The Well-Rounded Blackness of Atlanta
Atlanta is Black without being stereotypical
My natural inclination is to NOT like a thing. It’s not for lack of trying. I watch and listen to everything. Instead, that dislike is due to coming from an era of criteria.
Because of that, I’ve learned to judge whatever I’m taking in, not with my old eyes (and ears), but instead measuring it up next to whatever the modern expression of “good” is.
That’s especially the case when it comes to movies or shows made by or about Black people. Most of us are just happy to see ourselves on screen and we settle for anything (no matter how implausible).
All of that was my backdrop — and the tons of press and tweets — going into the first two episodes of Atlanta. Happily, I was pleasantly surprised. Donald Glover has done in four episodes what many series never do in their entire run; he’s depicted Black people as we are and he’s done the same with a city that I have a love/hate relationship with.
What exactly do I mean? Let’s look at the city first.
Like most American cities, Atlanta is deeply segregated. There are certain areas in Atlanta that still feel like the Jim Crow era south — the “what-are-you-doing-over-here-boy, days” — the “you-can-catch-public-transportation-here-to-work-now-take-your-ass-home” reality is real.
You won’t see many Black folks meandering beyond the confines of Perimeter Mall and I’m sure the same can be said about where the Braves are setting up shop. Niggers are not wanted.
But there’s also another type of segregation. Upwardly mobile Blacks often stay leagues away from the poverty-stricken areas of the city. Like their white counterparts, they rarely, if ever, see the deep pockets of poor Atlanta.
Of course the images that are sold to us are the former. When people think of moving down to the ATL, the newly constructed big homes of Real Housewives of Atlanta and Love & Hip-Hop Atlanta bounce through their heads. But that’s not reality.
The reality is, they’ll end up in some apartment in Doraville or Decatur, East Point or College Park, wherever the rent is cheap and far away from the likes of Porsha or Joseline.
Donald Glover’s longtime collaborator, director Hiro Murai captures that dichotomy perfectly in the pilot’s opening title sequence where we cut between overhead shots of affluent Atlanta juxtaposed with that of “the other” Atlanta.
It’s that “other” Atlanta where I spent the majority of my eight years there and it’s that “other” Atlanta that’s the backdrop for Glover’s show.
I’m a sucker for stories that start in medias res but I love it even more when the director is confident enough to offer up a flashback without using time stamps.
And, since this ain’t no review, I won’t go into all of that detail, but suffice it to say that the opening scene got my attention. The scenario was familiar.
Our lead characters, Paper Boi, Earn, and Darius, are in a car parked outside a club when SMASH a man and his woman friend carelessly knock Paper Boi’s mirror clean off.
On paper, most people can relate but in reality, they have no idea how much a minefield it is being Black.
As any Black man or woman will tell you, these type of situations are common: someone (Black) does something to you that is either perceived as disrespectful or is intentionally disrespectful and in that moment you have to fight to be either the most rational person in the world…or not.
While I’m sure that other races are faced with confrontations on a daily basis, rarely do they end in fatalities. Most Black people will tell you that they can endure a lot but disrespect…they cannot abide.
When Paper Boi jumps out the car, Earn’s first thought is “the money.” At this point we don’t know what he means. But Earn’s next decision, in my opinion, was akin to that moment in Do The Right Thing when Spike Lee’s Mookie grabbed the trash can after Radio Raheem (RIP Bill Nunn)was murdered.
Earn’s decision to pop the glove compartment and grab a gun may seem out of character or irrational to some, but any Black person will tell you, the jails are filled with people who otherwise were upstanding citizens but in just one moment, life dictated that they make a rash decision.
Perhaps critics haven’t gone ballistic on this scene because we don’t immediately see the consequences; not in this or the next four episodes. But rest assured, something will come of it.
Again, this scenario is sadly familiar. Paper Boi tries to de-escalate the situation by asking that the brother just take care of the damages. But it’s never that simple. As mentioned above, the brother is with a woman friend and he too doesn’t want to seem disrespected.
Darius’ character is revealed here as well as he has a deja vu moment, detached from the matter at hand. This doesn’t de-escalate the situation either. Distraction be damned.
When his woman friend recognizes the man standing in front of them is Paper Boi, we think the man is going to back down as he excitedly asks, “You Paper Boi?” Only to add insult to injury by telling Paper Boi that his music is garbage and his slang (‘Mucking’) suspect.
That’s enough to make Paper Boi pull out his revolver and place it square on the Brother’s chest…who’s no stranger to these situations. He doesn’t flinch, lifts his shirt to show…he has a gun too, AND has back-up near by.
A pregnant pause.
Then we SEE the FLASH of a gun from above…and with that, I became a fan.
Watching Paper Boi and Earn sit in detention, laughing at their interrogators and an ashamed video vixen, was the first scene where, in my eyes, they seem like family.
We get the sense that Paper Boi’s more familiar with the situation as he shushes Earn who almost reminisces aloud about the alleged crime that landed them there. Not that Earn seems shook, he seems calm throughout, just unaware.
Paper Boi’s rebuke seems brotherly.
But there are other scenes that show that they are pretty tight knit family. Earn’s parent also have a close relationship with Paper Boi (although I can’t tell if Paper Boi’s deceased Mother was a sister to Earn’s mother or dad...I’m guessing Dad). Earn’s father, Raleigh, is played by Isiah Whitlock Jr., who gained huge popularity from his role as Clay Davis on The Wire. Hell, I was waiting for him to say, “shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit,” when earlier Earn dropped by and asked to come inside. Raleigh, of course, doesn’t say that magical word, but we get the point. Earn’s not welcome.
Later, after Earn offers up his services as a manager to his cousin, Paper Boi (and Paper Boi vehemently refuses them), we see Paper Boi pulling up to Earn’s parent’s home. Raleigh and Earn’s mother (whose name we don’t know yet…I didn’t write the show) are on the front lawn with Earn’s daughter and Raleigh smiles as Paper Boi pulls up.
The fact that Paper Boi seeks Raleigh’s council is telling and Raleigh’s support for his son, despite the earlier scene shows not only the faith he has in his son but the closeness that he and Paper Boi share. No, I don’t feel like I’m reading into anything. It sounded like an exchange between my Dad and one of my cousins…if one of my cousins was an up and coming rapper.
But let’s get back to that jail scene for a second. A few scenes were hilarious to me…and so Black.
Paper Boi posts bail and the exchange between him and the clerk is matter a fact, straight to the point with the clerk never-looking-up-from-her-paperwork exchange.
Paper Boi then attempts to bail out Earn as well. This is the first of several exchanges between an employee being confronted by one of our characters.
Like the situation that led to Paper Boi and Earn being detained, it’s very nuanced. Paper Boi learns that he can’t bail Earn out. And this is all routine for the clerk. She replies to him, still without looking up:
“He’s not in the system yet. But when he is, then his bail can be posted.”
Not satisfied with the answer, Paper Boi retorts.
“Well, what’s the charge?!?”
“What’s the charge? Nigga, this ain’t a movie. You better wait til he’s in the system.”
When the actor Angela Ray looks up at him, that moment unto itself is as Black as anything that has been captured up until that point. Part of the reason for her pulling herself away from her paperwork and giving Paper Boi the look of death was his tone. She could detect the aggression. The other part is, for her, she answered Paper Boi’s question already…why is he still standing in front of her?
When she says:
“What’s the charge? Nigga, this ain’t a movie. You better wait til he’s in the system.”
That might be seen as comedic relief, maybe it’s seen as unprofessional. But really, this is how we relate to each other. That clerk would have held her tongue and complained later had that been a white man…especially in the South.
“Man I love this rap shit, boy. You know when they told me a rapper was in here I had to come snap a pic.”
While many older white (and Black officers) may find rap offensive, if you’re a cop forty years and under, generally speaking, you’re a fan of rap music. So it has to be a strange situation when an officer of the law has to arrest an artist that he or she’s a fan of.
An officer, who finds out Paper Boi is in the system, however, is different. He takes pride in his work…and loves rap. He runs up on Paper Boi (whom he wrongly calls Paper Man) and requests a picture. The officer “breaks the ice” with Paper Boi by asking:
“You listen to Gucci Mane?”
Paper Boi squeezes out a “yeah,” and the officer comes back quickly, beaming with:
“Man, I locked that nigga up.”
Aside from the awkwardness of a person asking someone who’s just post bail for a pic, it is even more awkward considering the adverserial relationship most Black folks have with officers…and even more awkward that Paper Boi is what may be a petty drug dealer.
That might be seen as comedic relief, maybe it’s seen as unprofessional. But really, this is how we relate to each other.
“Look here, sir. You have to be 14 or younger to get a kid’s meal. I’ve just been made Day Manager and I didn’t get that title giving out discount meals.”
As we’re quickly learning, Earn is on a tight budget and episode 3 opens with him at a fast food counter embarrassingly attempting to order a kids meal. He orders quietly.
Unable to hear him, the cashier tells him to speak up.
After fumbling over his words, Earn finally asks loud enough…which makes the cashier sarcastically look around for Earn’s imaginary child. She tells him that only a child can have a kid’s meal…and why she cannot give it to him.
“Look here, sir. You have to be 14 or younger to get a kid’s meal. I’ve just been made Day Manager and I didn’t get that title by handing out discount meals.”
As Earn goes into his many justifications on why he believes he should be able to have a kid’s meal, He’s opposed by the above face on the other end of the counter.
And Candace B. Harris nails that face. We know EXACTLY what that look means. It means, “talk all you want, I’ve spoken my piece and my mind is made up, you’re really playing yourself…I’ll wait for you to shut up” and every other dismissive expression that you can conjure up.
And Earn knows it too finally asking for a cup — not for a bubbling beverage or sweet tea…but water, which the cashier happily obliges, giving him a small cup and a smile.
Again, that might be seen as comedic relief, maybe it’s seen as unprofessional. But really, this is how we relate to each other.
Atlanta has been compared to Louie by many critics who point out how Glover finds the humor in every day life, and, while I certainly love Louie (it’s my kind of funny), Atlanta is hilarious as it is culturally specific.
What we see in this show is something entirely different than other incarnations of television Black folks. No character is spot-on any particular type.
The lead character, Earn, like most critics love to to is point out, went to Princeton (for a year)but he doesn’t seem out of place or uncomfortable around his cousin Paper Boi and his surroundings. (He doesn’t flinch when Paper Boi opens a chained door and points a gun at him nor when he meets Darius for the first time greeted with a butcher knife…and cookies)
Paper Boi celebrates his new-found fame sparingly and is more circumspect about what that fame means — especially since it hasn’t translated into $$$. He almost mopes around. When certainly he can tell he’s caught off guard as people recognize him (like in JR Crickets when he gets hooked up with the lemon pepper wet) or when they change their behavior when they find out who he is (like when a sista goes from being crass, “who are you and why are you speaking to me and my children” to suddenly wanting to take pics with him…and shedding a child or two, “these are my niece and nephew”).
Darius comes off as the out of it stoner type until the fourth episode where we see him outside of the immediate rap world navigating amongst sword dealers and dog breeders. But even prior to that, he says things that appear to be off the wall…even existential…but certainly not typical.
Van is neither the over-supportive ex or the baby drama mama that television often depicts our women as. She’s a mother, hard-working, loves the father of her child, but is still pursuing her own dreams…and life. She may bail Earn out, but she never seems like a “sucker” for him.
And the list goes on…
With most shows that depict Black people, characters are either weak or strong, good or bad. (I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard people identify with Micheal of The Wire or Olivia Pope of Scandal all the while holding down a stocking position at Wal-Mart.)
Donald Glover has steered away from such easy characterizations. In short, these characters are me, my cousins, friends, and family. Real Black people. And wherever the show is going for the next six episodes, a strong foundation has been laid in the first four that the show could possibly reach something sublime — a word I seldom use — classic.
