Photo: Michael Parmelee/FX
“Be honest.” This is common advice that all children hear growing up, and it’s a broad maxim that can be applied to almost anything. But do you know where this is not the case? professional football. The NFL wants to drill that into new players’ heads before they even begin practice. These young men, in theory, represent nearly a century of history of integrity and excellence, and it is their duty, in the famous words of Secretary Roger Goodell, to “keep the shield.” . This is easier for some players than others.
Aaron’s early days with the Patriots were relatively uneventful, but it took a while for Bill Belichick to figure out what to do with him. He’s unimpressed by the flamboyant gag of Aaron naked collecting napkins from the practice field, and understandably rejects Urban Meyer’s need for babysitting advice. “This is a man’s team,” he tells Aaron. “Be a man.” Masculinity, and the question of how exactly to define it, has been a central theme of this show since the first flashback to Aaron’s childhood, and Belichick’s words echoes his father’s refrain.
“The Man” is not a bad episode of Aaron Hernandez. Nothing could raise more eyebrows than last week’s sexual abuse backstory. But none are more focused, detailed, or singularly bizarre than the episodes that delve into the NFL Draft and Scouting Combine. This is an average episode of this show, a general primer on this period of Aaron’s life, and the usual tidbits about how Aaron has to fit into the mold. It has all the well-thought-out foreshadowing and on-the-nose dialogue. But I’m really digging Norbert Leo Butz’s interpretation of Belichick so far, and it feels more alive and believable than most, if not all, of the other performances on this show. . He is hard-headed but eccentric, and whenever he rambles on about the history of proliferation crimes, his eyes sparkle with amusement and he smiles wryly.
Aaron continues to kill it on the field, which is pretty much the only place he can feel like himself on a regular basis. Perhaps glory will help. He’s the youngest player in the league, and he has the right to do the slightly obscure “make it rain” touchdown dance if he feels like it. The only time he started to lose confidence was when Belichick forced him to play running back, and he was convinced he couldn’t handle the position. This is a useful theme that parallels the recurring idea of Aaron not being given the time or space to truly grow while being himself. Later in the episode, when Belichick scolds him for bragging to the press, he replies, “Coach, I was just being me,” to which Belichick says, “That’s not true.” The message is clear.
However, Aaron manages to fit a square peg into a round hole simply because he is incredibly talented. His big run against the Broncos was a moment of victory, but he was instantly weakened by the powerful blow, and he was unconscious even hours later, fading in and out of consciousness. Aaron Hernandez hasn’t spent much time dealing with CTE, which likely played a big role in Hernandez’s downward spiral, but that’s probably because it’s hard to mine drama from a largely ignored medical issue. But it’s an effective sequence, directed by Maggie Kiley, that draws us into Aaron’s perspective. Even a mild congratulatory pat on the helmet from a teammate can feel explosive.
Off the field, “The Man” returns the show’s focus to Aaron’s home life. Aaron may be famous in Boston and other parts of the world, but he’s a huge celebrity in Bristol. It may be selfish to invite Shayanna to a party with the Krafts – he needs to clean up his act and prove himself to be a respectable young man ready to grow up. But he has true love for her. Their connection is clear as they eat pizza together on an overpass and joke about rich people’s penchant for small food. They want the same thing: a way out of Bristol, a chance to break away from family baggage and make their own way. The two look good together. The only problem is that Aaron isn’t that attracted to women.
Either way, their relationship develops, and it’s not until Cheyanna plays with other NFL wives and girlfriends that she second guesses her assumptions about Aaron’s sexual desires. Of course, Aaron was technically telling the truth when he reassured her that there were no other women in his life. But if he’s telling the whole truth, he’ll probably tell her that spending the night with Chris made him feel the most like himself in a long time. When Chris (who also has a girlfriend now) asks Aaron if he loves Shayanna, he doesn’t have an answer.
Aaron wants to project an image of someone who is a healthy influence on those around him, but most of his preferred support systems are his cousin Tanya and shady locals like Carlos and Beau. It’s from my friends. That group now includes Sherrod, a marijuana dealer, which is clearly bad news. After an initial miscommunication, the two become deep friends, and after hearing Aaron rant about his stepfather Jeff, Sherrod offers some ill-timed encouragement. “There’s no one in charge of you.”
The show’s depiction of conflicting positive and negative influences is a bit shallow, with the latter inevitably winning out. But aside from the cheap fate of the constant references to prison and the unnatural nature of Sherrod repeatedly telling Aaron to put his foot down, the comparisons he draws between the NFL and prison are interesting. If you’re not ready for this life, and it’s easy to see that Aaron wasn’t, the lack of freedom can be especially stifling.
One day, when Jeff slashes Terry in the face with a kitchen knife, Aaron finds the perfect outlet for his anger, the ideal scenario to feel flexible, in control, and manly. Aaron uses Sherrod’s gun to severely beat Jeff outside the bar, threatening to kill him if he touches Terry again. It’s hard to feel sorry for him considering what he did to Terry, but that’s not the point. Every act of violence brings Aaron closer to the point of no return. We know where this ends.
• The drama-within-a-show at the beginning had me interested for a moment, which I appreciate, but it’s not a compliment to Aaron Hernandez that the stupid anti-drug protests feel like routine.
• Jon Bon Jovi considers Belichick to be his “best friend in the game,” and the coach’s 2013 pump-up playlist did include two Bon Jovi songs, so he’s no stranger to Belichick. It’s no wonder he listens to “It’s My Life” out loud. ”
• A goofy but funny performance by Reis Walschlaeger as Gronk.
• The timeline is a bit confusing here, but I think the Broncos’ end of the game should have been a playoff game near the end of Hernandez’s second season with the Pats in January 2012. Hernandez left the game with a head injury after the breakdown. He made a successful debut as the only running back and claimed: “I feel great,” he said after the game.
• The real Jeffrey Cummings was found guilty of slashing Terry in the face, but the timing here wasn’t exactly right. It wasn’t the first time it had happened to him.
• The blinker switching image is very disturbing.
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