‘I’m a Virgo’ review: A sweet coming-of-age comedy that hits on (literally) big ideas

I am not much for predictions, but I am fairly certain that there will be few if any new series more strangely beautiful and beautifully strange this year than Boots Riley’s “I’m a Virgo.” Premiering Friday on Prime Video, it tells the story of Cootie (Jharrel Jerome), a 13-foot tall Oakland teenager and his belated entry into society.

Like Riley’s 2018 feature “Sorry to Bother You,” “I’m a Virgo” is a serious comedy — partly an anti-capitalist, science-fictional political satire, but one shot through with warmth. (A former hip-hop artist and lifelong activist, Riley identifies as a communist, which suggests that, by definition, he’s hopeful about people and their ability to affect change.) Whatever the series has to say about income inequality, inner-city food deserts and for-profit hospitals and public utilities is laced through a sweet coming-of-age story.

Riley moves fast out of the gate, in short order showing Cootie’s progress from giant baby, to giant boy and, when the series reaches its cruising altitude, giant 19-year-old. (There is no explanation offered for his size.) Raised by a protective aunt, Lafrancine (Carmen Ejogo), and uncle, Martisse (Mike Epps), he has never been allowed off the property — his very existence is a secret — and all he knows of the world beyond his yard comes from his guardians, television, a favorite comic book, which will have narrative repercussions, and whatever he can spy through a hole in the fence. The idea that as a young Black man of imposing stature he will be seen as a danger, treated as a freak, or exploited as a commodity — or all three — is, to be sure, barely allegorical.

Martisse (Mike Epps) and Lafrancine (Carmen Ejogo) raise Cootie and shield him from the world because of his size.

(Prime Video)

“Soon, people are going to try to figure out how to use you,” Martisse tells him, “and when they can’t use you no more, they’re going to try to get rid of you.”

Life begins to change after Cootie is glimpsed by a man who lives in a house on stilts and can see into Cootie’s yard and drops by to offer tamales. (A house on stilts next door exists only that he may be glimpsed from it, and just to add to the oddness.) Before long, Cootie has begun to sneak away, connecting with a trio of his peers, types you might find in any number of teenage comedies — happy-go-lucky Scat (Allius Barnes); Felix (Brett Gray), who has a car; and activist Jones (Kara Young), the conscience of the piece, and possibly Riley’s mouthpiece. (“Look, I’m a communist,” she says. “I want the people to democratically control the wealth we create with our labor.”) They ride around town, try to buy alcohol and introduce Cootie to dancing and the life-changing, mind-blowing subwoofer.

“It moves through your body like waves, and it sings to your bones, and you can feel the ground and the sky at the same time as if you’re the thing that’s keeping it together,” he cries to his aunt and uncle. “I’m 19 — and I heard bass for the first time? That’s abuse!”

Having grown up on commercials for the fictional Bing-Bang Burger, but never having tasted one,Cootie squeezes his way into the restaurant, where he meets Flora (Olivia Washington), who works there and likes him right away. Flora has ideas on improving the menu (“Instead of iceberg lettuce we get baby bok choy,” she tells her boss. “We can change the way people eat.” Boss: “You do realize this is a multinational corporate chain right?”), but more to the point — for that is the end of the food thread — she can move at Flash-like speed. As with Cootie’s size, there is no explanation for this burdensome ability. She has had to train herself to live at a normal pace; at her own, the world around her seems as good as frozen, and time drags on.

Despite his room-filling size, Cootie is greeted more with interest than fear — until the plot gets going. His adventures bring him into contact with cultists, protesters, an agent named Sam (Ari Frenkel) whose card reads “Sports, Talent, Acai Products” and gets him work modeling street wear; and eventually, Jay Whittle, a.k.a. the Hero (Walton Goggins). The tech-billionaire creator of his favorite comic book, who believes that “law and morality” are the same, Whittle has become a costumed vigilante himself, cruising the sky in a personal helicopter rig.

Olivia Washington plays the lightning fast Flora, Cootie’s love interest.

(South by Southwest Film and TV Festival)

He’s based in San Francisco, where the rich people are, but in the course of the series, seems to harass only Black kids across the Bay in Oakland: “More than three people gathered together wearing similar clothes can be prosecuted as a gang,” he announces on Cootie’s first night out. And in a nice expression of self-centered power, the building where he lives and works moves up and down around him, like an inverted elevator, while he remains at the same level.

Age difference aside, both Cootie and the Hero are fundamentally adolescent characters — Whittle has re-created his childhood bedroom, as a kind of shrine — with simple ideas of justice. (Their education is a theme of the show.) But where Cootie has the support of friends and family, Whittle is isolated and lonely and has only employees in his life; in one evocative scene, he dances alone in his underwear to “Wichita Lineman.”) Cootie remains a Hero fan (“‘Get your mind right,’” he says, quoting him. ““He’s for justice, and I’m for that’”), until circumstances set them against one another.

The actors are first-rate, and they keep the series grounded through its wildest careerings. Jerome, who won an Emmy for “When They See Us,” plays to his apparent size with some exaggerated expressions, even as his soft features mitigate that bigness; his eyes are always asking questions.

As Jones, who literally changes the reality around her as she delivers what amounts to an illustrated lecture on the Crisis Theory of capitalism, Young is a small person with a powerful presence. Washington, appealing and dryly funny, projects depth and intelligence. And Goggins turns in another performance that, like every Walton Goggins performance, is unlike any other Walton Goggins performance.

Like Cootie’s homemade clothing, the narrative can seem sewn together from disparate parts. Among its odds and ends is a brief cameo from Elijah Wood, whose answer to the problem of the death penalty is to study to be a better sort of executioner; several people wake up tiny, without explanation or elaboration; and we are treated to episodes of a nihilistic cartoon show called “Parking Tickets” that can cause “existential meltdown.” Riley has grand ideas to convey, but he also likes a fart joke. Still (most) everything comes together at the end.

And yet one feels there is more to come. Not to end on a down note, but given that Prime Video canceled its best genre series, “Paper Girls,” mid-story after a single season — and given that “I’m a Virgo” is harder to classify and takes its Marxism seriously — I am keeping all my fingers crossed.