HBO’s The Penguin Is a Stylish, Dumbed-Down Trump Allegory That Speaks to TV’s Decline

As a long-time observer and critic of the ever-evolving television landscape, I find myself both captivated and disillusioned by shows like “The Penguin.” Having spent countless hours poring over scripts, binge-watching series, and engaging in heated debates about the merits (or lack thereof) of various programs, I’ve come to appreciate the craftsmanship that goes into creating compelling narratives. However, in the case of “The Penguin,” my experience leaves me feeling underwhelmed.

To grasp how premium TV shows have evolved over the past quarter-century, it’s logical to begin with the groundbreaking series that established the format we recognize today: “The Sopranos.” This HBO crime drama introduced an antihero, Tony Soprano, who was both ruthless and tormented, a mid-tier Mafia figure with insatiable ambition and deep-seated family issues. The show delivered the usual violent excitement common in its genre, but it was the cinematic quality, exceptional acting, a balance between dark themes and humor, and creator David Chase’s profound exploration of Tony’s psyche, the Soprano family dynamics, and the American dream on the brink of the new millennium that set it apart.

Approximately twenty-five years after a groundbreaking gangster drama captivated audiences, another eagerly awaited series of the same genre is scheduled for release on September 19th. This new show, titled The Penguin, can be aptly categorized as an HBO production with a protagonist who is a ruthless yet tormented mid-level Mafioso, characterized by his insatiable ambition and crippling family issues. Akin to The Sopranos, it boasts intricate set design and impressive acting performances. Topics such as criminal psychology, family dynamics, and the American dream are central themes; both shows exhibit a bleak perspective on these subjects that seemed revolutionary at the dawn of the new millennium. However, while they share commonalities, their differences are significant. Despite the fact that The Sopranos was an unparalleled masterpiece, The Penguin has fallen short in comparison, reflecting a broader decline in what is often perceived as top-tier television.

As a die-hard movie enthusiast, I can’t help but notice one notable distinction between these two captivating series: “The Penguin” is a significant extension of the legendary Batman franchise, nestled within the superhero realm of Warner Bros. Discovery’s DC Universe. In this darker-than-usual portrayal of Gotham, masterfully crafted by showrunner Lauren LeFranc (familiar from “Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.”), the cunning Riddler has detonated the city’s seawall on the eve of a mayoral election, causing devastation in the poverty-stricken neighborhood of Crown Point. The residents here have borne the brunt of the destruction, with casualties piling up and entire apartment buildings reduced to rubble. And amidst this turmoil, a powerful crime boss, Carmine Falcone, has mysteriously met his end, adding fuel to the chaos.

In the movie “The Batman,” executive producer and actor Colin Farrell transforms himself for the role of Oz “The Penguin” Cobb. He donned a fat suit, facial prosthetics, and an exaggerated working-class “New Yoik” accent. Now, Oz seizes this opportunity for change. In a tense exchange, Alberto, Carmine’s drug-addled heir, belittles Oz by calling him a “good soldier.” Alberto claims, “You are who you are, and you couldn’t change if you tried.” However, he was unaware of the truth. During their conversation, when Alberto calls him a “little bitch,” Oz remains composed and shoots four times at Gotham’s underworld ruler. Afterward, he laughs maniacally, embodying the typical villain from comic books.

The murder is our slimy protagonist’s thin-skinned response to Alberto mocking a moment of apparent vulnerability on the Penguin’s part. Oz lays out his vision of gangster ethics, praising the “real old-school type” who ran the poor neighborhood where he grew up: “He helped people. When someone in your family was sick, he’d find you a doctor. Short on rent? He’d front you the cash. Knew everyone’s names, too. I don’t know how he kept ‘em all in his head, but if he saw you on the street, he’d call out to you. Ask how you were. It felt like he meant it, too.” When the man died, his neighbors threw a memorial parade. The monologue is pure Tony Soprano, wistful for an idealized past when a violent criminal could still be a pillar of the community.

Oz, similar to Tony, portrays himself as having principles while he fights aggressively in the Gotham drug trade, but his actions suggest otherwise. This is clearly evident when he declares, “I’ve got a code!” during the series, trying to persuade lesser bosses to join him. Moreover, Oz displays kindness by taking care of an orphaned teenager, Victor Aguilar, and in a nod to The Sopranos, he has a demanding, senile mother who longs for a luxurious life in Gotham. The writers don’t need to imply an incestuous relationship between Oz and his mother to convey their strained bond, but they use this element to quickly establish the same tense dynamic.

In the thrilling world I’m immersed in, I find myself rooting for the enigmatic Penguin as he skillfully navigates a perilous game, pitting the Falcones against their rivals, the Maroneys, over a potent new drug called ‘bliss’. My dear sister Sofia (played by Cristin Milioti), fresh from Arkham Asylum and nursing a bitter grudge against those who wrongfully incarcerated her to keep her from her rightful position in our family, becomes his main adversary. With a chip on her shoulder, she distrusts Oz, once my trusted driver, but her isolation among the Falcones leaves her susceptible to his cunning maneuvers. As Farrell’s physical condition leaves him playing more like Grimace than a formidable opponent, Milioti’s gripping portrayal of a woman fighting for survival steals the show. However, her character development, which draws strength from female resilience born out of trauma, feels overly familiar and lacks the complexity I crave.

Regarding Oz, if you thought he’s a fictional counterpart for Donald Trump, then you’re spot on! Just like how The Sopranos foresaw the downfall of the American Century, The Penguin offers another harsh depiction of a character whose archetype has been prevalent in TV and film since his initial presidential run. Driven by personal insecurities, Oz’s demagoguery is evident in his dramatic speeches to the oppressed and wronged, ranging from Vic and Sofia to the working-class gangsters who despise the wealthy elites like the Falcones and Maroneys even more than they despise each other. He assures potential supporters wary of his questionable past that true power lies in standing together: “The real power comes if we have each other’s backs.

In simpler terms, this show frequently features a character named “The Penguin” who often delivers speeches that challenge conventional moral beliefs, suggesting survival, security, and pleasure as the only significant factors in life. The repetitive portrayal of such ruthless characters echoes the popular trend of depicting Trump-like villains on TV (such as Scandal’s Hollis Doyle, A Man in Full’s Charlie Croker, and Kate Winslet in The Regime). However, unlike real-life former President Trump, Oz’s character lacks nihilism, making his actions seem less illogical.

At its peak, “The Penguin” serves as a potent reminder to trust individuals based on their actions. Milioti’s captivating performance and the dark, noir-infused direction from esteemed colleagues like filmmaker Craig Zobel (Z for Zachariah, Compliance) and TV veteran Helen Shaver (Station Eleven, Maid) are noteworthy, but what truly stands out is the intense ferocity of LeFranc’s finale. However, without the complex moral depth that made “The Sopranos” so thought-provoking, the journey to this point becomes laborious, burdened by one-dimensional characters spouting dialogue reminiscent of comic books. The miniseries’ conclusion could have had a more profound impact if it were not stretched across 10 hours of screen time, filled with unnecessary scenes, twists, and repetitions that a feature film without such constraints might avoid.

2024 finds TV in a financially strained, post-streaming-conflict environment. Much of what we see on screen, even when dressed up as prestigious content, falls short of being groundbreaking, thought-provoking storytelling. It’s usually there due to the guarantee it will retain subscribers for extended periods with popular actors, familiar franchises, or easy-to-understand scripts that lack depth and complexity. As I conversed with Chase towards the end of 2023, he expressed concern about the industry’s apparent disregard for complex themes like psychology, ambiguity, and spirituality. The Penguin isn’t the most poorly made new show of the fall season, but its mediocrity serves as a damning critique of a struggling medium, much like the least intelligent network trash. (I hope you haven’t watched Fox’s latest budget-friendly adult animation series, Universal Basic Guys? I advise against it.)

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2024-09-19 15:06