30 for 30: OJ Made in America - 5 part series - Starts Sat June 11th

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[h=4]When To Watch[/h]
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All five parts available on WatchESPN June 14
Available for DVD preorder

[h=2]O.J.: Made In America[/h]
 
festeringZit

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[COLOR=rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8)][h=3]L.A. Story[/h][h=4]‘O.J.: Made in America’ is an extraordinary, sobering documentary with no winners[/h][/COLOR]
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“When you think of 1968,”asks Ezra Edelman, director ofO.J.: Made in America, “what do you think of?”
There is a right answer. We’ve just seen it—a stream of images that flew past us with the fury characteristic of that moment in history. ’68: Mexico City, black-gloved fists thrown skyward on an Olympic podium. ’68: Robert Kennedy, open-mouthed and dying on the front page of the Daily Mirror, which ran the headline, “GOD! NOT AGAIN!” ’68: Men frozen on a hotel balcony, pointing at some distance—It came from up there—as Martin Luther King Jr. lies dead at their feet.
“1968,” says the man, recalling the University of Southern California in the ’60s. The images onscreen begin another tour of the era. “I think of winning all the games. Getting O.J. famous. Everybody on campus thinking it’s the greatest thing on earth.” (Flash to white college coeds hysterically cheering during a game.) “That’s all we thought about.” (O.J. Simpson in his USC jersey, beaming.) “There was nothing else going on.”
O.J. Simpson grew up adamantly wanting to stand outside of American racial history. And once he became a public figure, he’d been encouraged by his success and the people around him, the neighbors and peers and throngs of fans, to believe he had. This is obviously impossible now: His name is, for better but more likely for worse, synonymous with that history. If it does nothing else, Edelman’s documentary will give credence to the conviction that this was an inescapable fate.
At seven and a half hours and split into five parts that will air over the course of a week, starting Saturday, on ABC and ESPN, Edelman’s O.J.: Made in America is tremendous. It is a wide-ranging, enraging survey of the racial history of Los Angeles, mostly from the mid- to late ’90s. It is not “The Life and Times of O.J.,” but it knows that story. It knows that a black man who wins the Heisman Trophy the same year as the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. is an automatic symbol for the inherent give and take, good and bad, win-some lose-more that defines racial progress. It knows that compromise is inherent in that progress. And it recognizes the pain inherent in that compromise.
With slow-burning fury, Edelman’s work pushes us to remember what the circus of the 1994-95 trial, that sensational mess, buried: the killings of Ronald Goldman and Nicole Brown Simpson, on one hand, and the legal and cultural vulnerability of blacks whose names weren’t O.J., on the other. FX’s recent The People v. O.J. Simpson: American Crime Story, was a useful primer on this subject, too, but perhaps for the wrong reasons: As a show interested in why the trial took off the way it did, it limited itself to what took off. Edelman is actively disinterested in that limit.
Made in America shows us that, with 20 years’ distance, we can restore the killings of Goldman and Brown Simpson to the saga of the trial and try to understand O.J.’s precise place in the history of black discontent. The result is not distraction from the essential challenges the case posed to the Los Angeles Police Department, nor is it an argument for the equivalence of a history of police brutality and the killings of two people. The result is a fuller sense of the carnage—of what we, collectively, have lost.
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You could say that from early in his life, O.J. was a man who tried to make himself in our country’s image—the good version of that image, the divine myth, scrappy and aspirational and triumphant. By college, his talent was already mythic, a reputation manufactured in part by his peers, his coaches, a rabid and growing fleet of adoring strangers, and O.J. himself. These friends and others still speak of pretrial, heroic O.J. giddily—even as they’re also slipping in stories about his stealing their girlfriends. They call it the “O.J. effect”: Even his indiscretions were fun.
Stories we hear about O.J.’s early life are deliberately suggestive in that way — seemingly chock-full of insight about the man he’d become, a man increasingly distant from the black experience, especially in L.A. Edelman gives us crash courses on the Watts Riots, Rodney King, the 1992 L.A. riots. This is more than context. We see Latasha Harlins, 15 years old, get shot in the head after punching grocer Soon Ja Du, who thought she was stealing; we get a devastating tour of the homes at 39th and Dalton, which were practically destroyed during a needlessly aggressive drug raid in 1988. Edelman steeps us in the growing discontent of black Angelenos — in the growing sense of arbitrary violence and utter helplessness. Then he moves us back to Mr. Simpson. Golfing. Starring in The Naked Gun. Beating up his young new girlfriend, Nicole.
The history of Los Angeles violence and the stories of O.J.’s relationship with Nicole twine, tightly, around O.J.’s image. Our sense of parallel worlds that seem to be distinguished merely by race — one rich and white and called Brentwood, the other poor, black, and brown, an underclass whose quality of life is contingent on shifting tides in policing — is complicated by Edelman’s rhythmic back and forth between them. They become as distinct as they are inseparable, giving the documentary a startling moral backbone. You’ll notice that we spend seemingly as much time looking at Nicole’s bruised face on Polaroids she’d stored in her safety deposit box as we do at blacks’ beatings by the LAPD. That for every minute spent watching Rodney King get beaten, we had to listen to stories or audio of Nicole’s beatings. In a sequence that will undoubtedly become the focus of our discussions about the series, we’re treated to a detailed forensic analysis of Nicole’s and Ron’s killings, narrated second-to-second through close-ups of their blood stains and wounds. The show is asking us to linger.
The trial forced us to choose between the violence of racial history and the worst possible extreme of a violence wrought by intimacy. The O.J. Simpson trial hurtles into view as the heartbreaking mess it always was, this time unmitigated by the fun of the scandal and our divided country’s love of tectonic collisions. The harrowing domestic dispute calls (“He’s going to beat the shit out of me”), the bloody close-ups of slit throats, the imperfectly collected but abundant DNA evidence, the thrashing familial grief. And then, of course, Rodney King, Latasha Harlins, Eula Love, 39th and Dalton, two generations of riots, bad eggs like Mark Fuhrman.
The movie does not ask us to choose between them, as the trial once did. We shouldn’t have to. And on the heels of hours of documentary evidence to the tune of “O.J. doesn’t care about black people,” you may very well find yourself at a loss. The trial was a moral centrifuge that set these violent worlds spinning further and further apart from each other, even as they were trapped on the same ride. For seven and a half hours—but really, for two decades—we’ve been trapped on this ride, too. Enthralled by it, injured by it, and unsure of whom to blame. In a zero-sum game, we’ll always lose.
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festeringZit

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<header class="node-header" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 0.5rem; padding: 0px 0px 1rem; width: 994px; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-color: rgb(194, 194, 194); color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Verdana, Tahoma, 'DejaVu Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">[h=1]O.J.: Made In America: EW review[/h]</header>



Posted June 10 2016 — 5:53 PM EDT
O.J.: Made In America begins with shots of the American West – a highway stretching toward a vanishing point; blue skies over parched, bleached terrain – and a voice talking about a certain kind of American Dream, one that often leads to dead-ends or nowhere at all. “As a kid living in the ghetto, one of the things I wanted most was not money. It was fame. I wanted to be known. I wanted people to say: ‘Hey, there goes O.J.’” On that final phrase, the montage brings us to a destination: Lovelock Correctional Center, home to inmate #1027820, better known as O.J. Simpson.
<section class="related-content-wrapper" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 20px 0px; padding: 0.5rem 0px; width: 489.797px; float: none;">[h=3]SEE ALSO[/h]'The People v. O.J. Simpson' is 2016's most-watched cable show
WATCH: See the exclusive trailer for ESPN's epic O.J. Simpson doc
</section>It’s an evocative and sobering orientation to a remarkable work, a five-part, 10-hour documentary epic carried by over 70 original interviews, choice archival footage, revelatory home video, and a strong, intelligent point of view. Presented under the banner of ESPN’s Emmy winning “30 for 30” franchise, O.J.: Made In Americapremieres Saturday on ABC and continues next week on ESPN. In a big league storytelling performance, director Ezra Edelman (Magic & Bird: A Courtship of Rivals; Brooklyn Dodgers: Ghosts of Flatbush) uses Simpson’s life and fall to dig into so many essential issues. Identity. Race. Class. Misogyny. Wealth. Violence. Justice. Celebrity. Yes, there is actually more to say about O.J., even after super-producer Ryan Murphy’s extraordinary docudrama The People vs. O.J. Simpson. But why wouldn’t there be? The murders of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman on the evening of June 13, 1994 remain officially unsolved. And Simpson, who was later found liable for their deaths in civil court, remains a cipher to be cracked. O.J.: Made In America – a Citizen Kane-like investigation into an icon with the sweep and even the scuzz of crime epics like Goodfellas or Boogie Nights – aspires to understand him and the forces that shaped him. It’s also one of the best television shows of the year.
O.J.: Made In America is so rich – and certainly why it’s so long – because it’s not just about Simpson and it’s not just straight biography. As Edelman methodically deconstructs Simpson, he also tells the story of the city that made him, Los Angeles, and one part in particular, the African-American community. Through interviews with political and civic leaders, police officers, and longtime residents, Edelman explains how Simpson became a symbol of justice to L.A.’s black population. This, too, is a huge story, one that Edelman begins in the middle of the 20th century, when black men and women fleeing persecution and poverty in the South came to L.A. in massive numbers – the black community grew by 600 percent from 1940-1960 – chasing hope and opportunity. Instead, they found further injustice in the form of an institutionally racist and increasingly militarized police department. This volatile conflict would lead to explosive unrest – the Watts Riots of 1965; the L.A. riots of 1992 that followed the acquittal of four white cops who beat Rodney King – and turn the outcome of Simpson’s infamous murder trial into catharsis and payback for years of bad justice.
But the paradox of Simpson’s case becoming a rallying cry for the community is how hard to he worked to avoid being defined as black at all. This take on Simpson is the organizing principal of Edelman’s portrait. The first two episodes track Simpson’s evolution from boy to man to celebrity to brand – the arc of media age self-realization – and his more difficult, degrading post-football days as the most common of things, a struggling Hollywood actor. Rigorously sociopolitical in approach, Edelman constantly connects Simpson to particular cultures that influenced and elevated him. Raised by his mother in a San Francisco housing project, Simpson escaped a rough, poor childhood with charm, hustle, and athletic talent. Simpson’s father was a intermittent presence. He was also gay – a known but often underreported aspect of Simpson’s origin story – and Edelman suggests Simpson felt shame about his father, which contributed to his construct of identity. “Back in our day, that was the worst thing in the world that you could ever think about, an African American man being homosexual,” says childhood friend Joe Bell, whose raspy voiced and conflicted feelings about Simpson make him one of the doc’s most compelling narrators.
As a student-athlete at the University of Southern California, Simpson immediately became national sensation for his football heroics and a privileged big man on campus. Edelman depicts USC as a protected bubble world of white, wealthy elites, noting that the school borders the 54 square-mile sprawl of desperation that was ground zero for the Watts Riots. At USC, Simpson was “out of the black community, out of black consciousness, and submerged in all white university,” says Bell. “I don’t say this lightly, but he is seduced by white society.” (According to reports, Edelman made repeated attempts to get Simpson to talk for this doc, but to no avail.)
A key early passage has strong resonance because of a connection to the late Muhammad Ali. In fact, the cultural storytelling about Ali’s life over the past week – about his activism, conscience, and black and Muslim pride; how he made outrage over racial injustice part of every cultural engagement – serves as prologue to Edelman’s documentary. In 1967, black athletes, including Ali, were organizing and speaking out against social injustice and Vietnam, risking consequence to their image and professional prospects. Simpson – who had just captured the country’s imagination by leading USC to victory against top ranked UCLA – was asked to support to a black boycott of the 1968 Summer Olympics. “His response was, ‘I’m not black, I’m O.J.,” says Dr. Harry Edwards, organizer of the Olympic Project for Human Rights, who elaborates with a fair-minded explication of Simpson’s perspective, how he wanted to be judged for his character and accomplishments. Simpson, still maturing, overwhelmed by new celebrity, was a vulnerable amateur still more than a year away from pro paychecks – points Edelman could have hit harder. Still, he lets Simpson address the matter himself via interviews from the time, and he exhibits a solipsism and dodging attitude, qualities that would more pronounced and problematic when he graduated into the National Football League and beyond.
Edelman depicts Simpson as profiting by running away from race and courting white America, and backs it up with solid reporting and insights from friends and associates. “O.J.’s quest was to erase race as a defining factor in his life,” says Edwards, “and that was the basis by which white society not only accepted him but embraced him.” Simpson parlayed a slow starting but ultimately exceptional NFL career into concurrent careers as an actor and corporate pitchman, paving the way for Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods, and other black athletes to become product endorsers. But who was marketing who? In a sequence introducing Simpson’s long relationship with Hertz Rent-a-Car, Edelman uses ad execs and Edwards to analyze how a commercial was crafted to promote Simpson to white audiences. The perspective on Simpson aside, the docu-series is valuable for illuminating the cunning craft of performance and manipulating perception. Peter Hyams, director of the 1978 film Capricorn One, reveals he was opposed to casting Simpson – he didn’t think he had the acting chops – and how he had to apply prosthetic devices to Simpson’s face to help convey mortal desperation during a key scene.
Each two-hour chapter of O.J.: Made In America is a singular, dense, and fulfilling experience unto itself. In the second episode, Edelman focuses on Simpson’s ’80s Hollywood high life – his Rockingham mansion in the ritzy neighborhood of Brentwood was his “Graceland,” and a hotspot for L.A. power players – and his relationship with Nicole Brown, an aspiring model and classic Southern California blonde beauty. Edelman pokes at lot of ideas that might have factored into Simpson’s eroding character and toxic masculinity: the collapse of his marriage to teenage sweetheart, Marguerite Whitley; the death of a daughter from drowning; the shame of being a distant, disconnected father as his own father was to him; his pursuit of significance and wealth, aided and abetted by friends and businessmen captivated by his celebrity; and some delusions of unattainable grandeur that were beyond him. Apparently, Simpson entertained ambitions of becoming a Hollywood studio chief.
Here, Edelman presents Simpson as a man who was simply not good enough to be what he wanted to be in his NFL afterlife – surely a tough fact for a competitor to accept. He tried, worked hard, and failed to land a lead role in Milos Forman’s 1981 adaptation of E.L. Doctorow’s Ragtime: Coalhouse Walker, brash romantic and professional entertainer turned self-destructing vengeful radical. (The late Howard E. Rollins, Jr. got the part.) Edelman plays, at length, an interview Simpson gave celebrity journalist Rona Barrett at the time about his affinity for Coalhouse. What’s striking about his take is how it sums up his own attitudes about race and completely misses the tragedy of the character. “I just could identify with this guy so much. It was a black man at a time when you were supposed to know you were black, you were supposed to know you had a place. I was raised in the sports world, where you’re only judged by your abilities and what you have to give. … I could understand exactly what he felt. When he walked in a room, he gave no credence to the fact that he was black and that he wasn’t supposed to say things or treated any differently, and that’s the way I tried to look at my life. I felt I was the right person for the role. I felt I was today’s Coalhouse Walker.”
Ragtime was beyond Simpson’s skill as an actor. But he also flopped – surprisingly – as a Monday Night Football color commentator. His greatest Hollywood success was his role The Naked Gun movies. His high energy and ace mugging served the slapstick, though that’s not why he got the part. Helmer David Zucker – damning Simpson with brutal honesty and the faintest of praise – tells Edelman that Simpson was hired because of his celebrity, because the production didn’t want “an all-white cast,” and because he was cheap. “He was still in the public eye, but yet he was economical because I don’t think he was in demand for movies. O.J. was fine for Naked Gun. There was nobody better.”
Edelman lays out Simpson’s personal and professional travails before reporting on his volatile and violent years with Brown, whom he married in 1985, and the disintegration of their union. When charges of domestic violence were made public in 1989, Simpson, his friends say, was concerned about the damage to his image. Edelman shows awkward efforts at spin control, including a one-on-one with then-ESPN journalist Ray Firestone. Diaries, testimonials and a chilling 9-1-1 call, in which Simpson can be heard thundering at Brown in the background, present him as increasingly possessive and jealous and incapable of self-control. Still, it’s this chapter of O.J.: Made In Americathat cries out most for interviews Edelman couldn’t secure, including more members of the Brown family, Brown’s alleged lover, Marcus Allen, Simpson himself, and, of course, the victims. On the evening of June 12, 1994, Brown, who had resolved to split from Simpson once and for all, was murdered at her Brentwood home along with Ronald Goldman.
The third and fourth parts rehearse, once again, the ordeal that was “the trial of the century.” Yeah, you just watched it on The People vs. O.J. Simpson, but Edelman’s reporting makes it fresh and yields revelations, including an allegation about how Simpson might have manipulated the trial’s most notorious turn – the moment when prosecution had him try on one of the bloody gloves. Edelman scores interviews with two jury members and most of the usual suspects, including Marcia Clark and Gil Garcetti for the prosecution and F. Lee Bailey and a brazenly candid Carl Douglas for the defense. They’re strange to the eye at first because of Murphy’s docudrama – how come Clark doesn’t look like Sarah Paulson? – but that works the Edelman’s advantage: his characters are new and fascinating to us all over again. I enjoyed the act of watching them reclaim their images from Hollywood. They’re even compelling when they fail at it. L.A.P.D. detective Mark Fuhrman receives the tough questions about the caught-on-tape racism that subverted the prosecution against Simpson; his responses range from chastened to defiant. Defense attorney Barry Scheck, who aggressively heaped doubt on the physical evidence, comes off shifty as he tries to elude interrogations about fair play and Simpson’s guilt.
By attending to Simpson’s racial erasure in his marketeering and the racial divisions in Los Angeles throughout the series, O.J.: Made In America pays off in the late stages with powerful moments rooted in a irony: a man who ran away from being seen as black, escaping jail by exploiting the very real institutional racism that had plagued L.A. for decades. There’s amazing home video of Simpson back at Rockingham after the trial reacting to his lawyer Robert Shapiro’s notorious confession to Barbara Walters: “Not only did we play the race card, we dealt it from the bottom of the deck.” The fifth episode profiles Simpson’s post-trial spiral into shameful self-debasement as the former cultural hero and blue-chip endorser tries to survive by trading off his tarnished laurels and present infamy. In another home video jaw-dropper, we see Simpson, the master media manipulator, faking paparazzi footage so he can sell it to the tabloids. Edelman brings us into the sadness and sleaze of Simpson’s low-life exile in Florida, in which he kept company with dubious sycophants and sports memorabilia peddlers. He takes us behind the scenes of cash-grab debacles like the If I Did It book and the pay-per-view prank show special Juiced, which included an ugly parody (?) of a gangsta rap video – a far cry from the scrupulous image-making of his early years of brand building. And there’s significant attention given to the armed robbery that finally landed Simpson in jail – a dumb, reckless scheme to steal back valuables from his glory days. Simpson is currently imprisoned in Nevada, serving a 33-year sentence (with possibility of parole). While his incarceration may please many, others see the punishment as suspiciously severe. Edelman gives voice to ideas that might explain why.
Extraordinary on so many levels, O.J.: Made In America transcends its stated subjects and themes. It’s a withering critique of self-creation, culture making, and idolatry that speaks to everyone, regardless of race. The moments that haunt me the most are the ones in which Edelman’s interview subjects wrestle with their conscience – or resist it – as they consider their part in the tragedy of O.J. Simpson and those who suffered him. Among them: Simpson’s former marketing agent Mike Gilbert, whose disclosures and his guilt steal the show the last half of the docuseries. “There’s something deep seated that I think a lot of people like myself have to face up to, about what created this character,” says businessman and author Thomas C. McCollum, a friend of Simpson’s. “It wasn’t just him. It’s part society.”A+



 
festeringZit

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Somehow, 2016 has turned into the year of O.J. Simpson.
Twenty-two years after Simpson was acquitted in the murders of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman, the trial of the former NFL star continues to captivate America.
Back in February, FX began airing a 10-part miniseries on the trial called American Crime Story: The People vs. O.J. Simpson.
Not to be outdone, ESPN is set to run with its own piece on Simpson, only this isn't a miniseries, it's a full-fledged documentary. The seven-hour-and-43-minute film is being called the best 30 for 30 documentary that the sports network has ever produced. It currently has a potentially record-breaking perfect Metacritic score of 100.
In a review of the documentary, the Los Angeles Times called it a "masterwork of scholarship, journalism and cinematic art."
ESPN is so proud of the film that the network released it in theaters for a week so that it can qualify for an Oscar in February 2017. The film has already been shown at both the Tribeca Film Festival and Sundance Film Festival
 
Mr_Mark

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its somewhat weird that we all know the story, we know the outcome. Yet I still watched American Crime Story and will watch 30 for 30 also...
 

PatsFan1283

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That AC Cowlings story Van Gundy told during the game was hilarious. How Riley ran into AC that offseason and he said OJ was trying to findout what the score was in the Bronco.

That almost seems made up.
 

RunMaker

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PatsFan1283 said:
That AC Cowlings story Van Gundy told during the game was hilarious. How Riley ran into AC that offseason and he said OJ was trying to findout what the score was in the Bronco.

That almost seems made up.
Click to expand...

lmao


final score: 2-0
 
Greenbacks

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That was a 2 hour tribute to a double murderer......This guy got more praise in 120 minutes then Muhammad Ali got at his funeral........He should rot in hell for what he did..........Somebody should cut the producers throat for talking up this scumbag.

Nobody gives a shit about his commercials and football career.
 
festeringZit

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Greenbacks2 said:
That was a 2 hour tribute to a double murderer......This guy got more praise in 120 minutes then Muhammad Ali got at his funeral........He should rot in hell for what he did..........Somebody should cut the producers throat for talking up this scumbag.

Nobody gives a shit about his commercials and football career.
Click to expand...

Huh? It's a biographical sketch. It's part of OJ's history. I think OJ is one of the biggest scumbags ever, but I didn't come away from that episode thinking
that the producers throat should be cut? If anything he showed the beginnings of OJ's fall, that while OJ was early on in his marriage, and his wife
was pregnant with his child, he was scoping out 18 year old Nicole in a restaurant, and claiming at first sight, that he had to have her. And,
OJ's quotes saying: "I'm not black, I'm OJ."
 
GoSooners

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I forgot how good OJ was back then. He was 'murder' on opposing defenses. And he ran with such 'conviction'
 
he_dblhockeystx

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I just got done watching episode 2 .. I was 10 years old when the murder happened, so I remember it , but not too much about oj himself...
I never realized all the domestic violence that went down for years, that shits crazy... He was a completly 2 faced psychopath.. That dude told the story of when he slept with Nicole than the next morning oj kicked the door in yelling at Nicole telling her he Watched them.. Than dude said on his way out he simply turned back into cool and calm "oj"..
All the 911 calls Nicole made , including ones when you can hear oj yelling.. Letters she wrote to people saying oj is going to kill her and she fears for her life.. Goddamn
 
festeringZit

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All the episodes are online now.

Episode #3, at the 48:00 mark, OJ after he's arrested, after the Bronco chase (looking at the crowd): "What are all these n1ggers doing in Brentwood?"
 
AlwayzRight

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festeringZit said:
All the episodes are online now.

Episode #3, at the 48:00 mark, OJ after he's arrested, after the Bronco chase (looking at the crowd): "What are all these n1ggers doing in Brentwood?"
Click to expand...


Where are they at zit? Part 2 has me hooked after a slow part 1
 
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