Fight Night: The Million Dollar Heist

Years ago, I heard a caller on the radio say that sometimes we advocate for the wrong things. The context was R. Kelly’s arrest or trial, and some people were screaming injustice and others insisting he should be thrown in jail (Crickets on this issue now since the numerous documentaries.). I think about this because at times we misplace our priorities and afford respect to things probably best left unacknowledged. Shaye Ogbonna’s 8-episode series, Fight Night: The Million Dollar Heist, helps us to see this a bit more clearly.

Based on a true story, Fight Night takes us back to 1970 when big afros and processed hair were popular at the same time, and the look wasn’t complete without plaid wool suits, platform shoes, and fake fur coats. Some of the coolest guys, or those who thought they were the coolest, added a cane for style. In the series, we even hear the ringing of landline telephones and catch visuals in restaurants and bars with coin-operated payphones.

The all-star cast includes Kevin Hart as Gordon “Chicken Man” Williams, an individual who claims to know Atlanta “better than anybody.” Together with his business partner Vivian Thomas, played by Taraji P. Henson, Chicken Man hustles his numbers game to a trusted set of repeat customers and shops his party-throwing know-how to big-timers who visit the city, with its now growing Black population. Such big-time visitors include Samuel L. Jackson as Frank Moten, a lead member of the Black Mafia, heading to Atlanta to see the Muhammad Ali-Jerry Quarry fight. When Chicken Man gets wind of Frank’s plans, he offers to host an after-fight house party in Frank’s honor with hopes of being his go-to man whenever he comes to town. 

Unbeknownst to Chicken Man, a group of people led by Willie Black (Myles Bullock) and McKinley “Mac” Rogers (Sinqua Walls) conspire to stage a robbery of the event with plans to hold partygoers at gunpoint for hours while they confiscate their jewelry and money. Only Willie, however, knows that Frank and other members of the famed Black Mafia would be making an appearance. By the time his co-conspirators realize this, it is too late.

Fight Night brings to mind A.V. Rockwell’s 2023 film, A Thousand and One, with its dated telephone technology and dark cinematography. Set in the 1990s and shot in New York City, the movie’s landscape consists of tenement buildings, subways, elevated trains, and crowded streets. Set a generation earlier, Fight Night’s Atlanta setting consists mostly of single-family homes and no public commuter rail system at that time. Yet, the payphones and cinematography are quite similar. Indeed, an annoyance with throwback films is the use of cinematography so dark that it is often difficult to make out people and objects. But Fight Night’s cinematographers, Joe “Jody” Williams and Michael Watson, strike a balance of tones and shades that allow the audience to appreciate what is happening on screen and who is performing the action. 

In Fight Night, Don Cheadle plays the upright Detective J.D. Hudson, assigned by his chief to protect Muhammad Ali during his stay in Atlanta. Symbolic of an individual fighting injustice from the inside, Detective Hudson has frequent run-ins with the racist Detective Mason, played by Ben VanderMey, who is known for abusing Black detainees and frequently calling Detective Hudson the “n” word — though not without pushback from Hudson who threatens to knock him to Kingdom Come. A military veteran, Hudson’s goal is to change things from the inside, which proves a challenge given the racist structure of the department. His White chief tolerates openly racist detectives like Mason, who once threatens to hang Hudson from a tree right in front of him. Hudson’s hope is to advance in his job to a rank where he can kick Mason off the force. It is clear that Hudson’s role in the series is meant to prove just how difficult it is to work within a system constrained by a lack of honor and courage, even if you are a military veteran who should be afforded at least a smidgeon of respect.

When Chicken Man, the Black Mafia members, and other partygoers are forced to strip to their undies and sit on a cold basement floor for hours at gunpoint, Frank and his crew begin to suspect Chicken Man’s involvement. Other than surviving the ordeal, they begin to consider how they will rectify their humiliation. After all, who would have the gumption to rob the Black Mafia? In a meeting convened later, we learn that some of the members saw the robbery as an affront to their stature as mafia, so those who did this had to suffer public humiliation (death). Another member, Missouri Slim (David Banner), indignantly insists on revenge for being forced to strip to his underwear in front of a “bunch of [b****es].” 

Missouri Slim’s infantile concerns bring to mind the notions of pride and prejudice. Anyone, for instance, would be upset that someone with a shotgun robbed them of their dignity, pride, and sense of control over their lives. But what is it about the presence of women that makes Missouri Slim and men like him so incensed about stripping down to their skivvies? This seems to be not so much about pride but about prejudice and condescension. Looking at this from an opposing point of view demonstrates the problems with Missouri Slim’s perspective.

During the robbery, Willie recognizes Vivian from her days as a stripper and forces her to dance suggestively in front of the entire group. Despite the threat of being shot, Chicken Man tries to halt it multiple times until Vivian insists he stop trying to protect her for his own safety. As she performs, Chicken Man’s body language and facial expression droop, conveying the depth of his concern for her and his regret in being unable to stop Willie’s humiliation of her. 

Chicken Man’s actions and emotional response contrast sharply with that of Missouri Slim’s. His complaint, in effect, dehumanizes the women, essentially rendering them insignificant and as having no value. I found his comment personally disconcerting and hurtful, but I also wonder why I should have expected anything different from someone who exploits women for a living.

As noted earlier, the look on Chicken Man’s face is one of hurt and pain for Vivian when Willie forces her to dance. We see in another scene when Faye (Artrece Johnson), Chicken Man’s wife, learns from him about his relationship with Vivian. She is hurt but not surprised, admitting she “knew who he was before [they] were married.” Despite the news, she still trusts him. She still gives in to his insistence that he keep her and their children safe while he figures out how to convince Frank he was not behind the heist.

Chicken Man’s behaviors and attitudes in contrast to Slim’s conjures thoughts of how respect works and the ironic ways it is doled out. Respect is a term that is sometimes conflated and even confused with fear. Frank Moten, Slim, and their counterparts are characters who build their wealth and reputation on murdering people, coercing women into sex work, and dealing in illegal drugs. They dress to the nines, gain access to powerful politicians, and live lavish, upscale lifestyles. Yet, everyday folks who encounter them preface their greetings with “Mr.,” a common sign of respect afforded to older men and men in power. 

Ironically, Chicken Man, while imperfect and a mover and shaker, is the most honorable man of the bunch. Like a Lannister (Game of Thrones), he always pays his debts when his customers win at the numbers games he sells. Despite the risk of death, he shows courage in standing up for Vivian when she is forced to do a humiliating performance in front of dozens of people. And he is honest with Faye about who he is and what he is doing before and during their marriage. Respect, though, is not afforded to Chicken Man. Even Detective Hudson harasses him and suspects him in the goings-on at the house party. Respect, however, is automatically afforded to the people who instill fear in others and they are revered for their criminal status. All of which suggests that sometimes our priorities are misplaced. One thing for sure, if it is driven by fear, the respect we give is vacuous, meaningless, and certainly ephemeral.

I enjoyed this series, especially for its visual appeal with regard to the authenticity of the costumes and set design. Even the production design of Fight Night’s opening makes us feel like we are in a time warp. The only element the series seems to be missing is Curtis Mayfield’s 1970 hit “Don’t Worry” to set it off. Indeed, you have to look really hard for any anachronisms in this exquisitely produced series by Dianne Ashford. Fight Night gives us not just a story but a cinematic experience with a thread about the irony of respect.