Baz Luhrmann, director of the Leonardo Dicaprio The Great Gatsby, has released his latest work with Netflix. Rotten Tomatoes was none too kind to his Gatbsy efforts, but my friends and I were plenty satisfied. I’d argue due to the abundance of Gatsby themed proms and formals that a great portion of the movie-going audience was also pleased.

Perhaps that is how it will be for Netflix/Luhrmann’s The Get Down. Though the reviews have been more kind thus far. Rotten Tomatoes is holding strong at a nice-enough 76 percent.

I’ve only watched Part 1, Episode 1 so far, but there are already key moments of The Get Down that stand out. Also, Luhrmann’s dedication to the work itself is a shining factor, but much of that takes place behind the scenes. According to Rolling Stones, Luhrmann has wanted to do a hip-hop origin story since 2006.

Here’s the thing about that.

The Get Down, with its dizzying, seemingly constant track of music is not just about hip-hop. It’s about the background and the soul of the people and communities that have produced it. It’s about ownership and dreams.

I’d argue that this couldn’t go unnoticed due to the manner in which Luhrmann has created the world. In case it has though, I’ll break it down, and I’ll mention the three most stand-out parts of Episode 1.

Rap is a musical genre that goes deeper within a person to unearth truths about their station in the world and about the social situation of others around their nation or the globe. It also can be easily written off or misconstrued.

For example, Tupac (stylized 2Pac) and Kanye West (sidenote: The Get Down is 70s hip-hop. Tupac is late 80s/early 90s. Kanye is 00s.).

In high school, I dressed as Tupac for my school’s biography day. Red bandana, nose ring, and my brother’s red hoodie. I didn’t go all out with the shaved head though. When I got to my religion class, my teacher called me to her desk to ask who I was. I answered Tupac, and she responded with incredulity about Tupac being in a gang and a bad influence. I defended him. He wasn’t in a gang #despiteThugLife, and he was a voice for people who needed one. Tupac has only been a good influence for me. He is my favorite rapper, and he will always be the most influential one.

Tupac flowed when he wrote lyrics like those in I Ain't Mad At Cha:

“It seems I lost my little homie, he’s a changed man. Hit the pen and now no sinnin’ is the game plan. When I talk about money, all you see is the struggle. When I tell you I’m living large, you tell me it’s trouble. Congratulations on the weddin’, I hope your wife know, she got a playa for life, and that’s no bullshittin’.”

Basically- he had a tight friendship. His friend became a Muslim, and he changed his lifestyle from the get-in-trouble-quick method. Tupac sees what he’s saying about his own life, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t miss when they used to be close and rowdy. Once a friend, always a friend. Always a playa.

“Don’t let me get teary, the world looks dreary but when you wipe your eyes, see it clearly. There’s no need for you to fear me. If you take your time to hear me, maybe you can learn to cheer me. It ain’t about black or white, cause we’re human. I hope we see the light before it’s ruined. My ghetto gospel.”

Things are exhausting, but understanding is a hope.

“Where was the money that you said you would send me. Talked on the phone and you sounded so friendly. Ask about school and my welfare, but it’s clear, you ain’t sincere. Hey, who the hell cares.”

Not everyone earns the privilege of being called a dad.

As for Kanye, no one who looks at their children with so much tenderness is a narcissist. He’s confident, not cocky. He’s passionate, and his music reflects that. I don’t want to be stuck on the old Kanye, so here’s one of modern Kanye-with-the-knowledge.

“Damn I forgot to call her, shit I thought it was Thursday. Why you wait a week to call my phone in the first place? When was the last time I remembered a birthday? When was the last time I wasn’t in a hurry?”

Slow it down. Relationships. Pencil in events, not people.

“Where I’m from, the dope boys is the rock stars, but they can’t cop cars without seein’ cop cars, I guess they want us all behind bars. I know it.
Now my lil cousin smokin’ those cigarettes now. His job trying to claim that he too niggerish now. Is it ‘cause his skin blacker than licorice now? I can’t figure it out… I’m stickin’ around..”

I’ll let y’all decipher the one above.

These two people are not people who are/were concerned with taking from the world. They were both concerned with giving to it and with highlighting ills present. The same can be said for the Fantastic Four Plus One of The Get Down.

In a Fusionarticle by Tahirah Hairston, it was argued that The Get Down is not really about hip-hop. Instead, the author made a case that Luhrmann’s latest effort was more about black male friendship (my note: including a black Latinx protagonist). Their article was so valid. The Get Down is rooted in its efforts of the birth of hip-hop, but a good story is always about more than what it seems like.

Putting a struggle to a song elevates it. It’s enhanced, and there’s some beauty there that might have been previously more difficult to see. It’s the same when Luhrmann puts this world to film.

According to the article, “their borough is full of life: vibrant, colorful and plastered with graffiti from the artist that all the neighborhood kids look up to.”

Indeed it is.

Rolling Stone added to this with a quote from Luhrmann about rap music.

“…[it is a]… collage without prejudice…there’s no prejudice as to whether something might be perceived as cheesy or it’s the coolest thing in the world. The question is, does it actually express the truth?”

The Fusion article and a post by Facebook page Son of Baldwin tag the community aspect as being an integral, truthful part of The Get Down. The graffiti is mentioned by Fusion. Earlier, I discussed the lyrics of rap.

These three things are the part that stood out to me the most about Episode 1.

Baz Luhrmann, with the help of his extraordinary producing and consulting team, managed to capture the resiliency and joy of a community thriving in a constantly burning Bronx.

The scene that got me to cry:

When Zeke recites his personal poem about his parent’s gun deaths to his teacher, by heart. He cried, the teacher cried, I cried.

I’m a real big fan of graffiti, but the scene that gave graffiti a backstory:

The boys are on the roof after The Get Down party with Shaolin. The train that they have been tagging passes by, and it’s colorful. To them, that is their train. It’s ownership in a world where things are temporal or out of reach. A little slice of something all your own.

The ending scene between Shaolin and Zeke:

We all like thinking the world is ours to make a contribution to. When the world feels as if it belongs to us, and that we can shape it as we choose, it’s a powerful feeling.

I’m a film major. I should care about the formal pieces of The Get Down, and I should probably watch the whole thing before reviewing it.

But Stephen Spielberg is my favorite film director. What can I say? I’m sentimental, and Baz Luhrmann just might be too.

It hits the heart in all the right places.