The Get Down

I nearly bailed on The Get Down in the middle of episode 1, primarily because it did not deliver the serious reflection and historical commentary I had expected. The tone was too kitschy, too cartoonish, too Luhrman, frankly. The pioneers of hip hop had interesting things to say, and I was eager to listen. Instead, Netflix had produced a Blaxploitation Grease: garish and trite.

 

I kept watching because of the breathtaking magnetism of Herizen Guardiola and Justice Smith, and I am glad I did. While the show may not be all I had hoped, it has an undeniable heartbeat. It is less a story well told than a poem boldly spun. Better yet, it is a rhyme spat with feeling and heart and chest-thumping base. When I was able to let go of my intellectual critiques and simply feel the rhythms of joy, malaise, cynicism and aspiration, I found it thoroughly intoxicating. 

 

The Get Down does not need to be accurate or intricate or insightful to be enjoyed. It is not a story about music so much as it is, itself, music. It evokes an ineffable nostalgia for the hopefulness and smiling sophistry of youth. For all its faults, this quick 6 episode binge lightened my worries and got my toes tapping, and that was enough.

 

7/10
Not child friendly.