Krystal Stubbs (Dunst) puts her best fin forwardiT’s hArd To live up To A TiTle
like On Becoming a God in Central Flor-
ida—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 (Alexander Skarsgard) and
Krystal Stubbs (Kirsten Dunst). Tra-
vis is entangled in a pyramid scheme
called Founders American Merchan-
dise. 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 mas-
ochistic streak. Krystal’s kind, mar-
ried 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 Gar-
beau II (Ted Levine), who’s made a for-
tune selling fantasies of owning a he-
licopter and being one’s own boss. His
taped affirmations bookend the epi-
sodes, reminding us that FAM symbol-
izes the American Dream. Central Flor-
ida isn’t breaking new ground here; it’s
weakest when it harps on the obvious
metaphor. Everything 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 2019Teen 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.