[Editor’s note: The recap of episode two publishes February 23.]
For good and ill, the outsized comic shadow of Tracy Jordan looms over NBC’s new foray into the Tracy Morgan business, The Fall And Rise Of Reggie Dinkins. That’s not, in itself, a bad thing. Tracy Morgan is, as longtime pal and Reggie Dinkins executive producer Tina Fey once wrote, a person everyone’s always happy to see. And this new Tracy Morgan vehicle, created by Fey comedy-factory figures in 30 Rock’s Robert Carlock and Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt’s Sam Means, clearly and intimately understands Morgan’s singular appeal. If the lines between Tracy Morgan and 30 Rock’s charismatically unpredictable former movie star Tracy Jordan were intentionally blurred (especially when Morgan’s scandals bled into Jordan’s arc), his new character similarly plugs him into another outsized, moderately unhinged but basically good-hearted public figure for maximum familiarity.
Reggie Dinkins is a former football star, a running back of such immeasurable talent that he not only won two league MVPs and endorsed the Dinkins-themed McDonald’s Veal Platter but somehow brought his home town New York Jets to the brink of a Super Bowl championship. (Fiction is fun.) Introduced in a comically abortive 30 For 30-style career retrospective montage (inspirational-turning-ominous score and all), we learn that Dinkins’ 2005 fall came from the never-timelier sin of gambling. Specifically, the quarter-million-dollar bets he placed on himself was accidentally revealed when he mixed up the number of his bookie and his live call-in with a smarmy Sports Center-esque anchor (played by The Daily Show’s Michael Kosta).
Of course, “fall” is a relative term. The banned-for-life former gridiron superstar is still rich enough to house a doggedly loyal former teammate in his mansion’s basement (mustachioed Bobby Moynihan’s Rusty, happily ensconced as Reggie’s sole remaining entourage), throw over his similarly dedicated ex-wife and agent Monica (Erika Alexander) for a much younger, blissfully adoring new spouse, Brina (Precious Way), and hire an Oscar-winning British documentarian (Daniel Radcliffe’s Arthur Tobin) to craft a worshipful portrait of his life and career. (Reggie keeps an empty coat hanger on his living room wall for the Hall Of Fame jacket he’s sure his whitewashing doc will finally earn him.) He also has a well-adjusted teenage son, Carmelo (Till’s Jalyn Hall), who is only moderately miffed that the name on his high-school football jersey engenders more derision than teammate Osama Epstein.
As premise-setting pilot episodes go, it’s all fairly tidy, especially once we learn of the parallel redemption track Radcliffe’s Arthur is on. Once the director of high-minded nonfiction fare such as Ling-Ling Not Food and the award-winning A Rose For Joshua, the pilot doles out the reveal that Arthur’s career cratered once his big leap to the MCU (home to a superhero named Professor Squeeze in this reality) plummeted to Earth in a jumble of cold feet, implied alcohol abuse, and an understandable inability to visualize a project peopled almost entirely by tennis balls on sticks. (“The scene is a tennis match now?!,” Radcliffe’s overwhelmed Tobin hilariously sputters mid-flashback.)
The pilot also tosses in the pragmatic Monica’s own career crossroads, as she, horrified that Tobin’s plans for a warts-and-all portrait of her ex-husband clash with Reggie’s desire for a Monty Burns-style hagiography where the shakily aging Reggie can totally still dunk a basketball, quits representing him to join a top-tier sports agency. It doesn’t take a scholarly knowledge of sitcom table-setting to predict that these three will eventually come together in mutual self-interest and grudging affection by the end of the episode, but Monica’s pitch for a “win-win-win” arrangement as the credits roll hints at a certain lack of stakes.
Still, Tina Fey was right—it is always great to have Tracy Morgan in the room. There’s a lot of Tracy Jordan in the has-been, spendthrift Reggie Dinkins from the outset—right down to the love of oversized, dangerous aquarium creatures (his barracuda is named Monica out of respect for the high-school sweetheart who’s stuck beside him through thick and thin), the quick cutaway gags to Dinkins’ past escapades (his unreleased rap album featuring Bruce Willis’ alter-ego Bruno, a football made from “the original Miss Piggy”), and even a few direct 30 Rock steals. (Reggie’s low-rent Asian endorsement is just Jenna Maroney’s Tokyo University ad with more little kids hitting the baffled Reggie with pool noodles. And Arthur’s initial self-serious film of Reggie’s downfall is almost literally Hard To Watch.)
Throughout, Morgan imbues his disgraced idol with his own inimitable cadences and comedy wavelength. Tracy Morgan isn’t Tracy Jordan (or Reggie Dinkins), but his comic persona is so intertwined with his comic brain that it’s all but impossible to imagine him actually making Tracy Jordan’s improbable leap to Oscar-bait dramatic lead. Reggie Dinkins isn’t depicted with Tracy Jordan’s mental-health struggles so much as a lifetime’s worth of affluenza, public-fueled ego, and perhaps a smidge of CTE. His gambling addiction seems rooted in his own self-regard (Dinkins deploys the Pete Rose “I only bet on myself to win” defense, although Reggie apparently meant it), while his command to rewrite his checkered history on the big screen smacks of the pro athlete’s (or First Lady’s) rejection of mortal limits like the truth.
Supporting Morgan, Radcliffe plays up the befuddled academic Brit angle with promising aplomb. (A phone-tossing temper tantrum gifts the former Harry Potter a fine bit of physical comedy.) Arthur Tobin’s fall may not have been as public as Reggie’s (Ronny Chieng’s guffawing sports agent claims Disney improbably swept a major Marvel movie’s implosion under the rug), but there’s an enticing odd-couple possibility in the pairing of his uptight artiste with a cluelessly desperate former jock.
As the third point in Reggie Dinkins’ comedy triangle, the formidable Alexander hints at the depths of both her exasperated love for her wayward ex and her hard-headed determination to not let a little thing like divorce keep her from self-realization. Ditching a flashy agency’s invitation to re-team with Reggie and Arthur on an actual, factual, warts-and-all documentary is a gamble, but Alexander makes us believe that Monica’s move is equal parts sentimental and mercenary.
Stray observations
- • Moynihan’s Rusty is every egomaniac’s best best friend, willfully allowing himself to be “taken” so that Reggie can fake rescue him with Tom Cruise’s sword from The Last Samurai.
- • Previews show Rusty practicing his “Jim Halpert stare” to Arthur’s ever-present cameras, but the pilot counts no fewer than three Halpert looks already.
- • The driven Monica’s non-Reggie clients include “a kid who plays Fortnite and Geena Davis—but just for archery.”
- • Arthur’s professional decline sees him toiling at the University Of Maryland’s Center For Documentary, Anime And Pornography.
- • Welcome to The A.V. Club’s ongoing coverage of The Fall And Rise Of Reggie Dinkins. I’m Dennis, and it’s good to be home.
Dennis Perkins is a contributor to The A.V. Club.
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