Photo: FX Networks/Courtesy Everett Collection
How do you begin to tell the story of Aaron Hernandez? For many fans of the late New England Patriots tight end, there is a simple answer: Don’t. After all, less than a decade has passed since April 19, 2017, the day 27-year-old Hernandez was found dead in his prison cell at the Souza-Baranowski Correctional Center in Lancaster, Massachusetts. Since then, numerous media outlets have provided insights into the troubled life that led to the premeditated murder charge that sent him to prison, including a Boston Globe Spotlight team investigation that led to the acclaimed podcast Gladiator: Aaron Hernandez and Football Inc.In 2020, Netflix released its own documentary titled Killer Inside: The Ghost of Aaron Hernandez. The Hernandez story even became fodder for the comedy mill during the roast of Hernandez’s old teammate Tom Brady, beginning of the year.
However, it seems bigger and riskier to cast famous Broadway actors and dramatize the events on screen, especially over the course of ten one-hour episodes that follow Hernandez from his childhood to his death – particularly with Ryan Murphy on board as executive producer. When this first season of American sports history was announced, reactions on social media were understandably mixed. First, people wondered what makes Hernandez’s life an “American sports story” and the OJ Simpson trial an “American crime story.” (The difference may be that Hernandez was still acting when it all went downhill.) Putting that ontological question aside, does this particular story really demand dramatization?
After one episode, that remains an open question. Regardless of Murphy’s actual involvement, Aaron Hernandez already feels very much like a Ryan Murphy take on this material, for better or for worse. That said, we shouldn’t go into this show with expectations of taste or restraint. Hernandez’s crimes didn’t begin with the murder of Odin Lloyd, and the temptation to look to the past for warning signs is just too great, especially given the secret angle. Showrunner Stuart Zicherman clearly intends to capitalize on the lurid appeal of this story — and repurpose it as an exploration of some important, weighty themes.
But let’s start from the beginning. The series begins with a specific episode from Hernandez’s past, four months before Lloyd’s murder: the 2013 shooting of his friend Alexander S. Bradley, credited here as Alexander Sherrod (Roland Buck III). During a trip to Belle Glade, Florida, the two are partying at a strip club when Aaron (Josh Andrés Rivera) notices two men nearby who may be watching them. He fears they are plainclothes cops who have followed him to Florida while investigating something that happened in Boston. (Real-life spoiler alert: It was a double homicide.)
When Sherrod later reminds him that he Also knows all of Aaron’s secrets, but this only increases his paranoia, and suddenly Aaron’s friend wakes up from a nap with a gun between his eyes. The shot doesn’t kill him, though. At a ceremony where Aaron is accepting an Inspiration to the Youth Award and celebrating his new $40 million contract, he gets a call from a ghost: Sherrod, who says he’s coming to get him.
After that stranger-than-fictional opening, If It’s to Be travels back in time and delivers the typical childhood episode you’d expect from the premiere of a biographical series. We quickly grasp some basic facts: Aaron grew up in Bristol, Connecticut, with a chaotic Italian mother named Terri (Tammy Blanchard), a tough Puerto Rican father named Dennis (Vincent Laresca) and an ambitious older brother named DJ (Ean Castellanos). Aaron is already his high school’s football star and seems to have a bright future ahead of him. From a very young age, Dennis instilled in his sons a strong drive to succeed in school and sports – but most importantly, they all Be a mana sentence that might become drinking game worthy after a few episodes.
It’s clear that Dennis frequently becomes mean and violent toward his sons and wife, though we don’t see the worst of the real man’s alleged abuses. He supposedly wants to keep DJ and Aaron off the streets and prevent them from getting involved in illegal dealings, but he doesn’t understand how much his enormous pressure affects them. And he has an excessive level of control over Aaron’s life in particular, repeatedly turning away suitors and insisting that Aaron play football at the University of Connecticut, where he himself played and where DJ currently plays. After all, Aaron is a guaranteed four-year starter at Connecticut. It’s the sensible choice.
According to some people, like the boyfriend of Aaron’s cousin Tanya Singleton (Lindsay Mendez), Dennis’ helicopter parenting has made his son “soft” – an impression he desperately wants to correct in every macho way possible. Aaron’s overcompensation clearly stems from a struggle with his sexuality.
Ryan Murphy loves building a project around a gay killer, and it’s clear very early on that this season will focus on Hernandez’s sexuality. First, we see Aaron’s friend and teammate Dennis Sansoucie (Kalama Epstein) (and yes, his name is Dennis too) touching his penis in the car, an encounter that later triggers a moment of intense fear when he believes his deeply homophobic father has found out his secret. That fundamental fear drives this TV version of Aaron Hernandez perhaps more than any other motivator.
Aaron’s father dies shortly afterward in a hernia operation, but he will live on in his son’s mind for years to come, as the opening scene shows. It’s his father’s disgusted voice that he hears as he and Dennis S. sneak away together; it’s his father he imitates as he abruptly ends things, telling Dennis he “can’t be a faggot.”
All of this dialogue is pretty blunt, and I found myself rolling my eyes a few times, both at the inspirational sports movie cliches (“The best become heroes. They’re remembered forever.”) and at the over-the-top foreshadowing of the dark path Aaron will eventually take. And every character seems intent on telling Aaron what kind of man he can become, and what kind of man he must be. not This continues when Steve Addazio (Scot Ruggles), offensive coordinator of the Florida Gators, finally convinces Aaron to meet with legendary head coach Urban Meyer (Tony Yazbeck) and give Florida a chance.
Like Aaron, Meyer lost a parent as a young man and sees the team as a family that recruits players he can really invest time and energy into. Perhaps it’s this pitch that convinces Aaron to join UF, even though his commitment comes at the expense of his brother, whose prospects at starting quarterback in Connecticut depend on landing a tight end of Aaron’s caliber. There’s also a bit more drama surrounding his living situation; Aaron has been living with Tanya since he found out about his mother’s affair with her husband, and Terri wants to take care of him after he suffered a mild concussion on the football field his senior year.
The real Hernandez was diagnosed with chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) after his death, no doubt a result of repeated head injuries while playing football, and many have speculated about what role brain damage may have played in his erratic behavior. Here we see Aaron completely ignore the doctor’s warning to stop playing football, drinking and smoking, and have his worst instincts reinforced by his new friend Ernest “Bo” Wallace (Catfish Jean). It’s portrayed as one of many tragic turning points where Hernandez’s friends let him down – and where he let him down himself.
It’s not long before Aaron leaves Bristol for good, flying to Gainesville a full semester early to attend spring practice. Is he ready to graduate, academically or socially? Not really, no. The school’s principal quashes his concerns, however, after Urban Meyer assures him that they can provide Aaron with stability. Everyone just wants Aaron to reach his potential, and they have no idea that in doing so, they are pushing him ever closer to tragedy.
If It’s to Be is far from a disaster; it’s a competent premiere in many ways, and Carl Franklin directs the show well. But I’m also not sure the show has really justified its existence yet. There’s a strong whiff of Lifetime kitsch, and the discussions of race and sexuality feel superficial and predictable at this point. Aaron HernandezThe success of will depend on what it chooses to do in the future – whether it dwells on salacious details and cobbles together a contrived diagnosis for its subject, or offers something deeper and less evidential. Sometimes the best antidote to exploitation is simply better writing.
• This season is actually based on gladiatorthe podcast about Hernandez, which I would recommend.
• I’m not 100 percent convinced by Rivera’s performance, although I remember liking him in the new version. West Side Story. The man also bears little resemblance to Hernandez, but he does a good job of balancing Aaron’s smiling, carefree exterior with the angry, insecure man lurking underneath.
• I’m sorry, Dennis Hernandez, but scandalThe version of “We have to be twice as good to get half as much” was much harsher.
• We only see Tim Tebow (Patrick Schwarzenegger) briefly, but we meet Aaron’s lover and future fiancée Shayanna Jenkins (Jaylen Barron). “Don’t play hard to reach.” “I’m hard to reach.”
• Aaron hallucinating about his father could get boring pretty quickly.
