Vicks™ VapoPatch™ provides soothing Vicks vapors in an easy-to-use
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non-medicated Vicks Vapors to help soothe your senses.vicks.comKrystal Stubbs (Dunst) puts her best fin forwardiT’s hArd To live up To A TiTle like
On Becoming a God in Central Florida—
and at first the new Showtime dramedy
seems doomed to disappoint. Set in an
Orlando suburb in 1992, it opens with
a crisis in the marriage of Travis (Alex-
ander Skarsgard) and Krystal Stubbs
(Kirsten Dunst). Travis is entangled in a
pyramid scheme called Founders Ameri-
can Merchandise. Though he’s got little
to show for it, he’s determined to quit
his day job. If he does, Krystal says, she’ll
take their baby and leave.
A miscast Skarsgard sets the stage
for a broad, mean-spirited satire. But
once he’s sidelined—in an early twist too
insane to spoil—the delightful Central
Florida (debuting Aug. 25) belongs
to Dunst. A brace-faced dynamo who
works at a water park, her character is
a tenacious mom in the Mildred Pierce
mold. The role suits Dunst’s perky
intensity, calling back to her turns in
Fargo and Drop Dead Gorgeous, and
grounds polemic from first-time creators
Robert Funke and Matt Lutsky in a
smart, mostly sympathetic protagonist.
Like two other summer standouts,
Florida Girls and David Makes Man, the
show frames the Sunshine State as a
microcosm of America—a melting pot
about to boil over, where strivers of all
backgrounds struggle and scheme. To
that end, its supporting characters are
vivid: one step above Travis in the FAM
hierarchy is Cody (Théodore Pellerin), a
type-A twerp with a masochistic streak.
Krystal’s kind, married co-worker Ernie
(Mel Rodriguez) gets sucked in because
he feels drawn to her for reasons he can’t
or won’t understand.
Atop the pyramid sits Obie Garbeau II
(Ted Levine), who’s made a fortune sell-
ing fantasies of owning a helicopter and
being one’s own boss. His taped affirma-
tions bookend the episodes, reminding
us that FAM symbolizes the American
Dream. Central Florida isn’t breaking
new ground here; it’s weakest when it
harps on the obvious metaphor. Every-
thing the show wants to communicate
is already there in the characters, each
one a case study in who wins and loses in
this country. —J.B.TELEVISION
American Dreams for sale
DOCU MENTARY
A moving look
at the teen
idols of 2019
Teen pop culture is rarely
comprehensible to adults.
Elvis sounded like noise to
parents raised on Bing Crosby.
Myspace baffled boomers.
Now many of us see teens
obsessing over influencers—
young people, often with no
discernible talent, who’ve built
huge followings on social- video
platforms—and can’t imagine
what they’re getting out of it.
Jawline, a Sundance hit that
comes to theaters and Hulu on
Aug. 23, is an antidote to that
confusion. In observing Austyn
Tester, a 16-year-old live
streamer in rural Tennessee
with enviable bone structure,
director Liza Mandelup
translates his world into terms
anyone can understand. By
growing his modest audience,
Austyn hopes to escape his
stifling small town. In daily
broadcasts, he smiles, flirts,
offers vague affirmations; a
mall meet-up finds 10 or so
girls angling for a kiss. What
they see in him is what many
Beatlemaniacs saw in Paul:
a safe imaginary boyfriend
who’s sweeter than the guys
at school.
There’s a darker side, of
course—not just the hunger for
undeserved fame and fortune,
but the cynical managers and
hangers-on who exploit naive
wannabes like Austyn. Yet as
Mandelup subtly demonstrates
in this wise, empathetic doc,
these unsavory elements only
further tie social- media stars
to the teen-idol industries
of years past. Same as it
ever was. ÑJ.B.