(courtesy IMP Awards)
Dreams are powerful things.
No, we’re not talking about strange nocturnal interludes where you’re naked in front of a hall of rabid lemmings who are demanding you sit your senior year French exam in five minutes time; instead, we’re referencing that mostly hope-springs eternal vibe inside all of us that reasons, often in direct defiance of all evidence to the contrary, that soon and very soon we will find that sweet spot in life that we’ve already imagined is waiting for us somewhere out there.
A sweet spot that stares down interminable commutes and pay-now bills and endless sundry demands and expectations and which fulfills all those wonderful circumstances that you know, you just know, will fill that hungry hole in your “is this it?” soul.
Set in 1969 in suburban San Fernando Valley (part of the Los Angeles conurbation) Government Cheese, which draws its name from a US Government welfare program active from World War II through to the early 1980s, knows how gnawing that sense to realise long-held hopes and dreams can be and how the urge to see its find tangible form can sometimes cause more problems than it solves.
Well, for protagonist, Hampton Chambers (David Oyelowo), newly released from jail for writing fraudulent cheques and associated financial crimes, making his hopes transcend his tarnished reality is a key driver, and while there is no doubt he loves his much put-upon wife, Astoria (Simone Missick) and teenage sons, highly intelligent but unconventional Einstein (Evan Ellison) and emotional intense, endlessly enquiring and sensitive Harrison (Jahi Di’Allo Winston), he keeps approaching his goals with the kind of single-minded determination that, best intentions acknowledged, leaves his family, and in fact, anyone who knows him, as collateral damage.
In the hands of an accomplished and nuanced actor like Oyelowo, a deeply flawed character like Hampton comes across as raw and vulnerable and actually quite likeable, and while you shake your head at some of the terrible decisions he makes to fix problems, only some of which are not of his making, you never actually dislike the man.
That inability to dislike the central character of Government Cheese, which neatly and winningly balances an extremely quirky sensibility and some quite affecting moments of wounded yet aspirant humanity, is common to many people, including his wife and kids, and bestie Bootsy (Bokeem Woodbine) even if it does little to make his life the bright and shining land of promise Hampton hustles it to be.
Now, without giving too much away, one of the main drivers of the artfully judged 10 episodes of Government Cheese, is not of Hampton’s own making; well, not directly, anyway.
Yes, he committed the crimes that put him in jail and if he wasn’t in jail then, for circumstances gloriously and almost comedically well outlined in the opening episode, “The Gospel of Kenny Sharp”, he wouldn’t be in debt to the seven-member strong Quebecois crime family, the Prevost Brothers, who call in the money they are owed with such extreme prejudice that Hampton’s plans to make a fortune with his self-sharpening drill wouldn’t have the complicating urgency that they end up having.
But actions have consequences, even many years down the track, and Hampton spends the better part of the show’s run, trying to fix that he long ago, if indirectly, broke.
His need to make amends at a rate not of his choosing and in ways that come perilously close to scuppering his plans for staying firmly on the straight and narrow lest he lose Astoria and the boys – she has made it clear that any reunion is highly conditional on him not repeating old and seemingly entrenched errors of judgment – drive Government Cheese, which acknowledges every step of the way that it’s easy to break things and fiendishly hard to fix them, no matter how well-intentioned you might be.
Using some highly inventive and yes, quirky visual and plot devices including a sage frog that knows just when to jump, a Jonah-sized catfish and a coffee ad housewife who acts as an inspirational foil for Astoria’s doubts Government Cheese does an evocatively arresting job of exploring what it means to dream big and how when it comes to their fulfillment we may be out own worst enemies.
Hampton is a clear example of this but rather illuminatingly, and in a whole different way is Astoria who is a receptionist at Evan Rush design but who dreams of putting her considerably accomplished design skills to use in a way that will help her to make a way in the world that isn’t buffeted by Hampton’s chronic vulnerabilities and which relies solely on her significant gifts and their imaginatively lavish articulation.
As Government Cheese goes on its offbeat but quite affecting way, you are rooting for Astoria to heed the call to be something more, and at one crucial point in the final episode, “St. Hampton”, you think she might capitulate to an impulse to prioritise others over herself.
She ———- SPOILER ALERT !!!!! ———- does not, and at a point where Hampton escapes the consequences of his actions, quite miraculously as it turns out, he loses Astoria and likely the boys even as they begin to move forward in ways that elude his flawed self at every turn.
It’s a sobering end to things and proof that while Government Cheese might have a very quirky soul and offbeat visual and narrative sensibility, they are always in service to a storyline that embraces the power of hopes and dreams but which sagely, and a little sorrowfully, acknowledges that we are the architects of our own demise or ascention.
Sporting some very fine Sixties livery from gorgeous home design to stylish fashion and a lavish sense that anything is possible in the expansive growth of American suburban living (even as it acts as a prison for many, most especially housewives), Government Cheese is a brilliant piece of storytelling that knows how hard the heart beats for things to be better but how equally capable we are of making things worse, even when we shoot and aim for the stars.
Government Cheese streams on AppleTV+