‘Abbott Elementary,’ Best Show of the Year

 

Abbott Elementary season two advertisement.

“Janine— as teachers at a school like Abbott, we have to be able to do it all. We are admin. We are social workers. We are therapists. We are second parents. Hell, sometimes we’re even first. Why? It sho ain’t the money.”— Barbara Howard, kindergarten teacher brilliantly played by Sheryl Lee Ralph.

Abbott Elementary is the binge-worthy mockumentary comedy we have been waiting forever on. Every episode has moments delivers laughter and tears thanks to commendable writing and superb acting. 

Everyone had to have a teacher (or principal) that dressed like Janine (Quinta Brunson). Thanks to series costume designer Susan Michalek for crafting that reality. 

The environment at Abbott is not always perfect. They struggle on with old books and limited equipment: expected results of the dwindling public school system that has hurt and hindered a lot of us. The determined Janine Teagues, a too-delightful, competitive spirited second grade teacher, tries to make it as fun and exhilarating as possible. Barbara Howard, the warm, soothing kindergarten teacher with a mean bite and her best bud Melissa Schemetti, the other second grade teacher (and often Janine’s playful nemesis), often side against Janine. Thankfully, Janine does have friends in eighth grade teacher Jacob Hill and newcomer Gregory Eddy, a tight circle that nudges our perky, thrifty fashioned girl in the right direction. 

Jacob, the white do-gooder who traveled throughout Africa, may seem an ill fit to this tight team due to his lengthy rants and desire to be more proactive in civil rights. He often adds the amped up fuel to Janine’s well-meaning schemes, showing to be one of her biggest supporters/allies. Also boyfriend Zac, a lover of sneakers just like Jacob, is simply amazing— funny, gifted vocalist, awesome one-liner delivery! Although Jacob has a hard time zipping his lip, he does sprout insight every once in a while. 

The polar opposite of Janine, Principal Ava (Janelle James) is an iconic fashionista with a style that steals the show episode after episode. 

Principal Ava Coleman, however, operates on various noticeable fronts. In the beginning, she seemed too invested in promoting her image, mainly on social media tools like Tik Tok and Poshmark, building her brand versus helping Abbott in any structural way. She even used emergency funds to have a billboard of her stylish self posted in front of the school and buy new wavy hair instead of purchasing desperately needed rugs for the classrooms. Heck, her green screen office is the primary spot to take incredible videos and seller pictures of her brand name merchandise. She even has her own gaudy bathroom installed in the school basement. Yet, Ava has also taken extreme action under circumstances that would overwhelm even the strongest person. She managed to give a compelling speech on being principal in front of the very person she blackmailed to get the job. She successfully substituted sick Janine’s class— funny considering that Gregory, the former substitute fit for the principal role advised Ava on the importance of using Janine’s folder and that Janine is out because Ava left her sandwich out in the window. Who could forget Ava transforming Janine into the Black Marilyn Monroe (or Dorothy Dandridge) for a Halloween party or giving Janine a lift to another club job with her friends during holiday break? 

When Janine (Quinta Brunson) encouraged Gregory (Tyler James Williams) to add personality to his bare classroom walls, it seemed an open metaphor to shift beyond substitution, for permanence, to make a lasting effort on both the students and perhaps Janine’s heart. 

Janine and Gregory’s potential has been simmering from their very first meeting. Janine—the girl next door— frequently visits Gregory’s nearby classroom and vice versa for either old-fashioned good advice or polite small talk riddled in cartoon hearts. Although not usually a big fan of TV office romances (this Collider article is a good one), something about these two makes it impossible not to root for them going the distance. They share common ground. Gregory, a Black man with an overbearing military father, shares his vulnerabilities to Janine, who has an absent mother and an inner lonely girl syndrome beneath her exterior bubbliness and “toxic positivity.” Yet, Gregory knows every facet about Janine, which makes them all the more endearing, considering that most men fail to pay attention and care. Unlike Janine’s selfish, narcissistic, first and so-far only boyfriend Tarik, Gregory knew her favorite film was Jumanji, noticed her hair parted on the other side, and rescued her from countless mishaps on many occasions. While the advantageous Tarik had a kid spirit about him feeding into Janine’s childlike disposition, Gregory has a mature, sensible vibe that would definitely aide in ensuring Janine’s growth. Janine and Gregory provide an alluring adventure, that’s for certain. Maybe, just maybe too, in the future, Gregory may join his father’s landscape company after all and Janine can remain Abbott’s Most Affectionate Second Grade Teacher. 

In addition to phenomenal writing (thanks to a very inclusive staff) and impeccable direction, Abbott Elementary must be applauded for showcasing diverse body types. There’s still an over abundance of thinness and whiteness celebrated and awarded in both television and film industry. Thus, it is a nice change to see tall and short, curvy and robust figures in leading and supporting roles— a beautiful reflection of the world we actually live in. It’s even noticeable with the interesting side characters— Zac, Jacob’s bespectacled boyfriend, Janine’s new friend Erika (played by Courtney Taylor recently Issa’s assistant on Insecure), and Ashley, Melissa’s annoyingly tone-death assistant.  

Abbott Elementary cast at the Golden Globes, winning for Best Actress in a Comedy Series for Quinta Brunson, Best Supporting Actor in a Comedy Series for Tyler James Williams, and Best Comedy Series.

The excellent cast is led by its infectious dimpled creator Quinta Brunson— second Black woman (after Lena Waithe) to win an Emmy for Outstanding Writing in a Comedy Series. Fellow Emmy winner Sheryl Lee Ralph— always a charming, warm spirit— delights as church praising Barbara, who often funnily confuses white and Black actors and wears the best red lipsticks. Tyler James Williams—a versatile talent who ranges from comedic chops on Everybody Hates Chris to drama/horror in Dear White People and The Walking Dead (his death scene remains one of the most gruesome)— shines bright as Gregory, the former ambitious principal turned near-reluctant teacher harboring a sweet crush on Janine. Comedian Janelle James brings infinite laughter as a slacking, multitasking yet on occasion wise Principal Ava, Lisa Ann Walters is the tough, sassy South Philly raised Melissa who has “fix-it” people on speed dial, Chris Perfetti plays the corny, overly talkative, well-meaning eighth grade teacher Jacob, and William Bradford Davis effortlessly plays the thoughtful janitor-of-all-trades Mr. Johnson. Every single person puts in work on this impressive ensemble, making a school setting feel authentically homey, hence why Abbott Elementary has received nominations and awards from the Black Reel, Emmys, Gotham, Independent Spirit, Golden Globes, the Writers Guild Association (WGA), the Producers Guild Association (PGA), the NAACP Image Awards, etc. It is an incredible feat—a long time coming actually— to see a Black woman creator deservedly honored and thoroughly loved by Hollywood sailing behind on the tidal wave of Yvette Lee Bowser, Mara Brock Akil, Shonda Rimes, Ava DuVernay, Hanelle Culpepper, Michaela Coel, and Issa Rae.

With its third season renewal from ABC and half the second season left before summer hiatus in the spring, the wonders of Abbott Elementary never cease.

‘Kindred,’ Delivers A Botched Hot Mess

Kindred Hulu advertisement.

As far as adaptations are concerned, John Jennings and Damian Duffy’s graphic novel (published 2017) of Octavia Butler’s Kindred (published 1991) far better exceeds this new Hulu series. Just a few sparse choices make these eight episodes bearable. Created by Branden Jacobs-Jenkins, the Obie winning playwright behind Octoroon, his modern day take has a millennial Dana battling severe depression and hooking up with Kevin, a mediocre waiter who may also be suffering from an undisclosed mental illness. 

During Dana’s first trip to the plantation past, she encounters a shocking surprise. FX/Hulu. 

The series begins with Dana having dinner with her Aunt Sarah and Uncle Alan. They are not pleased that she sold the New York City brownstone (inherited from her grandmother) to buy an unfurnished house in Los Angeles. In this economy, how believable is it to make that reckless choice to sell a hard-to-come-by brownstone and move across the country alone anyway? 

Insert Kevin— an awkward white waiter— smiling at Dana throughout her tense family meal. Kevin makes a completely douche-y move: announcing to everyone in vicinity that he’s giving Dana a ride home (wow, Sarah and Alan left Dana stranded in an unfamiliar place knowing she had no transportation?). Although Kevin’s coworkers laugh it off, the gesture does little to soften the discomfort. If he had succeeded in harming a young Black woman— who would have cared about her well-being? 

Dana returns back to the past. FX/Hulu. 

In Butler’s novel, Dana and Kevin are married. This helps establish a stronger foundation than two strangers who begin a “with benefits” situation in the series. Thus, Dana transports back into the past after her preemptive encounter with Kevin, returning in an alarming state. The writers are trying to make Kevin appear genuinely kind for staying with Dana, but it comes across false and rushed. Dana and Kevin need more time as a couple, ample growth to truly know each other way before startling events arise. Kevin seems so desperate for a woman and Dana seems so needy— this pairing has the required ingredients of unhealthy co-dependency.

Meanwhile, Dana’s fractured relationship with Sarah and Alan warrants concern. Retired police officer Alan definitely acts as though he could care less what happens to Dana, often checking in on Dana via Sarah’s orders. He is not her blood uncle, but damn. Also, Alan makes it clear that something may have been wrong in the family— he had purposefully moved Sarah across the country for a reason. Still, does that mean he’s emotionally manipulative or worse? The busy nurse Sarah rightfully worries over her niece’s mental state, but Dana becomes irrational, cold, and standoffish. Neither woman apologizes for the bitter words exchanged at Dana’s empty house. Obviously, this is not the idyllic Black family structure. There is residual pain, mainly for isolated Dana. She has no other family. No girlfriends. When Dana finds her mother alive in the 19th century, the reunion is short lived. Sadly, Dana clings to Kevin, the only person trying to stay with her. 

Kindred’s focus should stick to Dana and her ability to time travel. It should be deciphering why Dana must always rescue Rufus Weylin, red-haired white child of rapist cretin Thomas and villainous poison Margaret. Why is the time longer in the past versus a few minutes back in the present? Is it the Los Angeles house conducting this fantastical thread? Why then during Olivia’s own mysterious disappearance was she able to time travel during a New York City car crash that killed her husband? Carlo and Hermione, the unnecessary couple next door to Dana’s house and Penny, Kevin’s worried sister provide no additional strength and draw in no clues for the mystery at hand. These weakly rendered characters are storyline fodder that shift from the main task at hand: Dana. 

Ronda Racha Penrice— one of few Black women reviewing the series, wrote in The Wrap:

This is not to say that Kindred should have indulged in “trauma porn.” Instead, Jacobs-Jenkins and his collaborators should have dug deeper. Although Johnson and the rest of the cast do a good job in what they have been asked to do, the writing and overall plot and circumstances fail to do the same. As “Kindred” flows from episode to episode, it never fully taps into Dana’s innermost feelings of shock, horror, and perhaps even desperation as an enslaved woman.

Like so many other movies and series set in this era, “Kindred” doesn’t deliver the emotional connection needed to elicit the true outrage we should have for this dastardly institution. And, with the resources available to us today, that is just unacceptable.

Mother/daughter Olivia (Sheria Irving) and Dana (Mallori Johnson) are trapped in the past. FX/Hulu. 

Sacrificial Black women characters is another trope that’s been under the radar— a diversionary plot device that needs to be explored further. Think of Jacqui choosing to blow up in the first season of The Walking Dead or Irene staying behind to die in Tales From the Crypt: Demon Knight; certainly other examples exist. Olivia is in the same defeated place. When Dana tries to give her the option of returning back home in the present, Olivia chooses to remain in the past, helping the enslaved, especially parentless Alice. Beyond that, however, Olivia stays a homebody in her cabin. 

While intimacy coordinators work on many television and film sets, hopefully racial trauma personnel has been created too. Slave centered big and small screen pictures have been gradually growing for years and often an upcoming Black actor’s first major gig and the key to awards contention— certain juries love this genre. The actors undergo an overwhelming amount of recreated Black ancestral humiliations including being whipped. In a dark uncomfortable scene, Dana’s clothes are maliciously ripped by Thomas— not for rape— but another cruel violation altogether. 

With several Butler adaptations (helmed by Issa Rae, Ava DuVernay, Wanuri Kahiu, and Viola Davis) set for the future, perhaps now was not appropriate for this specific story. The series features too many questionable moments: Dana and Kevin’s constant coupling at the plantation, slaves forced to act animalistic in front of drunken white men, Kevin foolishly running his mouth, Kevin opening runaway Winnie’s hiding place in Olivia’s cabin, Kevin arriving back indecently to where only little Alice is present, and Dana transported in present Los Angeles without Olivia (who may have arrived in New York). It took tremendous patience to finish these unwavering episodes. 

Olivia would rather stay on the plantation to raise an orphan girl than build a relationship with Dana, her own daughter who still needs her. FX/Hulu.

If FX/Hulu greenlights a second season of Kindred, let’s hope that the writers try to salvage the spirit of Octavia Butler’s legacy and not continue destroying it for the sake of appearing deceptively woke and modern.   

Until then, Butler fans should reread the actual source material or enjoy the pages of the hardcover comic book. 

‘The Sister’ Rewards Bad Guy Behavior

 

The Sister on Hulu. 

I watched The Sister only to support Simone Ashley’s pre-Bridgerton era. 

A colossal mistake. 

Neill Cross’s four episode series is a terror for women watchers or those who align heavily with advocating for women’s rights; each character more offensive than the last including the lead: Nathan, a real foul chap. 

Nathan meets Elise at a New Year’s party. She follows him out into the woods, gets into a stranger’s car (his name is Bob), takes mystery drugs, and dies during coital with Nathan. Instead of alerting authorities, Nathan decides to not only help Bob hide Elise’s body, he later trails Elise’s distraught sister, Holly at her real estate job. Holly reels over her missing family member whose case sadly goes unsolved. It then worsens: Holly actually marries this man greatly involved in Elise’s whereabouts— and Jacki does nothing to help. 

On the wedding day, Jacki (Nina Toussaint-White) sits next to creepy Nathan (Russell Tovey) as Holly (Amrita Acharia) gets up to talk about her sister. 

Who is Jacki?

Well, Jacki, a police officer, is apparently a close friend of the Fox family. During the diligent investigation of finding Elise, Jacki questioned both Nathan and Bob, two skeptically behaving characters among the many people present at the ill-fated New Year’s party. Although she seems very shocked that Holly is engaged to Nathan (because they hadn’t met prior to the engagement party?), Jacki gives Nathan the cliche “if you hurt her” speech sans digging into the strange coincidence of this former suspect marrying Elise’s sister. If Jacki were a true friend, she would have told Holly all about Nathan and Bob. It is an honor code among women, especially women friends, to not withhold huge crucial secrets. Nathan is already hurting Holly by not being honest. Jacki— whose obligation should be Holly first, Nathan last— makes an ugly situation worse in keeping quiet. Instead of asking the right questions regarding how Nathan met Holly and so forth, Jacki lets Nathan slide more than once. 

In almost every picture, Elise (Simone Ashley) stares out at Holly, her sister and Nathan, an accessory to her disappearance. 

In the present, Holly and Nathan live together in an opulent house where framed photos of Elise are everywhere— a depressing reminder to Holly that her sister is never forgotten and a brutal reminder to Nathan of his buried crimes. Yet, Nathan’s guilt rarely cracks— until Bob shows up on a random evening. The biggest scare in Nathan’s life is not Elise’s ghost haunting him to infinity. It is Bob who knows the truth behind Elise’s disappearance. 

We couldn’t have that mess up Nathan’s domestic bliss with Holly. 

Elise (Simone Ashley) is too comfortable with these strangers: Nathan (Russell Tovey) and Bob (Bertie Carvel). Heartbreaking. The series paints her final moments as a typical party girl looking to score. 

Honestly, Nathan comes across as unhinged and not a good liar. He appears to have no family or friends of his own. Ever since Holly’s tearful plea for help regarding her missing sister on the news, Nathan has grossly attached himself to Holly and the Foxes. His unhealthy fixation is neither romantic or cute in gesture. In fact, he makes the series all the more sinister. A wife can never truly know her husband one hundred percent, but you feel sorry for Holly who allowed a man to take advantage of her vulnerable state of mind. She deserves better— as does Elise’s ghost. 

Unfortunately, Holly will not see the light. 

Poor Elise. Other than being completely photogenic, we never know who she is. 

Disjointed The Sister is a terribly slow pace series with wobbly flash forward sequences allowing Nathan to get away with his detrimental acts. He dug up a grave, put a body inside, stalked a sister knowing that information, and married into a grieving family. Moments happen when Nathan almost gets caught, but alas, nothing. He is at a crime scene wearing gloves and police see nothing weird in his odd behavior, making no inquiries. Plus, the morbid replays of a brown woman dying over and over, her skull kept in a box, her dress in a freezer, the rest of her remains unknown— ugh, so awfully offensive to watch. Perhaps the bad writing suggests that an unchaperoned young woman on her own at night is asking for the consequences of her choices. Do not gallivant in dark forests with strangers, engage in unknown drugs, and premarital sex— societal death wishes. Sure Bob planned another ghastly scenario entirely, but that’s not what played out— the only person in real danger was the woman. At least, Bob who acts as deranged as Bob on Twin Peaks, owns up to his calculated intentions. Nathan is a loose canon dressing up as a “good guy.” 

Holly is often in scenes drinking wine. Here she tells her friend Jacki about Nathan’s old pal Bob coming to visit. 

Yes, Jacki is intrigued by Bob. She goes as far as investigating Elise’s disappearance again and coming to Bob’s residence late at night (by herself). 

The saddest takeaway is that women are horrifically developed (or underdeveloped) here. Holly and Jacki easily accept Nathan’s lies. They truly buy that Nathan met Bob on the road after the New Year’s party. Why would anyone want to hide such dumb information unless some deeper implications were afoot between the two of them? Are both women’s intuitions severely broken? Has Elise’s absence made them dimmer? Is Holly so desperate to have a baby that she can overlook Nathan being questioned in the past regarding her own sister? It is beyond disgusting that Nathan slept with Elise— which Holly will never ever learn— and gets rewarded in the end. Jacki— who threw reopening the case— believes Nathan is good for Holly. Does that mean an accessory/killer should raise children? 

Sometimes we must learn the hard way that male creators/showrunners still do not have women’s best interests at heart, let alone realize how women think/behave. And cringy The Sister— its title should have been renamed The Creepy Husband— fails in every aspect of granting Elise true justice.