‘The Get Down’ Gets Fictional Music TV Right

It’s been a bad year for people who like fictional depictions of essential music. In February, viewers flinched through Vinyl, the Martin Scorsese/Mick Jagger-produced ahistorical flop about the birth of New York punk in the ‘70s. June brought Roadies, Cameron Crowe’s strained mash-note to the folks who assemble arena rock shows, while that same month saw the second season of Sex and Drugs and Rock ‘n’ Roll, a cranky Dennis Leary’s sitcom dressed up in wizened leather-drag.

Musical presentations on television haven’t stooped this low since the debut of The Partridge Family in 1970. The best of the genre the home screen has produced of late — Empire — had to resort to camp to charm us.

You couldn’t blame anyone, then, for coming to the latest reach for musical greatness, The Get Down, with a wary eye. (It debuts on Netflix this Friday, Aug. 12). It doesn’t help that reports have circulated about problems with the show’s production. According to Variety, the glitches included the firing of several writers, a switch in show runners, and the constant need to nag Sony Pictures to cough up more dough. According to Variety’s sources, such issues bloated the series’ budget to least $120 million, making it, potentially, Netflix’s answer to Heaven’s Gate.

Of more concern, director Baz Luhrmann isn’t known for nuance or veracity in his musical depictions. I call to the stand the windy, and barely coherent, Moulin Rouge. Also, the director makes an odd fit for a show that’s meant to bore into the birth of hip-hop, during “the Bronx is burning” era of the late ‘70s.

Imagine my surprise and delight, then, to find that the three episodes of the series provided to critics (out of a full 12) couldn’t be more kinetic, colorful, or touching. Notice that I didn’t call it realistic, a measure made irrelevant by the particular style of both Luhrmann and hip-hop itself. “Over-the-top” would be a conservative description of the director’s approach (also kindly labeled “operatic”). Luckily, hip-hop soars on exaggeration, elaborated through its boastful raps, out-sized personae, gravity-defying dancing, and Technicolor graffiti.

To capture the look and feel of the setting, Luhrmann mixes actual footage of the post-apocalyptic ‘70s Bronx with his own littered sets and broadly drawn characters. He took key consultation from a smart group of expert witnesses, including Grandmaster Flash, Nas, Kurtis Blow, and Nelson George. The show’s scenario (co-conceived with Stephen Adly Guirgis.) includes a depiction of Grandmaster that treats him with the aura of myth. The series’ central graffiti artist, Shoalin Fantastic (expertly embodied by Shamiek Moore), represents another super-hero in the flesh. With his fleet moves, beautiful face, and trademark red Pumas, Shoalin gracefully races through the series like hip-hop’s answer to the Flash.

The slack-jawed awe accorded these characters represents the point of view of the teenage friends at the series core, centered on Ezekial “Books” Figuero (Justice Smith). He’s a poet who will grow into a rap star, a role not yet defined in the era the series depicts. Like Vinyl, which was set three years before punk exploded, The Get Down takes place before its genre found its shape. At the time, disco, funk, and Latin music still ruled the South Bronx. Hip-hop represents the future, and these characters help provide a path to it.

The storyline that takes us there isn’t any more substantial than the one that flummoxed through Vinyl. But, like many movie musicals, plot isn’t the point. Instead the focus falls on the movement of the camera, the hues of the cinematography, the rhythm of the editing, and the integration of soundtrack and image. The choreography also proves key. It hits just the right mix of naturalism and caprice. The characters seem to dance even when they’re standing still. Luhrmann’s busy camera work helps articulate their fluidity. It’s fidgety and sweeping in just the right measure. The look and story offer a smart mash-up of a many urban film classics, including West Side Story, The Warriors, Wild Style, Kojak, Enter the Dragon, and the funkiest productions of the “Blaxploitation” era. The coolest sections look like the witty cartoon cover of Miles Davis’s 1972 album On the Corner come to life.

The soundtrack to The Get Down offers just as much animation. It works in well-known period songs by artists like Earth, Wind & Fire to Garland Jeffries, plus original pieces and recent releases, like Michael Kiwanuka’s cinematic “Black Man in a White World.”

Along the way, viewers get some musical schooling. In one pivotal scene, Shoalin divines the secret arts of scratching and sampling, using as its real-life role model the Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock hit “It Takes Two.” The segment is so exhilarating, you won’t mind that the song wasn’t produced until 11 years after this scene takes place.

In the episodes provided by Netflix, the characters stick to their bombed-out South Bronx setting. Future installments promise to take us down to Studio 54, CBGB, and the early Soho art galleries. Hopefully, that will help it capture some of the confluence illuminated by Will Hermes’s excellent book, Love Goes to Building on Fire, which draws a link between punk, hip-hop, salsa, and disco.

The third segment in the series recreates the night of the 1977 blackout, which resulted in some of the worst rioting the city has ever seen. But The Get Down also embraces the romantic aspirations of the people living through it. At the end of episode, lead character Figuero ascends the fire escape with a girl he loves while a ruminative take on the Supremes’ first post-Diana Ross hit, “Up the Ladder to the Roof,” serenades them. It’s the perfect romantic capper to a series that cannily shuttles between comic book drama and Biblical fable. I, for one, can’t wait to binge-watch all the chapters to come.