Kingdom

This week, we’re looking at a drama that answered a question nobody at all had been asking: why isn’t there a scripted television series about mixed martial art fighting?  Running between 2014 and 2017 and potentially never showing on a UK broadcaster (that I had access to), all three series of Kingdom appeared on Netflix at some point in the recent past.  At first, I had to overcome my confusion about whether this was a further instalment of harrowing period Korean zombie fare, Kingdom (킹덤), but then it became apparent that I have now watched so many boxsets that we’ve reached the inevitable point when the names start to repeat themselves.  Nevertheless, with every episode now under my belt, I still don’t know why this show is called Kingdom.

I don’t think it’s the setting, as this is Venice Beach, a seedy-ish Los Angeles neighbourhood that is half vegan breastfeeding and half Camden Market-on-sea.  As a viewer who loves a strong sense of place, this locale gives Kingdom a raw feel to its sex appeal, with the sweaty, toned and tattooed bodies of the various fighters belonging to an array of what can only be described as white trash.  Meet the Kulina family (who again don’t seem to have anything to do with the programme’s title).  Our leading man is Alvey Kulina, owner of the successful Navy Street gym and a former champion fighter himself.  We can see he knows fighting as, when strutting through his empire, he’s got a technique cue for every grappling extra he passes.  It’s not all protein shakes and heavy sets; Frank has plenty of demons.  Three of them are the other members of his family.  Ex-wife Christina is a victim of addiction, funding her habit through her pimp’s less-than-ideal employment arrangement.  Elder son Jay is the loosest of cannons, veering on and off the rails and, no matter his alcohol consumption, he manages to maintain a body fat percentage of 0%, something the producers never allow us to forget through his constant states of undress.  Then we have Nate, a more introverted character (pop music’s Nick Jonas – saw him on Broadway once… no big deal) who lurks mostly in the shadows with problems of his own.

Both Alvey’s sons are fighters in their own right and, according to Kingdom, this involves enduring frequent cuts to make weight ahead of whichever bout they have signed up to.  As well as crash dieting, there’s a predilection to dress in plastic and sweat out as much weight as possible, pound by pound.  Joining the Kulina boys in this is fellow brawler Ryan Wheeler.  Guess what he’s got.  That’s right, demons of his own.  He spends season one transitioning out of prison, but you’ll find yourself more interested in halfway house roommate Keith, whose mental health episodes prove a laugh a minute.  Matt Lauria, of Friday Night Lights fame, plays our Ryan, but the two shows have little in common when it comes to how they portray their respective sport.  For some reason, each fight scene fails to feel like a climax.  The stakes don’t feel as high as a high school football game in Dillon, Texas (or Last Chance U).  In fact, while there are many touching and exhilarating moments, Kingdom on the whole seems to bumble along.  This happens, and then that happens, but it never feels like part of one overall narrative that is going anywhere.  Maybe this is intentional.  Maybe I’m an idiot.  The storytelling is almost purely psychological, so expect lots of lingering shots of welling-up eyes while people deal with the unbearable nature of life.  They don’t care about their black eyes but they’re sad their fathers never really showed them love.

It’s probably down to too much expectation on my part.  I’ve been spoiled recently by super-taut boxsets where each side eye and exhalation contribute to an overall juggernaut of tense storyline propulsion (I’m looking at you, Succession, and missing you every day).  I’m craving structure, but instead Kingdom has endless gratuitous footage of cocaine being snorted or breasts being fondled or arms being injected or faces getting punched or more cocaine being snorted (leading me to suspect they borrowed the prop team from Narcos).  I always wonder if the actors are really hoovering up real powder and risking septum deviation.

Meanwhile, the characters are constantly sustaining injuries.  As an athlete, you don’t want this to happen, whether in the ring or outside of work brawling with your pals.  Somehow, though, my viewing of Kingdom coincided with my own breaking of bones.  A freak Crossfit accident smashed my fifth metacarpal, leaving me with a bulky cast for the last three weeks.  I hope everyone appreciated my painstaking typing of the last three entries with a left hand alone, though I suppose the most recent one was dictated using software that made me realise what a dick I sound as I compose each sentence.  A ruinous moment for me, it allowed me to identify with the characters on a new level.  Ryan’s hurt knee stops him training, just like my busted hand meant all of the following tasks became nigh-on impossible: cracking eggs, scrambling eggs, washing up, blowing my nose, any form of chopping, in fact all cooking, using cutlery, taking out contact lenses, putting in contact lenses and many many more.

Enough about me.  The hand is back in action and we’ll crack on, then, right up until the two hundredth post of this nonsense, even though the start next month of a part-time creative writing MA could result in less time for me to produce this drivel.  That said, that same instruction might actually improve the quality of what you’re currently reading.

So, if you like violence, there’s a certain charm to Kingdom.  You’ll become part of the fighting family, enjoying something unique, ambitiously shot and fairly decently sound-tracked.  The fact that it became a bit of background viewing for me speaks more to my own distractions than the show’s quality.  Yes, I was making a lasagne while the final episode played, but I did tear myself away from the white sauce several times to join in with the emotions playing out on screen.  I’ll miss you, Kingdom, and may I never find out why you got your name.