Welcome to Wrexham,Rob McElhenneyandRyan Reynolds' newest project, is a strange crossover of so many genres and cultural boundaries. As a docuseries that closes the gap between A-list and E-list, show business and reality, and venture capitalism and underdog stories, the main takeaway from the first four episodes is how commendably unbiased it appears to be. The show could’ve grabbed hold of any of these ideas and ran with them in the edit, spinning a web centering on the lifestyle clashes between lower-league footballers and A-list celebrities, or one that plays up the idea of two shiny new generals dragging a gratefully clutching town through its own underdog story. However, despite currently being in an age where everything seems to set out to not be classified as what it actually is – with television series now preferring the façade of being “8-hour movies,” etc. – Reynolds and McElhenney remain refreshingly frank in their presentation of their new undertaking.
It is not only the honesty of the show that leads it to feel so enjoyably fresh, though. It almost feels like this show is a step towards the apex of whatever the last two decades of reality TV, celebrity documentary, and peek-behind-the-curtain type divulgences have been cultivating. With so many moving parts and the difficulty of blending a behind-the-scenes documentary with the traditional storytelling motives that clearly the pair find it difficult to shake, the combinations risked coming off as clunky. Yet, all the crossovers remain surprisingly seamless, a success founded, once again, in the candor with which they are acknowledged as crossovers.
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There Is a Wonderful and Vital Earnestness to Reynolds and McElhenney
It is an oddly satisfying sensation watching the two who are so versed in acting in front of millions (which may be cause for concern for those more cynical) appear to speak genuinely nervously to the everyday patrons of Wrexham as they attempt to convince them over Zoom of their honest intentions in buying the club. But, it turns out in fact, that this is a declaration of sincerity that the series itself holds close in its own construction. These two superstars rubbing (albeit virtual) shoulders with ordinary people would come across as crassly misjudged if they attempted to align themselves as nothing more than their buddies, equals, and peers. Instead, there is a direct attitude from them and in the editing itself that works to remove any attempt at illusion, with the show, for example, frequently and bluntly cutting from low-key inside looks at the lives of the Wrexham players across to rather grand exterior shots of McElhenney’s L.A. home.
The nature of celebrity is never played down in the show in any kind of unsustainable fake showing of humility by the pair, and why should it be? Far too often, particularly in corporate ventures of this ilk, faux masks of self-recognition are imposed from the rich onto the working classes, tainting the endeavors as disingenuous. Instead, Reynolds and McElhenney are charmingly frank about the “movie-star money” they required to even dream up this idea, refusing to be prudish in openly naming how much certain aspects are costing them, such as the £300,000 pitch relaying that is tackled in Episodes 3 and 4, an amount that isn’t cheap to anyone, movie-star money or not.
This refreshing contrast and coalition between Hollywood and everyday people lead the way for all of the other cultural mergers to blend more naturally. If therewasgoing to be a manufactured arc in the series, then Hollywood has taught us to perhaps expect it to have been an initial clash when the rich Americans first enter into the working-class town. There are no such clashes, though, it has been replaced by the true feeling of a mutually-benefiting, symbiotic relationship. The club and the town need the Hollywood clan, and you get the impression that in different ways, they too need the club in their lives. This leads to a joyous integration between American and British cultures, with any cultural gaps stitched together with tongue-in-cheek attitude in the form of placards, coming onto the screen and signposting the meaning of slang British words in American terms.
The Series Depicts the Entire Process With Honesty
Again, though, the only way such playful approaches to their differences do not come across as inappropriate is because of the series' honest depiction. Despite this mutual relationship, the two new owners would be remiss not to mention the fact that they are not solely the heroes to everyone in the story. Due to the inherent fast-paced nature of turnovers in playing and coaching staff within the sport of football, it is a more complex situation than firing people would be in other professions, but Reynolds and McElhenney are still refreshingly frank in their attitude towards releasing players. They don’t squander their words at the end of episode 2 when speaking of the difficult reality of needing to rebuild the squad after realizing that what they have isn’t adequate for achieving the success they want as owners. They are not oblivious to, nor wishing to hide the fact that they aren’t simply everyone’s savior, making known towards the beginning of the series that players themselves have even aired the fact that whilst their purchase of the club may be good for the town, it probably won’t be good for their personal career and livelihood.
This is partly what makes it particularly interesting how the economic and socio-political values at play still come together so comfortably in the show. Despite the main financial endeavor at the crux of the show and the difficult decisions on who remains employed and who doesn’t, the series never feels like something that is hiding a thinly-veiled capitalistic drive. The open nature with which the pair discuss and embrace the importance and utility of marketing in the most recent episodes goes some way to explain this feeling, with the borderline meta-awareness of the fact that the documentary is obviously contributing financially towards the money that’s being put into the club also stopping the viewer ever feel like they’re being deceived about the show’s motives.
When the main protagonists of a show are two global acting stars and an austerity-effected Welsh town, it has to be said that the risk of underlying tensions and misjudged attitudes was incredibly high going intoWelcome to Wrexham.However, the honesty and authenticity of Reynolds and McElhenney mean that any and all disparate conditions, be it the underlying coalition of the capitalist venture of buying a sports team and the more socialist impact it has on the town, or the reality TV gold that comes from the blend of Hollywood and everyday people, come together incredibly comfortably.
WithWelcome to Wrexham, McElhenney and Reynolds have created something where the lack of a director credit doesn’t come across as a ploying attempt at enhancing the air of naturalism, but rather a testament to their awareness to remove any such distinct indicators of an industry at work here. Instead, their all-round impartiality in their presentation of their new show is exactly what works to create a brand-new, unbiased take on a docuseries that has no ulterior motives in its honest presentation of A-listers, normal people, Hollywood, employment, and sport. Ultimately, what comes from all of this is a genuine underdog story, and better still, one without any unpleasant and forced saccharine illusions.
Welcome to Wrexhampremieres new episodes each Wednesday on FX, which are available to stream next day on Hulu.
