Bee grip – Weekend – Kommersant
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The Amazon Prime Video service released the series “Roy” about a fan of a pop star turned serial killer. Donald Glover and Janine Nabers, creators of the iconic Atlanta, are unleashing their brutal satirical talent on pop culture this time around.
20-year-old Dre (Dominic Fishback) shares an apartment with her best friend Marisa (Chloe Bailey), works at a local mall, and looks too slow for a young girl. The fact is that the surrounding reality does not interest her at all. Dre’s real life is centered on Twitter, where she interacts with fellow obsessed fans of pop singer Naiji (ironically based on Beyoncé). “She is a queen bee, and we are a swarm of her followers” - this is how these restless souls characterize themselves, who have found a semblance of community in devotion to a pop idol. Those who do not share their admiration, “swarm” subjected to harassment with teenage enthusiasm.
Meanwhile, Marisa finds a guy named Khalid (Demson Idris), who, as expected, turns out to be a scoundrel – for Dre this is clear as day, because he has the imprudence to disrespect Naija: they say, who is she? Dre is forced to explain to him that Naija is a goddess, she radiates from her. “She knows about all our feelings and expresses them for us!” But Khalid does not care about feelings: he cheats on Marisa, and the girl commits suicide. Dre’s already fragile world is crumbling, and she is on the warpath. As expected, Khalid becomes the first victim – an angry bee beats him to death and overeats cherry pie over the corpse.
The authors of Atlanta, Donald Glover and Janine Nabers, deconstruct all possible genres in the new series: at first it is a song about anxious youth in the manner of Euphoria, then a dashing Tarantino thriller with hypertrophied violence and dubious motives, which gradually develops into a farce. Dre travels through cities and towns, changing names and guises – a special mention is the episode with a strip club, where she becomes a successful dancer, although she moves at the pole like a somnambulist under the muttering of the same Naiji.
In the most caustic, endlessly poisonous series, a rabid bee almost finds enlightenment when she finds herself in a cult of dilapidated girls who “let go of the carnal world and find life balance” under the leadership of the savvy Eve (Billie Eilish). She immediately gets into Dre’s soul (apparently with the help of hypnosis and NLP technologies) and pulls out all the ins and outs of her: it turns out that the milk spilled in childhood, for which the grandmother scolded Dre, was red. There is some mystery in the plot, but what lies behind this metaphor? We don’t have time to bring out the secret from Dre’s past, because our bee also has something to tell the “conscious minds”: “Do not be afraid of death, there is beauty in it, because there is equality, because no one can avoid it!” What did you eat? Here two gloomy genres collide, and sparks fly from this collision: usually a neophyte who has fallen into the hands of sectarians becomes a patient, suffering figure. But Glover and his comrades are not satisfied with this situation – and he revives the plot: who can resist the influence of the sect? Serial maniac, that’s who. You can’t take our bee with your bare hands. She needs to get to the music festival where Nija will perform, so she has a short conversation with the sectarians who hold her and take away the phone: do not stand in the way of high feelings.
It’s a parody, but not one that makes you laugh outright: an overly clever, disturbing script that’s more likely to make you bite your lips or scratch your head. Each episode is prefaced by Glover and Nabers with a scathing caption: “Any resemblance to real people, dead or alive, or true events is purposeful.” Once Beyoncé was actually bitten in the face by a fan, and the story of balanced whiplash under the leadership of Billie Eilish refers to the infamous Nxivm sect.
Pop culture recklessly exploits any kind of darkening of the spirit of any degree of sadness, and Glover makes it look like this, mimicking the ubiquitous true-crime series and pseudo-documentary style of storytelling. And especially a twisted upbringing novel that tells us about the trauma that underpins the personality of a serial killer: Jeffrey Dahmer’s father in the Ryan Murphy series encouraged him to vivisect animals, and young Larry Hall in the Dennis Lehane series was forced by his parent to dig graves. As the despot king from The Ordinary Miracle said: I am a terrible person, but I myself am not to blame for this – my ancestors are to blame. In the past, Dre, as it turns out closer to the final, is also buried quite a weighty childhood trauma. Only what Murphy and Lehane talk about with a blue eye, looking for a reason for evil, Glover exposes to ridicule (he generally has a rather wild sense of humor).
But no matter how much the rope twists, there is a Porfiry Petrovich for every Raskolnikov. The crimes of the battle bee Dre, as if on a whim, are revealed by the black police officer Lotta Green (Heather Sims) – a kind of big mama who sees through everyone. Her manicure seems to be a couple of centimeters longer than is appropriate for such a job, but she has grown even more police smell. “Who can solve the crimes of a black woman? Just another black woman! I’ve seen a lot of them merging with the shadows.” The shadows in this case are the illusory world where Dre lives. Where it is possible to inflict an insult on a person with a simple click on the keys, which is unlikely to have the courage to utter it in the face. In this looking glass, the signifier has long overlapped the signified, the profile in social networks has replaced a living person of flesh and blood – that’s why it seems that his blood is not real.
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