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APPUNTI SULLA SERIE (SERIES) TV ATLANTA

IL POST 14 OTTOBRE 2016
“Atlanta” è una figata La nuova serie di Donald Glover è sulla scena hip hop di Atlanta, e su un sacco di altre cose: sta piacendo molto soprattutto per la sua originalità.

Atlanta è una nuova serie del network americano FX che va in onda dallo scorso 6 settembre. Per ora sono stati trasmessi sette dei dieci episodi della prima stagione, ma sono bastati perché molti critici la definissero una delle migliori serie attualmente in televisione, e tra le più interessanti dell’anno. Il protagonista si chiama Earn, vive ad Atlanta, ha pochi soldi e una figlia, e prova a fare da agente per un suo cugino che ha da poco raggiunto una certa notorietà locale come rapper. È una serie molto originale, con trovate e dialoghi spesso brillanti, ed è sostanzialmente diversa dalla maggior parte delle altre comedy (anche perché non è una vera comedy: ci arriviamo). La serie va in onda, per ora, solo negli Stati Uniti, ma nei prossimi mesi sarà trasmessa anche in Italia su Fox, canale disponibile per gli abbonati di Sky.

Chi è Donald Glover

Atlanta è ideata, scritta è interpreta da Donald Glover, che ha anche diretto alcuni episodi. Glover ha 33 anni, è un attore, autore e rapper americano. Lo potete avere già visto in Magic Mike XXL, dove aveva una particina, in The Martian, in cui faceva l’astrofisico che trovava il modo di rimandare indietro la navicella spaziale a riprendere Matt Damon, o in Girls, la serie di Lena Dunham, nella cui seconda stagione interpretava un fidanzato Repubblicano della protagonista. Glover è nato in California, ma è cresciuto nella periferia di Atlanta, dove è ambientata la serie. Iniziò a lavorare per la televisione come sceneggiatore per 30 Rock, una famosa serie di Tina Fey andata in onda tra il 2006 e il 2013. Nel 2010 su Comedy Central andò in onda un suo spettacolo di stand-up comedy e lui cominciò ad essere piuttosto conosciuto negli Stati Uniti. Su Twitter nacque anche una campagna per chiedere alla casa di produzione Sony di sceglierlo come protagonista per la nuova serie di film su Spider Man. Anche Stan Lee disse di essere d’accordo a dargli la possibilità di avere un provino, che però alla fine gli fu negato (e il ruolo andò ad Andrew Garfield, bianco). Nel 2009 cominciò su NBC Community, una sitcom ambientata in un’università del Colorado in cui Glover interpretava un ex giocatore di football un po’ nerd: la serie fu molto apprezzata e seguita, ed è andata avanti per sei stagioni.

Ma Glover è famoso soprattutto per la sua attività come rapper: il suo nome d’arte è Childish Gambino e i suoi primi due dischi uscirono nel 2009. Iniziò a fare concerti in giro per gli Stati Uniti e il suo singolo “Freaks and Geeks” ebbe un discreto successo. Nel 2011 uscì il suo disco Camp, che gli fece fare il salto di qualità: iniziò a fare collaborazioni con rapper famosi come Schoolboy Q e con altri artisti, come Beck e i Prodigy. Because the Internet, disco del 2013, ricevette due nomination ai Grammy nel 2014 e vendette più di mezzo milione di copie.

E quindi Atlanta?

Glover ebbe l’idea per Atlanta nel 2013 e dopo un episodio pilota il network FX accettò di produrne una stagione intera. Glover è il protagonista, Earn, un trentenne che ha lasciato la Princeton University e che ha una figlia piccola e un rapporto difficile e poco stabile con la sua compagna. I suoi genitori, in pratica, lo odiano, e lui fa dei lavori che non gli piacciono. Un giorno scopre che un suo cugino è diventato famoso su YouTube per una canzone rap, e si propone di fargli da agente. Il cugino si fa chiamare Paper Boi vive insieme a Darius, un altro ragazzo nero un po’ svampito, mantenendosi vendendo marijuana. Dopo un po’ di resistenze, Paper Boi accetta che Earn diventi il suo manager e insieme provano a sfondare nella scena rap di Atlanta. Ma la trama orizzontale della serie, in realtà, non è così importante: dopo i primi episodi, che servono un po’ da introduzione, ogni puntata ha una trama verticale abbastanza autonoma, e racconta una storia estemporanea o laterale alla vicenda principale. Una ad esempio mostra solo una cena tra la compagna di Earn e una sua vecchia amica, che si mantiene frequentando famosi sportivi. In un’altra Paper Boi partecipa a una partita di basket di beneficienza, ma finisce per fare una rissa con Justin Bieber, che è interpretato da un attore nero. L’ultimo episodio andato in onda, il più insolito finora, è girato come una puntata di un fittizio talk show scadente americano, nel quale Paper Boi è ospite insieme a una psicologa bianca: i due hanno un bizzarro dialogo sulle discriminazioni di genere e razziali negli Stati Uniti, interrotti da finte pubblicità altrettanto surreali.

Atlanta ha una struttura da comedy, con episodi di circa 25 minuti ciascuno e poco collegati l’uno all’altro: non è pensata per fare ridere come una sitcom, e alcuni episodi hanno in realtà una trama piuttosto seria (in uno si parla di un omicidio in cui sono coinvolti Earn e Paper Boi). Non è neanche una serie drama: non ci sono storie particolarmente intriganti, né colpi di scena alla fine degli episodi (e spesso, appunto, sembra non ci sia una vera trama). David Sims ha scritto sull’Atlantic che proprio per questa «volontà di sperimentare» Atlanta è diventata «la più sorprendente e versatile serie da mezz’ora attualmente in televisione». Anche se sembra non parli di niente, in Atlanta ci sono un sacco di temi: la musica rap e la sua influenza sui giovani afroamericani, l’integrazione razziale, le discriminazioni di genere, le difficoltà economiche dei giovani della classe media americana, per dirne qualcuno. Non sono però trattati in maniera didascalica o convenzionale, ma sempre in un modo ironico che diventa a volte spiazzante. Pilot Viruet ha scritto su Vice che Atlanta «parla di questioni razziali senza parlare di questioni razziali».

Nell’episodio su Justin Bieber, per esempio, non viene data una spiegazione sul perché il cantante sia interpretato da un attore nero: come ha scritto Sims, «non ce n’era bisogno: ogni reazione che voi, come spettatori, avete avuto per un Bieber afroamericano (che era colpevole delle stesse buffonate da cattivo ragazzo del vero cantante) vi ha costretto a riflettere su come la sua etnia influenzi l’opinione che avete di lui». Nell’episodio ambientato durante il talk show, succede che Paper Boi dica delle cose offensive sulle persone transessuali, per poi spiegare che non vuole togliere loro diritti, ma solo poter dire che a lui sembra una cosa «strana». L’attivista per i diritti dei transessuali presente in studio, dopo aver inizialmente litigato con lui, ci pensa un po’ e poi gli dice che ha ragione, mettendo in crisi il conduttore.

Tra le cose più apprezzate di Atlanta ci sono la colonna sonora e il fatto che sia lasciato molto spazio agli attori co-protagonisti di emergere, come ha notato James Poniewozik sul New York Times. È una cosa che succede un po’ con tutti: alla compagna di Glover, interpretata da Zazie Beetz, a Paper Boi, interpretato da Brian Tyree Henry, e anche a Darius, l’amico sempre fatto di marijuana di Paper Boi, che è uno dei personaggi più riusciti e divertenti. Sempre Poniewozik ha scritto che nonostante il nome della serie suggerisca che Atlanta sia molto importante nella storia, in realtà la città è più «una specie di stato mentale. È una capitale dell’hip hop, ma a suo modo regionale. Non è una città insignificante, ma neanche la più importante di tutte: è, come i personaggi, a metà».

NEW YORK TIMES
Review: In FX’s ‘Atlanta,’ a Princeton Dropout Works the Angles Back Home

By JAMES PONIEWOZIKSEPT. 5, 2016

In “Atlanta,” Donald Glover plays a character whose name — Earn — is also his aspiration. He’s not earning much right now. A Princeton dropout, he’s “technically homeless,” crashing with the mother of his baby daughter and pushing credit-card sign-ups at the airport for $5.15 an hour.

Earn’s cousin Alfred (Brian Tyree Henry) is an up-and-coming rapper with his own evocative nickname, Paper Boi; to quote one of his lyrics, he’s “all about that paper, boy.” That paper is not all about him, though. His new mixtape is hot, but he still sells drugs to make ends meet.

The backbone of the entrancing “Atlanta,” which airs its first two episodes Tuesday on FX, is Earn’s plan to better both their lives by becoming Alfred’s manager. But this is no rocket ride to the top. Dry and offbeat, with an immediate, original voice, this comedy is a back-roads drive through the expansive territory between rags and riches.

Mr. Glover created “Atlanta,” which merges his two career paths, comedy (he started in TV as a writer for “30 Rock”) and hip-hop (he’s recorded under the name Childish Gambino). But the show will come as a surprise if your expectations are shaped by “Community,” the frenetic sitcom in which Mr. Glover played a bright-eyed, naïve college student.

“Atlanta” cooks low, slow and crackling, and Mr. Glover dials Earn’s affect down to a bare hum. He’s intense but reserved, reluctant to open up. Even his parents don’t know why he dropped out of school, and he channels his feelings about his ex, Van (Zazie Beetz), into sardonic comments on her taste in men. The closest he comes to an outburst is when, low on cash, he tries to order a fast-food child’s meal and is humiliatingly refused.

Mr. Glover’s laid-back performance leaves room for his co-stars to impress. The show’s breakout character may be Alfred’s stoner-philosopher roommate, Darius (Lakeith Stanfield). Mr. Henry creates a rich tension between the Paper Boi persona and Alfred, sharp and self-aware, who’s unsettled by his minor celebrity. He’s in the business not to live some bottle-service fantasy but because, he says, “I scare people at A.T.M.s.”

“Atlanta” has a serious streak and the occasional matter-of-fact violence; the second episode is set largely in a police precinct. But the show is richly funny without jokes or setups. The comedy sidles up on you in deadpan exchanges, as when Alfred argues that it’s disturbing for Darius to call his gun “Daddy.”

Photo Lakeith Stanfield as a philosopher-stoner in “Atlanta.” Credit Guy D’Alema/FX

“Is it weird when your girl calls you Daddy?” Darius asks.

“That’s completely different,” says Alfred. “And yes. Yes, it is.”

This is a show that relies on atmosphere, which, yes, can be comedy shorthand for diffuse and aimless. But not when the air is as intoxicating as it is in “Atlanta,” and the setting so well captured.

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“Atlanta” was shot on location, and the cliché with this kind of locally flavored show is to say that “the city is the star.” Mr. Glover, whose brother Stephen also writes for the series, grew up in nearby Stone Mountain, Ga., and Hiro Murai, a music-video veteran who directs the first four episodes, frames the streetscapes with wonder.

But beyond that, Atlanta in “Atlanta” is a kind of state of mind. It’s a capital of hip-hop, but distinctively regional. It’s not small-time or the biggest of big times; it is, like the characters, in between.

The Atlanta of “Atlanta” is above all a layer cake of African-American life, bourgeois and street, hipster and old school. Even in a more diverse TV environment, it’s a statement for a marquee show to be this immersively black (including, unusually for television, the writing staff).

But the show is conscious of how much of the world claims black culture. There’s an awkward gag in the pilot about a white radio-station employee who believes he’s tight enough with Earn to use a certain racial slur in front of him. (“Atlanta,” like many rap lyrics, uses the word copiously.)

The issues of identity and appropriation return, more complicated, in the fourth episode, when Alfred feuds with Zan (Freddie Kuguru), an internet star who mocks him online and whose ethnicity no one can figure out. Is he black? Asian? Dominican?

Who knows? Hip-hop is now in everyone and in everything, from music to memes. As far as Zan is concerned, he and Alfred are one and the same; they’re both just hustlers trying to make their mark.

The story is a nod to how vast and global a business rap has become, a point that “Empire” has plated in gold. All the more reason it’s a delight to find “Atlanta,” an idiosyncratic hangout with a crew whose members, in a genre that lionizes making it big, would be glad to make it medium.

Correction: September 6, 2016
An earlier version of a picture caption with this review misspelled the surname of the actor who plays Darius in “Atlanta.” As the review correctly notes, he is Lakeith Stanfield, not Standfield.


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’Atlanta’ Is Great at Talking About Race Without Talking About Race

In just its fifth episode, "Nobody Beats the Biebs," Atlanta has proven that it is currently the best show to tackle both the big and small frustrations of race—all without ever losing its cool. In fact, "cool" might be Atlanta’s most accurate descriptor; the series effortlessly oozes coolness throughout, whether it’s the calm shooting that opened the pilot or last night’s casual introduction of a black Justin Bieber. Atlanta has a chill vibe largely due to Earn’s character who is more reactive than proactive: He watches things happen, he takes in the scene, he allows himself to be pushed and pulled by the events occurring around him. This gives Atlanta the space to breathe and explore deep topics calmly without coming off as preachy or desperate. Rather, it deals with racism matter-of-factly, never pretending that it doesn’t exist or claiming to have an explicit solution to fix the world.

"Nobody Beats the Biebs" featured three vignettes of sorts, all of which could have been fleshed out to full episodes (but were cleverly condensed into one) and all of which dealt with the complexities of racism and microaggressions. The runner featured Darius with a simplistic (yet original) sitcom setup: He brings a poster of a dog target to the gun range and is met with complete disbelief and hatred from the other (white) shooters who balk at the idea of him firing at a dog ("My kid could be in here!") but who, ironically, don’t see any issue with shooting a human target (even if, or especially if, that target happens to specifically depict someone that isn’t white). It doesn’t have to be spelled out that Darius likely would’ve been given a pass if he weren’t black because Darius knows this, Atlanta knows this, and we know this. This plot also doubles as a clever send-up of the way that television and movie audiences seem to be totally desensitized to onscreen violence—or even, sometimes, cellphone videos of real violence—but will completely lose it when a fictional animal dies (see: Old Yeller and My Dog Skip). What’s even smarter is that Atlanta doesn’t linger on this storyline or blow it up for more than the few minutes it’s featured within "Nobody Beats the Biebs." Atlanta knows when it has made its point (and it trusts its viewers to know this, too), and moves on.

Earn’s storyline also depicts microaggressions when an agent (played by Jane Adams, who sells every inebriated or venomous line) mistakes him for "Alonzo" in an extended version of the "all black people look alike" stereotype. Like the majority of Atlanta, this mix-up is played for laughs as Earn ends up temporarily going along with it—after all, if someone’s going to be racist, why not use that to bolster your career? It allows Earn an invite to mingle with some real agents, to network (sort of, he still doesn’t have his own business cards), and to take advantage of the open bar. Until, of course, it backfires when it’s revealed that "Alonzo" royally screwed over Adams, and she verbally attacks him, promising to make sure that he dies homeless. Joke’s on her, though: Technically, Earn is already homeless.

But the real centerpiece of "Nobody Beats the Biebs" is, of course, black Justin Bieber. It’s such a bait-and-switch, a slyly brilliant way to parody everything from Justin Bieber’s personality, to his endless apologies, to our own expectations. Any other show would have Bieber remain an off-screen presence with characters remarking on his actions or maybe a random shot of the back of "his" head covered in a baseball cap. Atlanta, however, flips the script, switching the race and casting a black actor/singer, Austin Crute, as Justin Bieber. It’s done with little fanfare—no one even so much as makes a meta-joke about it—which just amplifies how well this works. By not drawing attention to the obvious difference, Atlanta plays it off as normal, inviting viewers to simply accept and believe these new circumstances instead of providing us with a big wink that breaks the fourth wall.

Atlanta knows when it has made its point (and it trusts its viewers to know this, too), and it moves on.

By not changing much about Bieber’s personality—he’s still wildin’ out, an out-of-control mess who pisses in the corner and responds to a fan’s "I love you, Justin!" with a curt "I know, bitch"—Atlanta turns into a surrealistic comedy, daring us to imagine what Justin Bieber would be like if he were actually black and not just often trying to be. It speaks volumes about white privilege and what the real Bieber can get away with. If a black singer pulled the same stunts as the real Bieber, he would never be calmly dismissed with a "He’s just trying to figure it out" but instead would be dissected and destroyed across the internet. His poorly written apology song wouldn’t fly and certainly wouldn’t evoke an "Aw, shucks!" response from a room full of press.

What’s remarkable about Atlanta is that it never explicitly lays this out on the table. It’s just played straightforward, casually dropping viewers into this world where a rich, baby-faced black musician can get away with all the same ridiculous shit that a rich, baby-faced white musician can, and allowing us to live there for a half hour. At the end, there are no grand declarations or political statements. There’s just black Bieber, crooning false apologies and dancing across a stage.

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Screengrab from ’Atlanta.’ Courtesy of FX

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One of the most original, weirdest (in a good way), critically-acclaimed TV shows to debut in 2016 was "Atlanta." And in a year that brought us "Stranger Things" and "Westworld," that’s saying a lot.

The half-hour FX surrealist comedy-drama follows Earnest "Earn" Marks, portrayed by Donald Glover (no relation to Danny), as he attempts to venture into the music business with his rapper cousin Alfred AKA Paper Boi, played by Brian Tyree Henry, and his dopey friend Darius (Keith Stanfield), the affable cosmic cousin of Dave Chapelle’s pothead character in Half Baked.

"Atlanta" was renewed for a second season.

Screenshot/Xiomara Blanco

The show’s moody aesthetic, perfectly curated soundtrack, quirky characters and smart humor all contributed to its refreshingly unique perspective. If you missed out on "Atlanta" this year, here’s what made it such a special show to watch.

It was real

Earn is poor. As a working-class guy who’s in an on-again-off-again relationship with the mother of his child and who is technically homeless, we catch a glimpse of his pathetically small paycheck and watch him equally struggle to pay for a kid’s meal (for himself) as he does a rare dinner date.

The show’s main character struggles making money.

Screenshot/Xiomara Blanco

Financial strife isn’t the sexiest subject matter for a TV show, but "Atlanta" digs into the realistic portrayal of a black, middle-class worker dealing with the shitty cards he’s been dealt. Throughout the show, honest and vulnerable conversations about Earn’s well-intentioned attempts to navigate fatherhood and the messiness of his romantic relationship oscillate amid casual philosophizing over the purpose of life and the long, winding road to happiness and fulfillment.

It was surreal Advertisement

The intentionally slow pacing of "Atlanta" paired with absolute absurdities results in eerie, surreal scenes that end up feeling more like a bizarre fever dream than a TV show.

Among the weirder moments of the first season are an invisible car, a deadly drug deal in the woods with the Migos rappers, an out of control black pop star named Justin Bieber and a to-go box of chicken that mysteriously lights up like the briefcase in "Pulp Fiction." The show seems to make a point that it, like life, sometimes fails to make sense.

The surreal moments and slow pacing are what makes gives the show "Twin Peaks" vibes.

Screenshot/Xiomara Blanco That super-meta episode

If you only watch one episode, it should be "B.A.N." Instead of the normal-weird episode of "Atlanta," it’s an ambitious meta episode that’s shot as a show within a show airing on the fictional Black America Network -- spoof commercials and all.

The episode follows Paper Boi on a TV show called "Montague," (a "Larry King"-type talk show with a Don Lemon-like host) discussing his lyrics and getting into hot water over transphobic comments he made on Twitter. However, the real stars of the episode are the parody commercials. Highlights include classy-AF ads for Mickey’s malt liquor and Swisher Sweets cigars, and an odd commercial with a callback to an unsettling character Earn eerily encounters in the first episode.

Audiences were divided about this episode’s overt political commentary, but the experimental idea and its brilliant delivery will make any fan of "Community" (the super-meta TV series Donald Glover used to star in) smile wide with pride.

Donald Glover is racking up award nominations for his role in "Atlanta."

Screenshot/Xiomara Blanco Donald Glover is a ’G’

Glover, the show’s creator and headlining actor, is a modern day renaissance man. Also a writer, stand-up comedian, rapper and singer, Glover just released his third studio album "Awaken, My Love," was cast in a new Star Wars movie and won the Critic’s Choice award for his acting role in "Atlanta."

Aside from writing, directing and acting in "Atlanta," it is Glover’s unique vision that’s made the series unlike anything else on TV. His original idea for the show, a "’Twin Peaks’ for rappers," sounded more like the premise of an SNL digital short. Yet Glover, with help from a talented cast of writers and director Hiro Murai, successfully executed his brainchild into one of the most fantastic, thought-provoking new comedies on TV.

Thankfully, FX renewed Atlanta for a second season. Unfortunately, due to Glover’s busy schedule, fans will have to wait a little longer until it’s ready. That gives you plenty of time to binge-watch Season One before crying out for more.

Girata realmente ad Atlanta, dove il protagonista Donald Glover è cresciuto e si è affermato anche come musicista, Atlanta di FX ha ricevuto critiche entusiaste dalla stampa americana ed estera, vincendo per la sua prima stagione il Golden Globe come migliore comedy. Glover, anch’egli premiato con il Golden Globe, come migliore attore in una comedy, è anche l’ideatore della serie, dirige alcuni episodi e firma diverse sceneggiature. In quest’ultimo compito è affiancato dal fratello, il rapper e autore Stephen Glover.

Abbandonati gli studi alla Princeton University, Earn cerca di redimersi agli occhi dei genitori e dell’ex fidanzata, dalla quale ha avuto una bambina, mentre, senza un soldo in tasca, è alla costante ricerca di un tetto sopra la testa. Resosi conto che suo cugino Alfred, un rapper che si fa chiamare Paper Boi, è a un tiro di schioppo dalla fama, Earn si unisce a lui nel disperato tentativo di farsi strada nella scena rap di Atlanta per migliorare la sua vita e quella di sua figlia Lotti.

https://www.comingsoon.it/serietv/atlanta/1622/scheda/

EPISODI (da wikipedia)

Primo episodio - Il sogno (The Big Bang)

Earnest "Earn" Marks non è soddisfatto della vita che conduce nei sobborghi di Atlanta. Il lavoro come promoter in aeroporto non gli permette di avere una casa, costringedolo a coabitare assieme all’ex fidanzata Van, con cui ha una figlia di nome Lotti. Saputo che Van si sta vedendo con altre persone, Earn vuole trovare la sua indipendenza e cerca di rientrare nel mondo della musica, abbandonato ormai da tre anni. Per fare questo si rivolge a suo cugino Alfred, il quale ha inciso un demo con il nome d’arte di Paper Boi. Earn propone ad Alfred di diventare suo agente, ma il cugino dice di non aver bisogno di nessuno che gestisca i suoi affari. Convincendolo che in futuro, quando avrà successo, dovrà necessariamente cambiare idea, Earn promette di sfruttare le sue vecchie conoscenze nel mondo musicale per ottenere un passaggio radiofonico del suo singolo.

Earn fa visita a Dave, deejay di una radio locale, e riesce a far passare il singolo di Alfred. Quella sera, mentre sono in macchina insieme ad ascoltare la canzone, un uomo rompe il finestrino retrovisore della macchina di Alfred. Quest’ultimo reagisce sparando all’uomo. Rientrata a casa da un appuntamento galante, Van apprende dalla radio che Earn e Alfred sono stati arrestati.

Secondo episodio - Notorietà (Streets on Lock).

Earn is the kind of person who stresses everyone the hell out. Yet for all his faults, you still hope this fool figures himself out. That clearly won’t happen in “Streets on Lock,” given how the episode begins: Earn and his rapping cousin are in jail, mere hours after he got Paper Boi’s single on the radio.

While they’re sitting there, Earn turns to Alfred and says, “I’ve never been arrested before.” And he wasn’t even arrested for fighting the struggle, so it’s a big ol’ L all around. I’m not sure what I’d do if I got locked up in similar fashion. I’d probably sing Ja Rule’s “I Cry” — in my head, for safety reasons, obviously.

In another #poordat situation for Earn, Alfred is let out of jail faster than his kinfolk because someone handled his paperwork for him. When Alfred tries to see about bailing Earn out and inquires about why exactly he’s been arrested, a very matter-of-fact black women quips, “What’s the charge? Nigga, this ain’t a movie. You better wait until he’s in the system.”

His ass sure waits, too.

I love Atlanta’s unabashed use of nigga. Maybe Paul Mooney no longer believes saying it makes his teeth white, but many of us haven’t stopped using it colloquially. Some will understand it’s the culture, others will feign confusion and whine about double standards. I’ll just be over here saying na-na-na-na-na-na, white people still can’t say it.

You hear it again when Alfred makes his way out of jail, after a thirsty cop approaches him — well, Paper Boi — and asks for a picture. At one point, he asks, “You listen to Gucci Mane? Man, I locked that nigga up.” How many Atlanta-area police officers can make similar boasts? To get a good estimate, multiply the number of lies Donald Trump has told this month by half the number of headlines featuring “Hillary Clinton” and “email.” The answer is too many damn people.

That lust for fame follows Alfred for the rest of his day. Fresh out of jail, he and his hilarious friend Darius go to grab food, and he is approached by a very enthusiastic waiter who informs him that he is “the nigga.” Why? Well, “I heard about that shoot-out you had on Twitter. You’re one of the last real rappers, man.” The waiter then goes to speak about being an old-school cat who listens to Mobb Deep and dead rappers like the Notorious B.I.G. and 2Pac. Not surprisingly, he also slams “singing-ass rappers” like Fetty Wap before noting it’s “good to see a rapper blow a nigga.”

The end result is that Alfred and Darius don’t just get lemon-pepper wings, but WET lemon-pepper wings with the sauce. Now, lemon-pepper wings are already a cherished meal in certain sects of the community, but with the sauce, too? Oh, you poppin’.

Before leaving, the waiter warns Alfred, “Don’t let me down. If you let me down, I don’t know what I’d do.” You’ll grow up and get over it is what you’ll do. What a picturesque visual encapsulation of the old heads: They cling to bygone days of hip-hop while bitching about how much they hate Drake, Kanye West, and artists like Childish Gambino all day long.

Of course, the scene is not exactly subtle commentary. I’m typically not a fan of shows being so overt, though in this instance, it’s not a weakness. Thank God this one doesn’t practice Tyler Perry–style moralism, in which you are beaten over the head about the way you ought to be thinking. And I suppose I’m a bit biased because I absolutely agree with the point being made. Atlanta wants to be sure that everyone knows how violence and a specific strain of masculinity can benefit rappers like Paper Boi when they’re bursting onto the scene. The same goes for another scene where Alfred sees a little boy with a toy gun, emulating the parking-lot shooting so he can be just like him.

While Alfred tries to stage an impromptu after-school special to teach the boy why he shouldn’t celebrate such behavior, a wise black woman snaps, “Who are you and why are you speaking to my children?” Perhaps she’s seen enough episodes of Law & Order: SVU. When he says he didn’t mean to get in their business, she notes, “But you did.”

And yet, once Alfred reveals who he is (and raps the hook of his song to confirm it), the woman flips from handing him his ass to flirtily requesting a picture — with her hand on his chest — where it will surely land on the Instagram pages for the Shade Room and Baller Alert.

In these scenes, Atlanta makes keen observations about how quickly people will shift their attitudes and morals when it comes to celebrities, or more specifically, when it comes to famous rappers with songs we love. The scenes also add more layers to Alfred, who struggles to reconcile the Rick Ross–like mythology being attached to his rap persona with his actual identity.

Earn is the focal point of Atlanta, but his rags-to-riches tale is directly tied to how far Paper Boi rises as a rapper. In the first episode, Paper Boi hates the song that made his cousin decide to latch onto his rising success. In “Streets on Lock,” he’s visibly uneasy with the clout and cred he receives for shooting up a parking lot. A lot of rappers talk about violence, but they’re not really about that.

I’m curious to find out if, much like drug dealing, the music is just Alfred’s means to an end. Would he rather be somewhere else? So far, he looks like he’d rather be working at a bank. I want to learn how Alfred got to this point; I find his story most interesting. Yeah, I like Earn and I’ll root for him to finally pay his baby mama’s rent, but the story of a Princeton dropout just makes me want to shake a table.

Back in jail, we watch Earn bear witness to the ugliness of our justice system. At one point, we see a mentally-ill man dance around the waiting area to the amusement of other people who’ve been arrested. We then learn that he’s there every week; when Earn correctly notes that the man should be somewhere other than jail getting help, he’s told by a police officer to shut up. Not long after, we watch the man drink from a toilet, spit the water onto a police officer, and subsequently suffer a vicious beat down. His screams and shouts made me think of Ronald Reagan’s disastrous dismantling of America’s mental health-care system, and prompted an urge to lead a séance just to curse him out for the damage he’s done.

Another scene involves Earn being the unintentional third wheel between a man who reunites with his ex. He’s incredibly happy to be reunited with her, until he’s told that she’s a trans woman. The other men in the room think he’s “gay as hell,” and he tries to rebuff their claims by saying, “Y’all niggas fuck guys up in here anyway!” An older man is quick to respond, “That ain’t gay. That’s just jail. You was on the outside fucking booty holes.”

Earn tries to help by offering, “Sexuality is a spectrum, you can really do whatever you want.” It doesn’t work. The man gets up, then angrily says, “I know what you think she is, but I ain’t on that faggot shit.”

As a southern gay black man, I suppose I can appreciate Atlanta’s attempt to needle at the ridiculousness of homophobia and transphobia. However, if we’re to assume Lisa was arrested for prostitution in the year 2016, in a city with a black LGBTQ population as hefty as Atlanta’s, how naïve can that dude really be? There are streets like Peachtree in Midtown where many a working girl like Lisa hooks. Is he really that slow about the fluidity of sexuality? Wasn’t he just fawning over her a minute ago? His reaction and this story line feel a bit dated. I mean, maybe the dude went to Eddie Long’s church, hence the denial and confusion, but there are more contemporary ways to address homophobia and transphobia. I find it very hard to believe that someone who dated a trans black woman would not be up on game in Atlanta, of all places.

By the end of the episode, Van shows up to bail Earn out of jail, and she wears the face of disappointment when he slips into her car. As he looks to his daughter in the backseat, he jokes that one day they’ll laugh about it. Yeah, good luck with that.

Earn may be failing, but Atlanta is not. For a show to tackle a rapper’s ambivalence about fame, mass incarceration, the plight of mental health care in America, homophobia, and transphobia in 22 minutes without overwhelming its audience is quite impressive. I know, I know, the show is not trying to make a statement. I like that Glover has repeatedly made that plain. It removes the pressure to live up to other people’s ideals about his art. Still, “Streets on Lock” is a good example of how Glover and the Atlanta writers convey complex themes within the half-hour format. And it’s worth noting these subjects might otherwise not be addressed in scripted television — certainly not in shows with a young black man at the helm. Atlanta is a very rare creation, and I look forward to seeing more of it. (http://www.vulture.com/2016/09/atlanta-recap-season-1-episode-2.html)

Miei appunti sulla seconda puntata. Earn e Paper Boi si trovano alla stazione di polizia, fermati dopo l’episodio conclusivo della prima puntata. Chiacchierano, li vediamo da dietro uno schedario mentre i funzionari della polizia in primo piano vanno avanti e indietro (una specie di acquario). Poi Paper Boi viene liberato e chiede alla grossa poliziotta nera che sta dietro allo sportello perché stiano trattenendo ancora Earn, qual è l’accusa. Risposta della poliziotta: “What’s the charge? Nigga, this ain’t a movie. You better wait until he’s in the system.” Cioè: «Qual è l’accusa, negro? Negro, non siamo in un film. Farai meglio ad aspettare finché il tuo amico si trova nel “sistema”». Grandi riflessioni dei critici sull’uso disinvolto della parola “nigga” - altrimenti un insulto, qui però detta da una nera a un nero - e della parola “system”, che in questo caso da noi potrebbe essere reso con “istituzione”, il sistema dei poliziotti o delle carceri. L’episodio si sviluppa adesso in due direzioni: quello che succede a Earn mentre è in attesa del suo destino nella stazione di polizia. E quello che capita a Paper Boi, tornato libero. Storia Earn: sta seduto in una specie di sala d’aspetto fatta di poltroncine di plastica (quelle che da noi si vedono in certi ospedali), Earn osserva l’umanità grottesca e disperata che gli sta intorno. Gente che grida o che cammina su e giù, un tizio gli chiede il panino che ha in mano e lui glielo regala, un altro, seduto alla sua destra, si mette a fare la corte a un transessuale che sta seduto alla sua sinistra e lui chiede se debba togliersi di mezzo. Quando si addormenta, un poliziotto (inquadrato di spalle all’altezza della pistola), lo sveglia, «Ehi, qui non si dorme, capito?». La parte realtiva a Earn di questa puntata è una specie di inchiesta sugli emarginati di Atlanta, ripresa con una freddezza da documentario, senza musica, e con l’unico commento che si ricava dalle espressioni - incazzate, rassegnate - di Earn. Paper Boi intanto va in giro per la città col suo amico e compagno di stanza Darius. In un caffè il cameriere gli fa un sacco di complimenti (qualcosa del tipo: «Rapper, sei tutti di noi», ma anche qui appare la parola «nigga»), poi mentre cammina per la città vede tre bambini che giocano alla guerra e uno di questi bambini impugna una pistola-giocattolo (e la impugna come va impugnata, cioè a sette o otto anni sa già come si deve impugnare una pistola). Arriva la madre e zia dei tre, li rimprovera, li toglie l’arma, li sta riportando a casa quando Paper Boi si presenta e attacca a parlare con la donna. Lei è molto diffidente («che ci facevi qui a guardare i bambini?») ma quando lui dice di essere Paper Boi, il rapper di cui la radio ha diffuso una canzone al mattino, quella si scioglie, sorride, lo abbraccia e accetta persino di farsi un selfie con lui.

TERZO EPISODIO.

“Go For Broke” is a really unusual half-hour of television. It’s expositional, but not clumsy. It’s weird, but in a really plausible way. And somehow it manages to marry two stories that are so radically different, they shouldn’t work together nearly as well as they do. It also shows how much thought Donald Glover and his team have spent talking about and trying to flesh out the world they’ve created. It sort of acts like a surreal explainer for how an up-and-coming trap-hop star and his aspiring manager might live while they’re trying to get their ducats in a row.

Van, who I’ll get to in detail later, is right about Earn’s dream of hip hop riches is an Atlanta cliche. In fact, it’s one I’ve spent years mocking. It’s so, so common to meet dudes in Atlanta, or any other chocolate city, who when asked what they’re doing with their lives reply “Man, I’m just trying to work on this music thing with my cousin.” And it’s always, always a cousin. People don’t work on rap music with uncles or nephews or stepsisters. If you want to embark on a journey to trap superstardom, you call your cousin. But that response never establishes what the person is currently doing. You know, the stuff that pays the rent, buys the food, and ensures there’s something to put inside the cigarillo after the tobacco is scraped out.

For Alfred, the main hustle is selling drugs. And on one level that doesn’t feel quite right because in the first two episodes, Alfred comes across as the guy who seems like he would sell drugs, but would actually be deeply offended if you accused him of doing so. But trap hop is the nexus of the music business and the drug business, with most if not all of its luminaries having well-documented histories with drug-related crime. As Young Jeezy once said, “It’s kinda hard to be drug-free, when Georgia Power won’t give a nigga lights free.” (And it’s true, they totally won’t give a nigga lights free. I’ve asked.) The rap game is all about credibility anyway, so a career in rapping about selling drugs has drug sales as its logical prerequisite. Alfred sells drugs because it fits with his lifestyle and beats real work, but also because to a certain degree he has to sell drugs to burnish the street cred he now relies on.

If that makes sense for Alfred, it also makes sense for the hip hop group that makes a cameo appearance in “Go For Broke.” Alfred and Darius tell Earn they’re going to do a deal with some Mexicans, but as it turns out, the connects are not amigos, they’re the Migos, the trap-hop trio well-known for their tendency to knock the pussy out like fight night. That’s pretty funny in and of itself, but continues to get weirder as the story progresses. But as surreal as the drug deal sequence is, it’s still totally earthbound. One minute a guy is doing time for pushing weight, the next he’s headlining a music festival. These things happen, and so as weird as it feels to watch well-known rappers shoot guns and shoot the shit during a drug transaction, it’s also real life. That’s what’s so brilliant about Atlanta so far, the way it combines the real and the surreal so seamlessly. No one has ever offered me a Nutella sandwich on MARTA, but if someone told me that story I’d believe it and find it hilarious.

The other great thing about the Alfred and Darius story is how it fleshes out Darius as more than a spacey dude who hangs around pontificating. He’s also Alfred’s partner in crime, the one who can be trusted with the requisite steel briefcase full of cash. “Go For Broke” also goes a long way towards fleshing out Vanessa, who, like Darius, existed on the fringes of the story in the first two episodes. Earn and Van’s date, which she very reluctantly agrees to, is as much a sales presentation as Alfred and Darius’ meeting with Migos. But Earn is selling Van on the idea of him as an active, financially stable father for their child. Taking Van out to dinner is a charming, simple gesture of good faith, but it takes money to demonstrate that you’re trying to get your money up, and Earn has none.

Earn and Van’s relationship is one of the most interesting and complex intimate relationships I’ve seen on television in some time. They’re co-habitating in a mostly platonic capacity while they raise their child together, a set of circumstances that resonates for a ton of people I’d imagine. It’s too soon to fret about Van after three episodes, but I really like the character and I’m concerned about her getting painted into a long-suffering baby-mama corner. But that was probably my only complaint about that story, which fleshes out the world of Atlanta just as much as “Streets On Lock” did. From Earn’s humiliating trip to Zesto to his interaction with the homeless dude on his parking hustle, every moment felt authentic. It feels odd to be so surprised by authenticity in a television show, especially one about a world in which authenticity is job one. But Atlanta, just by getting the details right, is a pleasant surprise week after week.

Stray observationsY’all really thought I was going to be a week behind all season? C’mon, son. (Seriously, sorry for the delay. We’re on track now.)
That server in the restaurant was on my last nerve too. I wish a server would take the liberty to add an appetizer to my tab. The gag where the homeless parking attendant came in to grab one of his people was basically amazing. Still not sure how I feel about someone naming their gun Daddy, but I guess naming your gun is such an odd ritual that the actual name chosen doesn’t make much of a difference. For more Migos madness, check out their controversial Noisey Atlanta episode. For even more Migos madness, check out their Talent Show segment from earlier this year.

SECONDO PEZZO SUL TERZO EPISODIO (da

Donald Glover’s already-acclaimed FX series Atlanta is shaping up to be one of the best new television series we never knew we needed. The show’s Sept. 6 debut reeled in 3 million viewers, the most-watched premiere for an original comedy since 2011, according to a press release.

For the third episode titled "Go for Broke," onscreen cousins Earn (played by Glover) and Alfred "Paper Boi" Miles (Brian Tyree Henry) represent two different views of hustling by any means necessary. While Earn has $92 to his name and gets frequent scoldings from his baby’s mom Van, Paper Boi has an influx of dough from drug dealing with his buddy, Darius, but has to watch his every move.

15 Best Quotes From ’Atlanta’ Series Premiere

Here, Billboard breaks down the lessons we learned in the art of finessing from Earn and company. Note: Don’t try these at home. 

Ask for water, pour in soda

"Only a kid can get a kid’s meal," a McDonald’s manager barked at Earn when he tried to purchase the meal. In the opening for "Go for Broke," the Princeton dropout finds himself stuck between a rock and a hard place, trying to order a kid’s meal in a hushed and embarrassed tone due to a lack of funds. He then asked for a water cup, filling it up with Orange Fanta without an ounce of shame. (It’s even crazier to think that filling up the freebie cup with soda instead of water like 18-year-old Cody Morris did in an Arkansas McDonald’s could result in a potential felony robbery.) Nevertheless, when Earn locks eyes with a woman mopping the floor, he places one hand over his mouth, signaling her to keep quiet as he dashes out. 

Report a missing debit card after a pricey meal

"I’m in a bed and I’m technically homeless. It’s pretty great," Earn tells Van with a smile during pillow talk just before she blows up on him for failing to help her support their daughter. Making just $5.25 an hour plus commission at the airport by pitching vacations to travelers who could honestly care less, his financial contributions are little to none. With just $96 to his name ($62 after calculating expenses for the week and a MARTA card for transportation), he still has high hopes of treating Van to a romantic dinner date, even after his co-worker refers to him as "12 Years a Slave" for being broke on payday. Still, he manages to pay for dinner at a restaurant he couldn’t afford despite desperate calls to his cousin for a money transfer then reports his debit card stolen.

Make ends meet -- in the streets

Even though his profile has risen thanks to a viral hit, Paper Boi still has one foot in the game and the other in the streets. When Earn questions him about his income, he’s straightforward about selling drugs. His right-hand man Darius chimes in, telling Earn, "You might as well sell drugs. It’s easy, it’s lucrative. People are addicted to it." Paper Boi explains he plans to sell it until he gets rich. For now, pushing drugs serves as a viable source of income that has given him a roof over his head, plenty of weed to smoke, fly clothes and studio time to get his rap career off the ground.

15 Best Quotes From ’Atlanta’ Season Premiere

Get rich or die trying

When Paper Boi and Darius take a journey to Buford Highway for a drug-related reup, they find themselves apprehensive and ready to abort mission. Rap trio Migos made a surprise cameo during the episode as the drug cartel. Quavo, taking the reins on speaking parts, portrayed a menacing dealer, fatally shooting a guy who seemingly didn’t come through on his end of the deal. As the lead dealer, he becomes suspicious of Paper Boi’s request for a large drug order, especially after just being arrested. Earn’s call about his pricey date interrupts, and luckily, Paper Boi and Darius make it out alive.

Stick to your own terms

Just like his father warned in the season opener, "When [Earn] wants to do something, he does it -- on his own terms." This statement holds true for episode 3. When Earn and Van discuss security and stability, he voices his belief in failing in order to discover what actually works. Van is more traditional with her views, pushing aside his follow-your-dreams mantra to focus on the tools needed for their daughter to survive. After dinner, the same discussion swells as Earn says, "I know I have a daughter and I know she deserves the best, but I don’t think I have to compromise what I want out of life to do that. Especially if I think it’s gonna provide for her. You know me, Van. I can do this. I just gotta do it my way. And if you can’t do this out of love for me, do this out of love for her." However, Van fired back, "That’s some dumb shit. That’s some dumb-ass shit, Earn." Recall how Earn stuck to his DIY mentality last episode, befriended a radio station janitor and helped Paper Boi’s record land on the air.

PER LA QUARTA PUNTATA ABSTRACT IN http://www.billboard.com/articles/columns/hip-hop/7517935/atlanta-episode-4-the-streisand-effect-recap

QUINTA PUNTATA

FX’s Atlanta didn’t drop the ball in providing random celebrity cameos and a-ha moments in this week’s episode, "Nobody Beats the Biebs."

Rapper Paper Boi participated in a charity basketball game where he takes on Justin Bieber, the douche-y pop star who also happens to be black in star Donald Glover’s version of ATL. Earn gets mistaken for another black man named Alonso and is whisked away to a VIP lounge by an older woman (played by Jane Adams) where Hennessy and Grand Marnier is free and business cards get swapped all day -- until the woman accuses him of stealing her clients. Meanwhile, Darius took aim at an unexpected target at the shooting range, which doesn’t sit too well with two white men. 

15 Best Quotes From ’Atlanta’ Season Premiere

Zip through Episode 5’s highlights below.

Darius at the shooting range 

While Earn and Paper Boi were at the charity event, Darius headed to the shooting range. When he unfurled a poster of a dog as his target and fired off his gun, two white men approach him and say, "You can’t shoot a dog." Darius asked, "Why would I shoot a human target? That’s too specific." He then pointed to a target graphic showing a white "Dad." Another man, appearing to be of Middle Eastern descent, sides with Darius. "America has taken so much. No more!," he said. "A revolution will rise from within. Blood will spill."

Paper Boi at the basketball game

“You should interview me now because I’ma be the MVP of this thang,” Paper Boi tells a reporter before the game, simultaneously hitting on her and requesting an interview. "My audience isn’t into the whole gangster thing, I’m not really either," she responded, recognizing him as the rapper who shot somebody.

On the court, he took on black Bieber alongside a roster that included singer Lloyd, Family Matters star Jaleel White and rapper Lil Zane. While the two nearly duked it out on the hardwood, Paper Boi continued to be persistent about landing an interview with the reporter after the game. She then offered, "Listen, I want to give you some advice -- play your part. People don’t want Justin to be the asshole. They want you to be the asshole. You’re a rapper. That’s your job."

’Atlanta’ Episode 4 ’The Streisand Effect’ Recap: Zan’s Debut, Paper Boi’s Internet Beef & Darius’ Master Plan

Justin Bieber at the basketball game

On Atlanta, Justin Bieber is black. Played by actor Austin Crute, the Biebs is portrayed as a pretentious asshole who smushed the reporter’s face during an interview and pissed in a corner before the game. "You should work with him," Earn told Alfred, who wants nothing to do with his opponent. 

His on-court demeanor is Donald Trump levels of aggravating, too. Heated words are exchanged before he and Paper Boi get into a shoving match in the paint. At the post-game press conference, black Bieber apologized for his actions. “I guess I’ve been trying to be so cool lately that I became something I’m not. This is me -- this is the real Justin,” he said, flipping his backwards cap to the front showing the word “Real" and performing a poppy cut (which sounds like new Childish Gambino material, perhaps off Pharos) from his forthcoming album titled Justice. "I actually like Christ," added the Biebs. Paper Boi then said under his breath, “I can’t belive this n---a.”

Earn at the lounge

An older woman mistook Earn for “Alonso,” a former black colleague and invited him to a lounge for agents and managers upstairs. They immediately talked about the industry and reminisced on old times after meeting six years earlier at the Grammys. Earn played along to network and hopefully get in good with this hot shot who smokes and wears shades indoors. Their powwow takes a turn when the woman accuses Alonso of ruining her career. “You thought I was finished but I’m a survivor," she said. "I am going to ruin you no matter where you go. I’m gonna make sure you die homeless.”

Atlanta airs on FX at 10 p.m. every Tuesday.

http://watchseries.cr/series/atlanta/season/1/episode/5

EPISODIO 6

Before Tuesday night’s (Oct. 4) installment of FX’s Atlanta, we didn’t know much about Van, the mother of Earn’s baby daughter and his best friend (played by actress Zazzie Beetz). Critics had stamped her character as the critical, judgmental single mom constantly down Earn’s throat about responsibilities ranging from fatherhood to finances.

But in this week’s episode titled "Value," the tables are turned and viewers finally saw Van in a different light as the spotlight magnified the complexities of her life like never before, proving she’s trying to figure out life like everyone else around her.

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As much as Van, the sole breadwinner of her household who works at a school, tried to make ends meet for the sake of her daughter and seems to have everything under control, it’s clear she doesn’t. When she meets up with a childhood friend named Jayde, her complexities are held up to a microscope. Unlike Van, Jayde lives a faster pace and more luxurious life, earning her bones by cuddling up to rich NBA athletes. From the time they sit down at the dinner table of an upscale restaurant, their starkly varying values are unloaded on Front Street. Instead of a budget-friendly glass of Chardonnay, Jayde insisted they cop an entire bottle of the finest and sweetest liquor.

“You flew Delta?” Van asked, trying to ease the awkward tension after Jayde threw a backhanded compliment about her. “No, private. it wasn’t the nice PJ, it was like rent-a-PJ,” Jayde said, sharing the details about her recent trip to Paris and her next globe-trotting excursions to New York and London. As Van marveled a bit at her friend’s lifestyle, the conversation turned to Van’s seemingly humdrum life. "I’m busy, I’m good," she mustered up as Jayde mocked her, calling her a grandmother. “Sometimes I wish I had a kid, but then I’m like ’Oh God, no,’" she remarked.

The friends sat in silence as the awkwardness continued to rise. "You used to make fun of girls like you," Jayde continued, pointing out the cracks in Van’s life. "You need to think about our value. Why are you messing around with this broke ass n---a?" It’s a harsh reminder of reality but Van toughens up and barks back with jabs about they way Jayde chooses to live her rich and fabulous life. "Women need to be valuable," she continued. "Black women have to be valuable." 

’Atlanta’ Episode 5 ’Nobody Beats The Biebs’ Recap: Justin Bieber’s Realness, Darius’ Target & Earn’s VIP Status

Later, Jayde’s local Atlanta cuddle buddy joined them, bringing a friend named CJ, who is challenged in both the looks and height department. As soon as the two take a seat and introduce themselves, Van makes a dash, telling them she’s going to the bathroom as she grabs her jacket and purse. However, she makes a beeline to the parking garage to escape the night’s looming madness. Like any concerned friend, Jayde pulls up in her high priced vehicle, hanging a joint out the window as a parting gift before her 9 a.m. flight. While Van, stamped as the only responsible adult in her life these days, warns she’s got work in the morning, she’s lured in by her friend and obliged.

Lighting up the weed, the two kick back in the car, laughing, putting the passive aggressive conversation in the restaurant past them, ultimately remembering what they liked each other in the first place. The relationship is just as odd as Van and Earn’s, but it works. "You look like an Instagram escort, you should be proud of that s--t,” Van said after taking a photo of Jayde puffing. "I love you Van," Jayde offered.

The next morning, after snoozing well into the morning, Van is greeted by an alarm and a message on her phone that reads "Drug Test Today." Scrambling to get dressed, get her baby ready for the day and figuring out how she’s going to pass the drug test after the previous night’s smoking session, she calmly goes into panic mode and calls Jayde for help, who insists an athlete friend of hers could offer advice - lies. In a time crunch, Van asks Earn for Alfred’s number, making an excuse that her friend wants to meet him. Putting two-and-two together, Alfred -- who sells weed for a living when he’s not the rapper Paper Boi -- makes perfect sense to her. However, Alfred is quite cold to her plea for help, reminding her of all the times she looked down on him for his lifestyle choices.

’Atlanta’ Episode 4 ’The Streisand Effect’ Recap: Zan’s Debut, Paper Boi’s Internet Beef & Darius’ Master Plan

"I can’t lose my job because I am all that we have," she explained. He then suggested that she get "piss from somewhere, stick it in a condom" to pass the drug test with flying colors. She then conjures up the bright idea of using her daughter’s dirty diapers to extract the urine. Hauling a garbage bag of diapers back into her apartment, she pulled out latex gloves, scissors, a mixing bowl and a strainer -- an elaborate yet disgusting process indeed but Van’s only hope to prevent getting fired from her job. 

Confident and dressed for work, she lifted up her dress, peering at the condom taped to her leg. By the time she entered the building and went to the bathroom to do the deed, her determination crumbled as she struggled to open the condom that had tied a bit too tight.

When the principal questioned why she didn’t participate in the drug test, Van confessed that she smoked weed. The principal went on to tell her that not giving her urine sample wasn’t a big deal due to school budget cuts and that she has to fire Van for taking an illegal substance. With a slumped facial expression, Van looked shocked. "Okay, let’s say we had this conversation Friday. That’ll give you the week to get your things together, okay?" the principal asked, flaunting her compassionate side and hugging Van.

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Soon after, Alfred sends Van a text, asking how everything went. "Fine. How much for an eighth?" she responded. "I don’t sell. Save my name as someone else," he said. "Girl, you sloppy AF."