“Truth doesn’t set them free sometimes; it’s just another burden they have to bear.”
The plight of musicians in post-Katrina New Orleans has long been a subject that’s fascinated me. So imagine my excitement when HBO elected to take on the premise in its tremendous series, “Treme,” named for a historical black neighborhood in the Big Easy. This journey takes folks on a powerful, emotional journey through a decimated city and a lost culture, through the eyes of those who are still trying to find a way to reclaim and preserve what it once was.
Created by David Simon (the genius behind “The Wire”) and Eric Overmyer (a part-time resident of New Orleans), “Treme” uses a neighborhood as an analogy for an entire city. Set three months after Hurricane Katrina, it sets its lens to take an unflinching look at racism, political corruption, police ineptitude (and worse), federal ignorance—and how all those variables conspired to result in the abandonment of one of the country’s most beloved places. The Indian chiefs’ preservation of its hard-earned tradition, the struggle to open housing to those in need, the fight to retain the smiling spirit that permeates the city, the quest for closure for loved ones lost, the pursuit of ways to right long-standing wrongs … “Treme” uses these storylines and more in a breathtaking first season.
Casting was inevitably going to play a huge role in the success or failure of “Treme,” and Simon and Overmyer made some unconventional decisions from the start. This series examines the healing nature of music, its transcendant quality to take people away to a different, better place. And in an effort to retain and highlight that singular importance of music, they elected to use a host of real-life musicians, most notably in the case of Lucia Micareli, who plays immensely talented but relationship-challenged Annie.
Elsewhere, Simon and Overmyer hit the nail on the head with the strong-willed bar owner Ladonna (Khandi Alexander), purposely isolated even inside her marriage; the musician Antoine Batiste (Wendell Pierce), a prideful but immoral hustler; the driven lawyer Toni Bernette (Melissa Leo), a champion of the people; the rising jazz star Delmon Landreaux (Rob Brown), conflicted about whether to embrace his future or honor his past; and the chef and restauranteur Janette Desautel (Kim Dickens), exasperated and questioning her way of life.
Yet for all of these vital characters, the story is driven by the trio of Creighton Bernette (John Goodmon), Albert Lambreaux (Clarke Peters) and Davis McAlary (Steve Zahn). Bernette is a regional mouthpiece with writer’s block, a professor and author with a voice that demands to be heard, yet is struggling with which medium to use. Lambreaux is an Indian chief with a solemn countenance and a refusal to accept the loss of culture and tradition that has stolen so much from the essence of the Ninth Ward. And McAlary (tremendously portrayed by a series-stealing Zahn) is part-activist, part-hustler, part-musician and part-comedian, who rebuffs his family’s money as he tries to find his own path by determining what role he can best play to save the city he holds so dear.
But the real gift “Treme” delivers is its unquestionable authenticity. And it is that authenticity that is the biggest gift this television show gives to the city of New Orleans.
Simon and Overmyer use a pre-storm flashback near the end of the season to lend context that had been missing throughout, then end the initial season the same way as the first episode ended—fittingly, with a second-line dance. There is a singular moment of loss, of giving up, that for many will dominate the overall impression of the first season. Yet the true message conveyed is that people are complicated; they’re not black or white, good or bad … they are blends of both. And no matter what, life goes on. The dance continues.
In a pivotal scene, Davis courts Janette and guides her through the city in an attempt to remind her of all the city still has to offer, even in the face of so much pain and failure. His effort to convince her not to move to New York serves to mirror the argument being made in the series at large. That New Orleans needs more of the people that comprise its soul to stay. That New Orleans needs to reverse the tide of its citizens heading away from the city and draw them back in. That New Orleans needs those willing to fight for it, to accept what has been lost and to embrace what might still be built.
When Janette tells him that a po’boy is just a sandwich, Davis appears both shocked and offended. “Po’boys aren’t sandwiches,” he says, seriously. “They’re a way of life.”
And it is that way of life that “Treme” depicts so acutely.
“That moment can’t happen in New York,” he tells her after a front-porch serenade by famous New Orleans musician John Boutte. “New Orleans needs you.”
Capturing those moments, and defining that need, are what makes “Treme” so extraordinary.
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