Allow me to preface my routine examination of the show in question with a confessional: I like this kind of stuff. I like it because long after its events and somewhat distilled essence has been absorbed, it gets under your skin. Because it morphs the attitude and lifts the heart in a way a large majority percentage of all the world's motivational speakers or office depot stock inspirational quote posters can't. It provides a window into what it means to be "cool" - if that word ever had any meaning at all - in the face of the fast paced business world, a world full of disapproval, mounting frustrations, and more than a few unsavory and complicated relationships. It's also a reminder that perhaps, through all the hectic, sensationalist hype over self-help and Donald Trump type gurus, success stripped down is ultimately about 99.9% hustle.
Even in an economy plagued by the increasing toughness of job opportunities, even recognition of credible talent, it feels real and accessible because it attests to the warmth of this ideal. Describing the eagerness to pursue the path of ingenuity so cynically compromised in these testing times could be likened to the personal challenge of eating a rocky mountain oyster - trusting of its fine quality and status as a delicacy, yet nauseated, repulsed by the intake of an intimidation that accompanies one's knowledge of its origin. The forging purveyor of the 9 to 5 shift can find solace in its fantasy, and even muster the kind of fortitude that the goal of rising above one's suffocating, sometimes subduing environment necessitates. As a tee shirt created by Ben Epstein warns street weary would-be buyers: "New York City Eats Its Young".
There is a cult of attitude that exists in the frame of mind of the ambitious. It's epitomized by the glamour of dissatisfaction, of enduring friendships, of the thrill of the youthful, unconventional ride. It exists on HBO, and it's become something of a trademark from the perception of Mark Wahlberg, executive producer of the network's latest, "How To Make It In America".
Mr. Wahlberg, who executive produces HBO's "Entourage" (now on the brink of its running seventh season) has developed quite a knack for sharing his affinity for the grind of the day-to-day, where the starving may not be getting rich quick, but they're enamored with persistence. He is no stranger to the come-up himself, though his story - in the wake of Wikipedia and Imdb.com - may be a bit more accessible than that of the characters of his series for those without the luxury of higher cable programming. As "Marky Mark", hip-hop emcee and frontman for the "Funky Bunch", his launching point was based in Los Angeles with brother Donnie of "New Kids on the Block" fame, along with a staunch, dutiful set of confidantes (Eric Weinstein, Johnny "Drama" Alves, and Donnie "Donkey" Carrol, respectively). That boyishly retained inner-circle set the template for "Entourage"'s iconic set of perennially close-knit New-Yorkers turned LA players, who prefer to blaze their paths through instinct and sensibility, rather than the mere terminal desperation to peak in fame.
"How To Make It" is the quintessential hustler story, with Ben Epstein (Bryan Greenberg) and his lightning-quick confidant Cam Calderon (Victor Rasuk) at its center. They're high-spirited and low esteemed. I'd expect their friendship, in a show on HBO about New York, to be somewhat catering to the ego of its viewers and heavily ridden in over-wrought conversational exchanges, much like the kind of deliberate discussion of phallus and plastic packaging of "Sex In The City", or the sexually charged bloodlust of a misdirected, muddled soap opera like "True Blood". It isn't. You can imagine how gratifying it was to learn that this is indeed a show about its characters. Ben and Cam's behavior is governed by the streets they inhabit, rather than the style they think they have. They're not show-offs like Carrie Bradshaw and Samantha Jones, they are what they are. This free-flowing naturalism and ability to step outside self-consciousness is how the show retains its sense of spirit, a spirit that is alive to be examined.
The opening moments of "How To Make It"'s pilot episode have Ben sitting in one of the rooms of his apartment, staring in disapproval at what could have been his break-through - a stack of custom designed skateboard decks he crafted for a native skateboarder named Wilfredo Gomez. That Ben had the graphic designer chops to make those decks sell is not so much the issue as is the fact that Gomez ends up going senile. His talents can no longer push Ben's. As the two friends board the train during the first kick of the day, they catch glimpses of a young, scrappy free-enterprising kid peddling M & M's, admittedly not for any fundraiser, but rather on his own account. "I'm out here hustling for my damn self", he explains. Ben offers a bit of advice: "It's not about money, it's about respect", he assures him, though it's extended more with admiration than with the lecturing or disapproval of an after-school special. The boy's strive is the code they understand.
With "How To Make It", frequent series director Julian Farino retains his voguish status as a one television's finest, a grounded and enduringly hip provider of eye-view with a cool and affable sensibility. Mr. Farino - who's also acting as executive producer on this Wahlberg team's latest, has demonstrated in times past a responsible handling of the brisk, bonafide rapport of such iconic, breakthrough "Entourage" shows as "Aquamansion", "The Sundance Kids", and "The Bat Mitzvah", all episodes that define and explore their characters' layers through the swing of their unfolding events.
With "How To Make It In America", the group introduced in a fun and fast-paced first season is free to to explore and roams with conviction. Its fundamentals are in place, but with an angle and convincing performances that guides its material above stale, post-modern HBO condescension. That rapport and study of communique is as present here in Farino's work as ever, following the jaunted exchanges of Ben and Cam, an almost pitch perfect chemistry that blends Ben's bleak thick-skinned cynicism with Cam's frenetic, off-the-cuff, moment-to-moment lifestyle. There's an element of unpredictability in their journey that could just as soon have them peddling an newly blended, unknown energy drink named "Rasta Monsta" for Cam's ex-convict cousin Rene (played with a fun-loving, quirky novelty by Luis Guzman), as it could find them earning some recognition and landing an opportunity printing shirts for their idol, the Japanese clothing buyer Haraki.
Greenberg plays Ben with a sense of gravity that is weighed down by frustration, and sometimes doubt. He's always innovative with his assets, though has yet to ever see those assets give him pleasurable result. While "How To Make It" is crafted in the same conventions as any pseudo-hip soap opera, with its fair share of love triangles and exploitative romantic twists, there's a core between those arcs that make its relationship dynamics, particularly the one that centers around Ben and ex-girlfriend Rachel so grounded, so bewitchingly smooth - even in its rough patches. Pining over the inadequacies of that relationship, Rachel bluntly explains to Ben why she just couldn't make it work: "You needed to hate yourself", she says. That psychoanalysis would seemingly fit Ben, who thrives not on the headway of his successes, but the scrutiny, the anguish that backhands him in effect of his underdeveloped entrepreneurial schemes. One of Ben's professors at a college he chose to withdraw from tells him, "You had talent, just no follow-through".
But these characters aren't doomed. There's a sense of redemption biding its time to spring from the adversity of those failures, and it reminds us, looking back, that it never really was the "rewards" of the grind that kept us going on in the first place. Unless those rewards were the despondency that comes with defeat, there'd be hardly any resilience on display from people like Ben, Cam, Rachel and the rest of those sharing their dogged camaraderie. The easy breathing wit of a show like "How To Make It In America" comes from the acknowledgement that these people are addicted to their work, their assets, their sense of purpose. The unapologetic nature of each day might bring them to their knees, but they meet it with warm embrace, and an endearing smile.
New York city eats its young, alright. What keeps us watching is the impression that maybe these guys have what it takes to slice their way out of its stomach, and keep right on moving.
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