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tvSep 9, 202620:15

The Drop: A Snowfall Saga Review

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This review examines The Drop: A Snowfall Saga, an FX spinoff set in 1991 South Central Los Angeles that transitions the franchise's focus from the drug trade to the hip-hop industry. Returning characters Wanda and Leon navigate a new landscape where they attempt to discover and promote rising musical talent while dealing with their past traumas. While the critic finds the show's narrative less complex and ambitious than the original series, the production is praised for its authentic atmosphere and vibrant soundtrack. The performance of the new ensemble cast, particularly Asante Blackk and Peyton Alex Smith, is highlighted as a primary strength of the drama. Ultimately, the source describes the series as a promising start that successfully captures the aesthetic and tension of its era even if it lacks a clear long-term direction.

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The Drop: A Snowfall Saga Review

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Adidas Wilson MatrixThe Drop: A Snowfall Saga Review. Machine-transcribed; use the interactive transcript above to jump the player to any line.

Welcome to the Deep Dive. We are really thrilled to have you joining us today. Oh, absolutely. We've got a really fascinating one lined up for you. We really do. So I mean, think about Los Angeles in 1990. The most dangerous place in the city wasn't necessarily the streets, right? Right. Not at all. It was actually the boardroom. Exactly. The boardroom of a record label. And today, our mission is to look at how television takes this, well, this violent bloody legacy of the drug trade and basically gentrifies it into corporate entertainment. It is a massive thematic pivot. It's huge. We are going to be unpacking a really comprehensive review from the Hollywood Reporter. It's written by TV critic Daniel Fienberg. And he is looking at FXR's brand new television series, The Drop, A Snowfall Saga. Yes, created by Malcolm Spellman. And we should set the context for you right now, because even if you haven't seen a single frame of the original show Snowfall, this deep dive is still entirely for you completely. You don't need to be caught up to understand

the cultural shift happening here. Right. So the original show it chronicled the birth of the 1980s crack epidemic in LA. But this new saga, it leaps forward. We're suddenly in 1990 going into 1991. Yeah. The lens completely shifts. We are leaving the lethal ground level drug cartels behind. And we are jumping straight into the gold rush of the West Coast hip hop music industry. So, okay, let's unpack this because Fienberg has a very specific critical thesis right out of the gate. He really does. He outlines that the spin-off is definitely promising. It is visually vibrant. It's culturally authentic, but he calls it fundamentally uneven. Uneven. That's a loaded word for a highly anticipated spin-off. It is. And his main argument is that it's lacking this driving inevitable doom that the original show had. It just doesn't have that same narrative engine right now. Yeah, that sense of impending disasters just sort of missing. But I mean, to understand where the drop is going, we first have to understand the massive shadow of the television legacy

that's trying to step out of the shadow is huge. You cannot talk about this franchise without talking about the fans. Right. Fienberg actually opens his review by talking about this very passionate corner of the snowfall fan base. The ones who claimed the show was as good as or even better than HBO is the wire. Which is an incredibly bold claim to make in television circles. It's the ultimate sacred cow. And Fienberg just issues a flat definitive ruling on that. He says no, he was not as good as the wire. He shuts it down immediately. But I think what's more interesting is why that comparison even exists in the first place. Yeah, why do people keep bringing it up? Well, it comes down to the architecture of the storytelling. Both snowfall and the wire reach exactly 60 episodes. 60 hours of TV. That is a massive canvas. It's unheard of for a lot of modern shows. And when you have that much real estate, writers naturally gravitate toward a novelistic approach. Right. They are just doing procedural case of the weak stuff. Exactly. They weave this incredibly layered tapestry of plotlines. You have

different characters, different institutions all interacting to create a hole that is greater than the sum of its parts. But Fienberg points out that snowfalls tapestry had some pretty glaring flaws. It was definitely messy in places. Right. You had the undeniably compelling rise and fall of damson atris' character, Franklin Saint. I mean, that was brilliant TV. Oh, absolutely phenomenal performance and writing for that specific arc. But then you can trust that against the CIA meddling or the Mexican cartel plots, which Fienberg just flat out says were way less convincing. Yeah, they were uneven. But what Fienberg synthesizes here is that what snowfall lacked in cohesive plotting, it basically made up for in sheer audacity. It just sort of overwhelmed you with its energy. Exactly. South Central atmosphere, the deep ensemble acting. It powered through its own mistakes. I have an analogy for this. Think of the original snowfall as this sprawling messy mansion. You walk in and some rooms are just beautifully

furnished, absolutely perfect. Great. The Franklin Saint rooms. Exactly. But if you go down the hall and other rooms are literally under construction, there's exposed wiring. It's a hazard. That's a great way to put it. Right. And now the drop is trying to be this streamlined modern apartment. It's clean, it's efficient. But maybe it's lacking some of the character of the old mansion. Yeah. So I have to ask, does simplifying a show's structure to just a basic A, B and C plot? Does that inherently lower its ceiling for greatness? Well, that's the court tension. Fienberg is pointing out this structural simplification directly impacts the characters who survived the mansion to inhabit this new apartment. The returning veterans of the franchise. Exactly. Which brings us to the survivors. We have Wanda played by Galebeen and Leon played by Isaiah John to incredible characters. But Fienberg makes this really dark observation about them. He says they earned their spot in this spin off as much by attrition as by merit. It's a brutal thing to read, but it's true. They survived a drug crisis that

literally wiped out countless others in their community. It was an apocalypse. And the fact that they're just walking around in 1990 is kind of a miracle. But Fienberg examines where they are now and it's complicated. You look at Wanda's current state. She's working at a used car dealership. Yeah, but she's dreaming of the music business. Right. She has this ambition, but she's forever caring the public stigma of her former crack addiction in that neighborhood. People remember. It's heavy. And then you have Leon. He's actually separated from Wanda right now, though they are obviously still bonded by all that shared trauma. Yeah, they have a history that you just can't erase and Leon is working at a legal clinic. Trying to do some good, maybe make amends for the past, but here is a highly critical point from the review. Fienberg says the drop doesn't really seem to know what to do with Leon at all. He feels very disconnected from the main engine of the show. Yeah, Fienberg essentially argues that both Leon and Wanda could be removed from the plot entirely and there wouldn't be any real loss to the narrative, which is a huge red flag for a spinoff. It really is.

So if you're too most visible legacy characters are functionally unnecessary to the new plot, is the show relying too much on nostalgia? I mean, or they refusing to let the new story breathe. It's a valid question, but Fienberg also notes that the creators are attempting an almost totally standalone approach with this new season standalone, but it's called a snowfall saga. I know it's a contradiction, but they wait all the way until episode four to even look at photos of the old characters. Wow, they are really holding back. They are. So making Wanda and Leon a part of this is a really fascinating tension. They are trying to please the old fans who want to see these survivors while also trying to attract new ones who just want a music industry drama. It's a tough balancing act, but while Wanda and Leon might feel loosely tethered to the main plot early on, Wanda is actively trying to pull herself into the core narrative. Right. She's trying to force her way into the music industry. Exactly, which introduces us to a whole new cast of characters over at this record label. Let's talk about macroscope records.

This is where the show really starts to build its new world. Wanda has this new hustle where she is moonlighting as an assistant to a guy named DG played by Brandon Michael Smith. And Fienberg has a great description of him. He calls them slickly abusive. That paints a perfect picture, doesn't it? He's an executive and fancy suits walking around macroscope records like he owns the place. The label itself is actually struggling, right? Very much so. It's run by Jenny, played by Isadora Gorscher, and she is the daughter of the absent founder. So it's a legacy higher situation. She's out of touch. Completely. She's trying to keep a sinking ship afloat. And this leads to a specific, highly humorous detail from the review that we have to talk about. Oh, I know exactly what you're going to bring up the flannel wearing white executive. Yes. This guy is the villain of the boardroom. And he is loudly protesting against rap, saying that grunge is the future of the industry. Okay, here's where it gets really interesting. Because Fienberg points out a massive issue with the timeline here. The math just does not work.

Doesn't work at all. This exec is in a boardroom in 1990, aggressively predicting the grunge explosion. But think about the history. None of the big albums had dropped yet. Exactly. Nirvana's never mind that late 1991. Soundgarden's bad motor finger. Pro James 10. Alice in Chainsdirt. None of those legendary albums have even come out yet. Right. So this guy isn't just making a business prediction. He is basically a time traveler. He is predicting a cultural shift that hasn't even manifested in the underground yet. Let alone the mainstream. It's definitely a funny and ecrnism. But if we connect this to the bigger picture, Fienberg mentions that by episode four, the show stops just hinting at things and directly explains the central theme. They just spell it out for the audience. Yeah. The characters explicitly discuss how the rap game and the drug game are similar. Parallel hostels. Exactly. And this thematic bridge is absolutely crucial for a snowfall spin-off. Because you have to justify why this is a snowfall saga, right? Yes.

They are transitioning the ruthless physical capitalism of the street level drug trade directly into the corporate exploitation of the music industry. It's the same mechanics, just a different product. Exactly. Instead of cartels, you have corporate boards. And Eric Balfour plays this slimy lawyer character who perfectly exemplifies this new breed of corporate threat. Yeah. He's basically arms with contracts instead of weapons. But, you know, executives and labels, they are nothing without a product to actually sell. They need raw materials. They do. And in the inner city of LA in 1990, that raw material, that product is pure raw talent, which brings us to the new artistic blood of the show. Right. Wanda is out there hustling and she finds artillery. Artillery played by Simmy Buddy Sims III. He's described as a gang banger and a street poet. And he's already stirring up trouble locally. He has the song that is directly addressing police violence. It's raw. It's real. But Wanda also brings in her cousin Lamar, played by Asante Black.

And Lamar is framed as this sort of musical savant. So Wanda starts pairing them up. She believes that artillery's street poetry, combined with Lamar's musical genius, is going to create absolute magic. A perfect storm of talent. But, Fienberg notes there are complications. Like Artillery's manager, Dara, played by Elise Shannon. Yeah. She is just lurking in the wings. Fienberg hints that she might be scheming looking out for her own cut. It's great setup. But it leads to a major analytical question based on Fienberg's as critique. Because we have to go back to this concept of doom. Right. The missing catalyst. Think about Snowfall. Franklin St. literally pioneered the crack epidemic in LA. By the way, complete with that hilarious first season cameo by the RZA as a master chef. Oh, yeah. Teaching him how to cook the product. That was iconic. It was amazing. But because St. took those actions, it placed a permanent horizon of doom over the entire show. We, the audience, knew historically how devastating crack was going to be.

We were watching a disaster unfold in slow motion. Exactly. But Fienberg states that artillery for all is talent is not an innovator. No, he isn't changing the game. He's just participating in a genre that already exists. Right. So my question for you is how does a show build narrative momentum when its central artist is just good, but not historically disruptive? While according to Fienberg, it struggles to do that. He unpacks this lack of direction and concludes that the show is basically just biting its time. Biting time. That sounds like a polite way of saying the plot drags. It kind of does. Yeah. But they mask it by relying heavily on the actors. They lean into the quirky humorous energy of Asante Black as Lamar. He's so charismatic. He is. And they balance that with the commanding presence of Peyton Alex Smith who plays Lamar's brother James. And James is very prone to trouble. So they substitute plot momentum with deep character dynamics. Exactly. They lean into the family drama. And this brings us to what Fienberg calls the standout episode of the early season. Episode five. This is a massive swing by the creators.

It really is. The show literally pauses its main narrative. All the music industry stuff, the record label drama, it just stops for an entire hour. They do a full hour flashback dedicated to Lamar and James ill-fated mother played spectacularly by Dene Benton, by the way. Fienberg raves about her performance. It sounds incredible. But to stop the forward momentum entirely in episode five, why is that so important to the structure? Because it roots the brothers genius and their mental struggles in a shared genetic legacy. It's all about generational trauma. So even if the plot isn't moving forward, the emotional context is getting way deeper. Exactly. It provides this profound emotional bedrock for why they are the way they are. And you also have their grandparents in the mix played by McKilti Williamson and Nicki Michelle. The grandparents represent a totally different perspective, don't they? They do. They represent this generational struggle for pragmatic survival. They are constantly pushing the boys toward hard work and church rather than art.

Because to them art is unstable. It's dangerous. Right. They want safety for their grandsons, not fame. But this internal family struggle isn't just happening in a vacuum, right? No, not at all. It is occurring against the backdrop of one of the most volatile periods in Los Angeles history. A setting that the show treats are with a very peculiar sense of time. The Culears are great word for it. Let's talk about the vibe versus the timeline, because this is where the show enters a historical nether space. Fienberg was really fascinated by this. Let's just lay out the simmering real world tension first. The show starts in 1990 and by mid-season we are in early 1991, which means the Rodney King beating is imminent on the historical calendar. Exactly. And the 1992 uprising is looming as this inevitable season two event. The police violence in artillery's lyrics is echoing what's actually happening on the real streets. The socio-political timeline is very grounded and very real. Yes, the politics are accurate. But the music, the music is full of wild and acronyzms.

Fienberg points out this really odd nether space the show exists in. The musical continuity is all over the place. It's chaotic. Like iced tea's album Rhyme Pays is treated like an oldie. An NWA straight out of constant has been out for nearly two years by this point. Right, those are established. But the really monumental shifts in West Coast rap are still on the horizon. Right. NWA's Eiffelphurzagan, two packs, two pack ellipse. Now, Dr. Dre's the chronic, snoops, doggy style. None of those exist yet in 1990. But the show's soundtrack basically abandons chronological logic altogether to compensate for that. Oh, completely. Fienberg details how they will play period specific needle drops. And then right next to it, they'll play a modern artist like Kendrick Lamar. Kendrick Lamar was a toddler in 1990. I know. But it gets even crazier. I want to bring up the funniest example from the entire review. Oh, the DJ Poo track. Yes, the inclusion of DJ Poo's track, whoop whoop. Which came out in 1997. Seven years in the future. But worse than that, Fienberg points out it features the lyric, I put my trust in you

like the OJ jury. The OJ Simpson verdict wasn't until 1995. Right. So I just have to ask you, is this long term metaphor shadowing by the creators? Or is this just a blatant anachronism because the beat goes hard and the music supervisor liked it? Well, what's fascinating here is how the creators seem to be operating under a specific philosophy. They have basically decided that time is an emotional construct. Times an emotional construct that is such a wild defense for a continuity error. It sounds like an excuse, sure. But think about what they're trying to achieve. They care more about the emotional resonance of a scene than the strict historical accuracy of a release date. They want the feeling of the era, even if the facts don't line up. Exactly. If a track from 1997 or a Kendrick Lamar song perfectly captures the internal dread or the energy of a moment, they are going to use it. Vib over accuracy. And that aesthetic continuity that vibe over accuracy, it extends to the visual look of the show too. Definitely. The visual aesthetic is a huge talking

point in the review. The show is directed by Snowfall veterans Ben Younger and Alonzo Alvarez and Fienberg notes that they outright reject the modern prestige TV trend. You know the trend. The underlit washed out cinematography where you have to squint to see anything on your screen. Oh, I hate that. You have to turn off every light in your house just to see a daytime scene on some of these shows. Right, but the drop goes in the complete opposite direction. It's bright, it's flashy. Fienberg says it's visually derivative of the aesthetic forged by Snowfall co-creator John Singleton. Going all the way back to his cinematic landmark, Boys in the Hood. Yes. The sun drenched Los Angeles look. Crisp, saturated colors. It makes the violence in the corporate greed pop even more because it's happening in this brightly lit, almost beautiful environment. It creates a really striking visual contrast. It does. And honestly, leaning on this iconic visual style and this incredible and agronistic soundtrack leads us perfectly into Fienberg's final verdict on the series.

His conclusion really tries to balance all these uneven elements we've been discussing. Let's recap it. Ultimately, Fienberg concludes that the drop, a Snowfall saga is a promising but uneven 90s hip hop odyssey uneven, but still deeply watchable. Right. It lacks the cohesive doom of Snowfall, which hurts its momentum and its legacy characters want to lean on feel somewhat adrift in the narrative right now. But despite those structural flaws, the aesthetic is just incredible. The aesthetic, the stellar cast, especially Dene Benton, Asante Black, Peyton Alex Smith, and just this pulsating undeniable vibe make it an incredibly entertaining watch. It's a show that is actively searching for its own voice and that search is compelling in itself. So what does this all mean? It means it's a transition phase for the characters and for the franchise. It is. And I want to leave you with a provocative thought. Something to really mull over that builds on Fienberg's review but wasn't explicitly resolved by him. Yeah, let's look at the core metaphor again. Fienberg notes that the show explicitly compares the drug game to the rap game.

But think about the reality of that transition. When Franklin St. Pioneered Crack in the original series, it brought millions of dollars into the community. But that money came with a devastating cost. Exactly. It ultimately left the legacy of mass addiction, incarceration, death, and destruction. Now, jumped in 1990. We have Wanda and artillery trying to pioneer this new hip hop gold rush. They are trying to extract wealth through art. But look at what they are actually extracting. They are taking the pain, the trauma, and the violence of their community, and they are packaging it to sell as entertainment to the masses. To people who have never set foot in their neighborhoods. Right. So my question for you to think about is this. Are they truly escaping the drug game? Or are they just finding a legally sanctioned corporate version of it? It's the exact same machinery of extraction. It really is. As you listen to the music of the 90s today, when you hear those incredible genre-defining tracks, think about who truly profited from the

translation of that street trauma into corporate gold. Because the executives are still the ones writing the contracts. Exactly. Was it the artists escaping the streets or was it the legacy labels caching the checks? It's something to think about the next time you put on a classic record. It completely changes how you hear the music. It really does. Thank you so much for joining us for this deep dive. We always appreciate you spending your time with us exploring these complex stories. We'll be back with another one soon. Take care everyone.

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