Blunt Talk, "I Seem to Be Running Out of Dreams for Myself"

Blunt Talk is, to put it mildly, a very odd one. It’s a show so juvenile and mostly inept at eliciting a laugh, and yet still possesses a strange, inconceivable watchability. It defies explanation, really, but I’ll give it my best shot.

The series stars Patrick Stewart as Walter Blunt, a pompous, Piers Morgan-esque anchor of a failing news program, who off-camera is a whining, insecure vice machine (the debut episode alone has him dabbling in all sorts of drugs, alcohol, and prostitution and clashing with police). The show appears at first glance to be a one-joke premise, the joke being simply seeing the serious and authoritative Brit we all remember as Captain Picard taking part in crass and naughty acts (another Star Trek alum even makes a cameo reinforcing this idea).

These escapades are not that funny, though. Each dirty deed palpably strains to be as outrageous and shocking as possible, to little avail. It might have been funny in another time when this material would have been considered edgy, but it seems rather benign in this era of television. And yet, the parts that are funny—a few dashes of wit among the crudity—are absolute howlers (a dirty historical anecdote that comes back to resonate in the final moments being the biggest laugh).

The appeal doesn’t really lie in the humor, however limited it may be, or anything else at the surface level. The office comedy and behind-the-scenes media satire tropes that it’s looking to parody are haphazardly intercut with random, surreal stuff. It shouldn’t work, for it feels like the show’s trying to be surreal for the sake of being surreal, just as it’s raunchy only for raunch’s sake. But there’s something inexplicably engrossing in the clash between the weirdness, the regular old plot structure, and even some of the vulgarity, unfunny as it is for its own sake. This is mostly a result of Stewart’s skills (and only him, really, for the other characters so far are little more than yes men or enablers of his bad habit), as he uses everything at his disposal to navigate the happenings onscreen. Even though for now he seems a little aloof and as lost as we are, there’s no doubt that he’s having fun.

He’ll have to make some sense of it all soon, for this empty surrealness and crude juvenilia doesn’t look to be sustainable for long. But it might be worth staying tuned for at least a little while to see if Stewart can mold the program into something more.

Straight Outta Compton

The biopic genre often falls into a predictable pattern of running through bullet points of the major events in its subject’s life. But even more predictable is the musical biopic, with its standard rags-to-riches and rise-and-fall arcs that were already ancient by the time Behind the Music came along. None of these formulas are avoided by Straight Outta Compton, which chronicles the career of gangsta rap pioneers N.W.A. What elevates it, however, is the utmost skill, style, and love for the music that’s as apparent as it is infectious. Nearly every sequence is thrilling, rousing, funny, and often angry, the latter especially in the non-musical moments

The film opens with an intense sequence where a young Eazy-E (Jason Mitchell), in his pre-rapping drug dealer days, narrowly escapes a violent police raid (complete with the famous battering ram-equipped tank the LAPD used in the 80s). It’s a blunt and effective jolt of the reality of Compton, California, one of several forceful moments that shoves the viewer face-first into the environment that shaped the group’s art. Many of these moments (or more accurately, the majority) involve interactions with police, in scenes that are absolutely seething with the rage of not just these angry young protagonists, but every victim of police brutality. More than mere snapshots of Los Angeles in the lead-up to Rodney King (footage of which is prominently interspersed later, asserting a direct link between aggressive police tactics and the riots), these sequences have an urgent relevance in the wake of recent police controversies.

It’s here, in in the pre-fame section, where the film is at its best, but it’s when the music starts when it’s the most fun. The performances are uniformly exhilarating, whether in a small club, a sold-out arena, or an enclosed recording session intercut with the reactions they arouse (director F. Gary Gray started his career in music videos, including some for the artists depicted, so he certainly knows what he’s doing). And of course, the soundtrack features many of the classics from the album with which the picture shares its name, as well as some old favorites from members’ solo careers. There’s also a healthy dose of the content one would find in a hip hop video (scantily-clad women, partying, feuding on the mic), so the bases are covered for fans of the genre.

As Dr. Dre, Corey Hawkins captures the famous driven workman attitude of the production legend, if not quite the voice. As Ice Cube, O’Shea Jackson, Jr. (the real-life son of the actual Ice Cube) is excellent, uncanny not only in physical resemblance, but also in the swagger, danger (real or perceived), and theatricality of the artist’s heyday. On several occasions, you almost forget it’s not the real Ice Cube. The most affecting performance, however, would be Mitchell, whose Eazy-E has a tragic trajectory. Mitchell plays the artist not as the swaggering tough guy we think of from his music, but a flawed, scared human being whose sheer hunger and desperation got him places, but whose lack of smarts or business savvy led to him being taken for everything he built, by the group’s controversial manager Jerry Heller (an alternatively slimy and hilariously nebbish Paul Giamatti), and a very scary Suge Knight (R. Marcus Taylor). This arc is the strongest of the five members, and as for resemblance to his real-life counterpart, Mitchell is solid, though still well second to Jackson.

If there’s a flaw, it’s that not all those who were in N.W.A. are treated equally, at least in screen time. Former member MC Ren’s gripes about the picture are legit, for he (played onscreen by Aldis Hodge) and DJ Yella (Neil Brown, Jr.) are all but reduced to background characters. If the film didn’t introduced all five members via subtitle, viewers whose knowledge of hip hop is less than encyclopedic might miss them completely.

But while the focus on each individual member may be skewed, one thing Straight Outta Compton does masterfully is capture the grim time, place, and anger that birthed a new genre of music, while also exuberantly celebrating that music and its appeal. In both respects, the film is damn good entertainment.