion to the point where he’s entirely blind to how devastatingly racism destroyed his persona. Anti-blackness persists in society as it portrays black people as the ones who should “hide” and white people as the ones who should be emboldened at every turn. Many figures internalize these notions — imbued in dominant cultures — and in the case of Teddy Perkins, it debilitated the fabric of his existence, distorting him into the sort of monster one would expect from a horror movie.
In spite of this, Teddy Perkins (being a musician) is also a product of a different psychological hardship endured by many black prodigies. Michael Jackson did not just experience skin-bleaching, he also grew up with an abusive father who demanded nothing short of perfection from the young vocal genius behind the Jackson 5. The same was true of Teddy Perkins, who believed that his abuse was needed to become a grand artist. In this moment, as he confronts Darius with a shotgun, Wonder returns to the episode (“Evil” closes it out) as the pair interrogate whether or not hardships are needed to produce historic art. Teddy acknowledges Stevie’s blindness and Darius points out that Stevie Wonder was not blinded, suggesting the man behind Songs in the Key of Life was always destined for greatness.
“What if you were great at something you loved?” Darius asks Teddy, rebuking the notion that when we grow up, we have to perpetuate the same shit instilled in us by our parents, toxic or otherwise. Teddy is too far gone to properly rationalize what Darius is advocating, but it’s at least worthwhile that Darius realizes it. He doesn’t shake easily, but “Teddy Perkins” drops him into a more uncertain place for the remainder of the “Robbin’ Season.” As one last Stanley Kubrick-styled shot frames the piano being taken away as evidence, rather than an acquisition of Darius’, we see genuine regret in Darius’ eyes for the first time in all of Atlanta. Not just for the fact that he was nearly murdered, but for the fact that Teddy Perkins’ hopes and ambitions (whatever they would have been before being forced into music) died, not with him, but long ago.
In case the rest of Atlanta wasn’t enough evidence, “Teddy Perkins” finally proved the FX surrealist comedy-drama to be one of the most complete visions in all of television. Earn and Paper Boi might not have the time or money to cultivate their creativity into transporting art, but Glover certainly does. It’s been two years and counting since the most recent season of Atlanta. Whenever he’s ready, it’ll come back. It’s one of television’s strongest auteur projects (with obvious assists stemming from Hiro Murai, Stephen Glover, Stefani Robinson, and others) and Glover’s creative instincts are still as strong as they’ve ever been. Whatever form 2021’s double down of Atlanta takes, there’s no denying it’ll be must-see television. I’m happy to stay home from Drake’s party or from Teddy’s mansion just to witness it. There’ll be time for the club later.
