Atlanta: Donald Glover's Latest Project is a Doozy!

For every TV comedy that tries to be relevant, only a few succeed. Network producers rely on tried-and-tested formulas, resulting a rehash of archetypes and storylines we've seen before, but with a new twist.

We have Brooklyn Nine-Nine of the "buddy cop" genre, but with characters portrayed against racial conventions. And then we get shows like "How I Met Your Mother", "New Girl" and "Happy Endings", a contemporary update of "Friends" that comes along with social media baggage. In late 2000s, cable networks and Netflix started churning out unorthodox projects "Orange is the New Black", "Veep", "Louie" and etc.

However, African American comedy was lacking in the TV landscape. The best and (probably) only one was "Key and Peele", but it is strictly a comedy sketch show. So when Donald Glover, former writer of 30 Rock and actor from "Community", announced that he was producing a new sit-com on a non-traditional network, I was excited to see the results.

Just as soon "Atlanta" came around, it ended after two and half months. Yet, in its 10-episode run, Donald Glover and his collaborators had packed a lot in it, sprinkling with a few of the weird and whimsical that he's been known for.

To sum up in a premise, the show follows the story of an African American rapper Alfred, AKA "Paper Boi", and his manager/cousin Earn trying to get his rap career off the ground in the eponymous city. Glover portrays Earn as the everyday man and spends most of the time getting by without much money. To make matters worse, he has a baby to raise with his on-and-off girlfriend Vanessa.

The first episode sets up like a traditional sit-com, easing viewers into its unfamiliar world and characters in Atlanta. Glover's performance is subtle, achingly-realistic and instantly likeable. He carries an air of nonchalance despite being broke and he's strangely optimistic about his predicaments. He's a man who seemingly has no problems but as you follow him throughout the episodes, his problems are plenty.

Brian Tyree Henry, Keith Stanfield and Zazie Beetz round off the cast and they are all so superb in their roles. As much as this is Earn's story, Glover allows the writing to veer off in different directions, sometimes exploring story/character arcs in individual episodes (which I'll touch later on).

Director Hiro Murai, who has been an unknown in television landscape, lenses Atlanta with an invigorating cinematic style, showing viewers a side of the city that rarely graces our screens. For a TV show that calls itself Atlanta, you get these really sublime shots of the city and its people, whether be it from a bird-eye's view or close-ups of architecture on the ground. Atlanta really becomes a vital character in the background, as we see Earn and gang navigate various corners of this intricate city.

But why is such a good and important show though? As I had already mentioned briefly, Glover breaks all rules of traditional sit-com.

1) The show does not follow an episodic order in terms of cause-and-effect
Somehow Glover is reminding us that as much this is comedy, he is also depicting a slice of life in Atlanta. So sometimes plot lines don't get wrapped up by end of the episode and they're skimmed over in the next, as though nothing had happened.

Sometimes we get character-driven episodes like "Value", where Vanessa has to find ways to avoid a pee test for her job review as she had smoked weed the night before. Then there is "B.A.N.", a full episode dedicated to a segment of a TV talk show that has Alfred speaking about his views on transgender with a sociologist. And then in between the interview, we get satirical commercials about Arizona drink cans, cereal and cars that black Americans are obsessed with.

While it might throw viewers off, Atlanta took a huge risk with expectations while staying true to its identity as a comedy. That last reveal followed by Alfred laughed his way through the faux credits is pure comedic irony. And speaking of irony...

2) Dramatic Ironies
Some of my favourite climatic moments involve revelations that just takes you by shock and laughter. The humour may no be laugh-out-loud, but when they hit, they hit hard. And I don't mean chortling laughter, but when you're done chuckling, you ponder about the inspirations of his punchlines and how he uses society's perspective to subvert their expectations to meld both comedy and drama.

Much credit is given to Glover's brilliant writing touch, as his episodes seem to touch on issues of poverty, sexuality, racial discrimination and ideas of fame and success and what all these mean to the black Americans living in the United States. And he presents his thoughts in visual anecdotes, filled with ironies and absurd situations.

Sure there are victories for our characters, but also there are losses these people experience. With how the last episode ends where Earn begins another week wrought with complications (an unconventional, but refreshing ending for a TV show this era), I await its return to watch the lives of these wonderfully fleshed-out characters

*This is pretty much an exercise for me to write an essay for one of my assignment. Now on to the main course: "L'avventura" and "Daughters of the Dust"

Disbanded, But Never Discarded

Missing the lads and gal from The Great Spy Experiment.. They write such good stadium-rock tunes for the head-bopping crowd who wants to have an excellent time. But also their songs make me feel pensive too D=

Dammit, Saiful. Why do you have such heart-wrenching lyrics?!

The Gift

It all began from a night of inebriated texting.

Which shouldn't really mean anything, and one ought to their exercise their thoughts before speaking at all. Especially when it comes to revealing infatuations. I hadn't thought that far when I admitted it to you, but it was agreed that we'd cherish the short time we were given. Needless to say, I was ecstatic when my feelings were reciprocated. You were sweet and your voice gentle, barely calming the euphoria that came over me.

One week later, we found ourselves strolling along Changi Beach late in the evening.

Before we met up, I had came early, afraid of repeating past mistakes of turning up tardy. I sent out a text to my friend, who knew of this secret, seeking for last minute advice. She merely responded, "Just be yourself!"

I continued waiting in the common ground of the HDB apartments, trying to blend in my best jeans and short-sleeved, baby blue shirt with the proletarians who wore khakis and loose t-shirts. Seven passed, and the frequency of my phone glance increased. Was I nervous? Yes, but not for the reason of "first date jitters" you think it’d be. Emotions went from tranquil to eagerness, and suddenly I recalled the time a girl stood me up back in secondary school. She even had her number changed afterwards. My mind snapped back to reality when the call came through and I answered it without missing a beat.

Hey I'm so sorry, I slept through my alarm and I just woke up from my nap. Give me about half an hour, I'm gonna get changed now and be there soon.

Strangely enough, I was not upset. At least you called.

Take your time, don't worry about it. I'll wait for you.

I'll wait for you.

Fast-forward to a few hours later, our faces flushed and the table almost cleared except for our mugs. We were seated at a small shack of a restaurant near the beach and the air was slightly humid. I could make out the glistening perspiration on your forehead and I thought about handing over a napkin to wipe them off, but you were going on so smoothly about your Peranakan family and how you enjoyed your aunts’ traditional dishes. I simply didn’t want to disrupt your indulgence in your wonderful memories, so I sat there listening intently to your anecdotes and followed the ebb and flow of your lilting voice. However, it was never only about you. Your thoughtful, sincere gaze fell on me whenever I spoke. I relished every moment the sides of your eyes crinkled, as you started chortling at my attempt to humor you with my self-deprecating remarks and short stories about a boy and his bathroom concoctions.

At this point, I thought to myself, this is a miracle. I hadn’t felt such ease in holding a conversation on a date in a long time. In fact, this could be my first and only one. I was like a child, cupping a delicate chick with my tiny hands gingerly, afraid of squeezing the life out of a precious, innocent thing.

We picked up the tab and then I suggested going for a walk, which was almost a disastrous idea. Changi Beach was known (at least to me) to be the quietest and most peaceful place in the east of Singapore. However that night, the pathway was strewn with people of all ages with their phones out playing “Pokémon Go”, yet another latest app trend that rendered humans incapable of withholding themselves from childhood nostalgia. We, too, both fell victim to such apps but we were not going to be dicks to each other tonight, we promised ourselves through unspoken telepathy.

The night went on and we slipped further down the pavement away from the hassle of the crowds. We were dragging our pace side-by-side, but our shoulders never touched. Along the way, I told you a favourite pastime of mine and you egged me on to come up with a story for the old man resting at the bench. I fumbled through my thoughts like a nervous fool, conveying the bare minimum and quickly diverted it back to you.

What followed was a vivid description of the imaginary lives for the couple that was in front of us. Sure, it was a melancholic tale, but I was impressed by your incredible insight, perhaps even enamored. Our shoulders finally met and closed the distance between us. As the crowd vanished from our peripheral vision, I gathered the courage and grabbed your hand. I took it as a good sign when you held onto mine.

It’s 12 now and we were still out walking. Back home, this time.

I wasn’t very keen to part ways, so I followed you, reassuring that I’d loved to walk you back. With each passing street lamp, the lights illuminated the warm contours of your expressive face, every angle a different person. You were the devil and the angel combined, evil and benign. I remembered a lot of laughter and teasing, as I was mostly on the receiving end of those punch lines. But you pulled me back in every time literally, fastening your arm around mine after each jibe and we continued down the dark, foliage-shrouded lane with no fear.

My only perpetuating anxiety was losing myself in your eyes if I had stared at them long enough. So I made the first move and our lips interlocked. My hands were first on the sides of your rib cage and they made their way down to your waist, as delicate as I might. I could feel the heat coming off of you as you nibbled on my upper lip. My body muscles became languid and moved in tandem with your motion. It felt natural, to say the least.

But we would come apart whenever cars drive by us. So we took whatever chance we were denied to shorten our distance, but we were always distracted.

After some time, we eventually arrived at a bus stop, far from where we started our journey but still a considerable stretch to our homes. There was no vehicle on the road, no roaring of motor engines or crickets chirping. I held up my finger to you, but my eyes were fixated elsewhere above your head.

Do you hear that? ...Isn’t that amazing?

It was true silence, a beautiful sound that was rarely heard in my life. Many lonely souls were privy to such private moments from time to time. And now, in this rare opportunity, we had each other to soak this in together. Our bodies entwined once more and we kissed, this time with greater intensity and ardour, as we reveled in the stillness of time and space. No fuck was given to that car that whizzed by.

After a while, you stopped and broke free from our embrace. I looked at you wondering what I had done wrong. With your moist breath upon my face, you spoke softly with a tinge of excitement.

We need to get back to my place.

That was when I decided I loved you.

Forgive me for insinuating the promise of coitus endeared you to me. Quite the contrary, it was all of our brutal honesty and unrestrained exchanges that culminated in this conclusion of a hunch I had when we first met, the possibility of a new beginning. But circumstances are unkind to us, and it tears me to leave this behind while I forge a new life elsewhere.

As despondent as I sound, I am deeply rooted in bliss for having shared a short, sweet life with you. Will always be, my dear.

But this maudlin moment

Will soon come to pass

- Bitter, Charlie Lim

For my brilliant A,