4 out of 5

Developed by: Jonathan Lisco

covers season 1

Wow.  To be all mature about it: Sons of Anarchy can suck it.

I dont know if I cared much for Animal Kingdom the movie.  After being wowed by Nash Edgerton’s Square and his Blue Tongue shorts, I was so excited to jump into another film by a director from the same crew, but felt that David Michôd’s efforts (AK being his first feature) just didn’t give me the gut-punch feel for which I’d hoped.  Thankfully, someone else didn’t let my opinions spoil their faith that the movie could somehow translate into a show.

The core elements – location aside, shifted from sweaty Australia to breezy California – have been carries over: Joshua “J” Cody’s mother has just over-dosed, the show opening with the wonderful juxtaposition (admittedly also ported right from the movie) of the paramedics showing up and dealing with the deceased Ms. J as the boy sits next to her on the couch, emotions muted, playing video games.  This duality of extremes is present throughout the show (a consistency of vision that the movie lacked), thus the tone being set from the get-go.

While J, in his own ways, deals with the fallout from his mother’s death, he gets into contact with “Smurf,” something of an estranged aunt, who offers him a place to stay.  An offer he takes, though soon discovering that his extended family is a bit off: His uncles Craig and Deran would seem to be layabouts, certainly old enough to be away from home, but welcomed by Smurf to do as they please, which mostly means sex and drugs, while their mother looks on, encouraging a very quizzically sexualized relationship between her and her sons.  Also kicking around is Baz, adopted but the “leader” of the boys, and married, and with a child, but at the house just as often as his brothers.  And then there’s Pope: Just out of jail; quick to anger.  J gets a view of all of this at the same time we do, and remains quiet, as we all make up our minds as to how to perceive things.

Only there’s not much time before he’s roped into helping out with the robberies the family uses to support itself.

Is he in or is he out?  That’s the question the show wants us to ask – that J may or may not be asking himself – as all of these twisted relationships get more twisted and the crimes get bigger, and Animal Kingdom becomes much more than just a crime family show and instead – relatively slowly over its ten episodes, but never boringly – evolves into an incredibly devious and nuanced set of character studies, with a purposefully unsteady moral center that won’t allow us to cast off anyone as good or bad.

The performances are universally entrancing.  Ellen Barkin is the perfect Cali replacement for the movie’s Jacki Weaver, inserting just enough sexuality in the role for it to be creepily believable, but also selling the my-word-is-law matriarch.  The gaggle of brothers all effect the right layer of doofiness such that flipping between playful and violent  can occur on an instant, their characters’ respective shallowness not at all betraying the eventual depths we explore.  Even side characters – Baz’s wife, J’s girlfriend and her father – come bundled with full lives that fit fitfully well in the ramshackle world of the Codys.

But of course, none of this works without Finn Cole, playing J.  While plenty of Animal Kingdom spends time with our other family members, J is our moral center, and the catalyst for our having events to witness.  Cole’s casting is stunning: The various lines straddled by the role – a character dealing with loss, a character discovering the power of deceit – all seem to be filtered through a Keanu Reeves-like zoned-out minimalism, but Finn’s eyes and subtle expressions tell us there’s more going on there.  It’s electrifying to watch.

And yet, as riveting as it is, the show’s only demarcation is in its decision to write J this way: Animal Kingdom plays its cards incredibly closely.  It’s also in such a hurry to get us to a point where we can wander through our thoughts and not be led by scripting telegraphing that some early machinations feel a lot like subplot stuffing.  They’re not.  Everything ends up being valuable character work, but we have to allow it some beats to get there.  Going back to the first point, combining this with J’s tight-lipped non-responses, its easy to start seeing him as simply an onlooker and not a participant; it almost starts to feel lazy, J just happening to be there, and if not for the electrifying performances, we might not have reason to stick around to see how things play out…

But if you do, you’ll be glad you did.  Everything just blooms mid-season, and you want to know all you can about the Codys, but are thankful that it was handed out in small doses, making the rewards seem that much more fruitful.

I brought up SoA as its themes are similar: A relative innocent juggling family responsibilities with doubts about his path, meanwhile subplotting fairly despicable characters into, hopefully, their viewers’ hearts.  But SoA was popcorn viewing.  Jax’s internal musings were a weak scripting way to attempt all of the stuff that happens between the lines on Animal Kingdom, and the show frequently went for shocks whereas the hint of threat is all AK needs to get you on the edge of your seat.

And there’s nothing wrong with popcorn.  I watched SoA.  But I look forward to Animal Kingdom, and its return for a second season.