Jaalen Best in Amazon’s Muhammad Ali Series

There’s something amusing about Amazon and creator Ben Watkins casting relatively unknown Jaalen Best as the lead in the synonymously eponymous new series The Greatest, as if Jon Hamm were cast in a series about a 16th-century English philosopher titled simply Bacon.

It’s also appropriate because Best turns out to be the, well, best reason to watch The Greatest, taking on the mammoth challenge of embodying burgeoning boxing legend Cassius Clay on the brink of his transformation into Muhammad Ali. Clay/Ali remains one of the most indelible personalities of the 20th century, a man whose every public utterance and movement have become the subject of adoration and imitation. That Best captures Clay’s spirit in a way that’s instantly recognizable but rarely just mimicry is a remarkable achievement, especially for an actor this young faced with a task this daunting.

Best is not, however, the only reason to watch The Greatest. Watkins, showrunner of Amazon’s Cross, has gazed at Ali’s sprawling life with intimate focus, using the first season’s eight-episode duration as a vehicle for mixing moments that will be universally familiar, moments that are well-known among appreciators of old school pugilism, and smaller, slightly more obscure incidents.

Yes, this authorized biographical series is hagiography. But it’s hagiography that understands that at least some of the “imperfections” in Ali’s character were what caused much of America to relate to him and admire him. The Greatest never shies away from the reality that for all that love, Ali was, because of his race, his religion and his outspoken nature, an existential threat to the entrenched establishment in both his sport of choice and his nation of birth. The Greatest loves the man who became Muhammad Ali for all the reasons that hegemonic, primarily white, forces hated him.

Watkins approaches The Greatest as almost a cross between NatGeo’s Genius franchise, putting the lives of great men (and Aretha Franklin) in their historical context, and FX’s Feud franchise, exploring the parallel squabbles of catty women (and Truman Capote). It results in a series with wide-ranging ambition that generally hits its marks.

Watkins, who directed the season’s first two episodes, begins his take on the story with Cassius Clay in Rome at the 1960 Olympics, first visiting the Coliseum and getting a rather pointed lecture on the ancient Romans and their love of bloodsport and then winning the gold medal.

Clay returns to Louisville with big choices. With the devoted assistance of his brother Rudy (Kai Parham), Cassius dreams of becoming the youngest heavyweight champion ever, which requires he go pro immediately. He and his father (Omari Hardwick’s Cassius Senior), a philandering but devoted painter, have different thoughts on who should train and manage him. His mother (Dana Gourrier’s Odessa), a domestic worker and the family’s glue, is convinced he’s too physically immature to enter the ring with grown men, urging caution and possibly years of additional maturation.

It’s spoiling little to say that Cassius’ ambitions win out, but he struggles to build the proper team around him. Cassius’ largely improvisational style runs counter to generations of conventional boxing wisdom, so we know it’s a matter of waiting for the right man to let Clay be Clay. Angelo Dundee (Giovanni Ribisi, gruffly affectionate), a trainer known for working with smaller fighters, is down in Miami already obsessing over his skills.

At the same time, we meet Sonny Liston (Amin Joseph) in the penitentiary dominating bare-knuckle fights. He’s released and swooped up by mafia-controlled boxing interests, which puts a target on his back with the government and boxing authorities. Liston is lethal in the ring, but he’s the very opposite of what the white boxing establishment is prepared to embrace, no matter how much Liston’s new romantic interest (Erica Tazel’s Geraldine) attempts to polish his image.

Actually, neither Liston nor Cassius, refining a performative confidence inspired by wrestler Gorgeous George (Chris Jericho in a single great scene), is what the establishment wants. The establishment is content with current champ Floyd Patterson (Brandon McKnight), the fighter both Liston and Cassius are eyeing.

Not every life would benefit from an approach this deliberate, but slow-playing this particular life is the correct choice. The first season is a build-up to Cassius Clay’s first shot at the heavyweight crown and to his transformation into Ali, a process that wouldn’t have been possible without his growing devotion to the Nation of Islam and the mentorship of Malcolm X (Michael Ealy).

Most of the incidents in the series are verifiable, though when there’s ambiguity, Watkins tends to lean into the legend — as with the famous incident involving Cassius and the casting of his Olympic gold medal into the Ohio River. It’s generally accepted that that story was embellished or fabricated by his autobiography’s ghost writer to illustrate Cassius’ response to the prejudice of early 1960s Kentucky, and darned if Watkins doesn’t engage in the same embellishment/fabrication. The series has points it wants to make and it makes them with very little subtlety, but Muhammad Ali was a figure so big that he can withstand some heavy-handedness.

Watkins is intrigued by the things that make Clay special — and equally by the things that make him dangerous and, in turn, endanger his opportunities to claim a title belt. He juxtaposes Clay’s rise with the developing civil rights movement, monitoring the pace of progress, which means something different to each character. What feels like progress to Sonny Liston — who’s treated like an animal in the fields of Arkansas and then by the media and even Clay as he becomes a title contender — isn’t the same as what feels like progress to Clay Senior, who had aspirations to be a legitimate artist and instead paints billboards. And it isn’t the same as what feels like progress to Malcolm X and Elijah Muhammad (Hill Harper), who see in Cassius Clay the most visible spokesman the Nation would ever have.

The eight-episode length of the series gives every character motivations and complications, whether it’s Cassius’ determination spawned by the murder of Emmett Till or his mother’s concern from having seen boxer Sam Baroudi killed in the ring in 1948. There are gaps in some of the characterizations, with the women feeling especially archetypal and Rudy reduced to a devoted sidekick, but it’s generally a benefit to build out a world around Ali.

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Still, it’s Best’s show, and he nails the two biggest challenges in this mammoth role. He builds up Cassius’ voice from soft-spoken Kentucky lilt to a poetry-spewing trumpet, embodying the braggadocious icon viewers think they know, while showing the man who existed at the dining room table or in a pew at a house of worship. This is a Cassius Clay who lived in the spotlight and a man who existed in private as well.

Best’s physicality is perhaps even more impressive, whether it’s reproducing expressions and posture from famous Ali snapshots or navigating the ring convincingly in the series’ fight sequences. There have been decent boxing shows in the past, like FX’s Lights Out, but Watkins and subsequent directors deliver more and better fight scenes than I’ve ever seen in the medium. Unlike Hulu’s uninspired Mike Tyson scripted series, the fight scenes here stay fairly close to the historical record, so if you watch The Greatest and then watch YouTube videos of the notorious London showdown with Henry Cooper or the first fight against Liston, the reproduction and the truth line up well. Much of that is due to Best’s emulation of his character’s fancy footwork, pawing jab and viciously timed attacks.

Some of the supporting casting is initially off-putting, with several actors who are, and come across as, significantly older than the characters they’re playing. Oddly, if you stick with it, those choices work.

Amin Joseph is 46, playing Sonny Liston, who was in his early-to-mid 30s, but Liston was an old 33, having spent years in prison after his rough and impoverished beginnings. Joseph makes Liston into a flawed but tragic figure, ferocious in the ring but eager to find acceptance outside of it. A scene with Liston flailing in an effort to humanize himself for the pubic by telling a joke during a talk show appearance is one of the series’ highlights.

Michael Ealy is 55, playing a man who was killed at 39, but the Malcolm X we meet here is a Malcolm X at a crossroads, deservedly worn beyond his years. The extra gap in age between Ealy and Best helps to illustrate the gap in maturity between the two men, one just starting his public life and one soon to have it ended.

Hardwick makes Cassius Senior volatile but wounded, with Gourrier centering Odessa’s fierce devotion and pride. Parham has a strong physical presence, but the show doesn’t quite get Rudy, even denying him the chapter of his own boxing career that started at the same time. Perhaps that will get worked into future seasons.

And I hope there will be future seasons of The Greatest, because this was only one chapter in a life filled with even more potent journeys.

Based on the confidence of this round of episodes, I’d say Watkins might be able to get two seasons out of Ali’s Vietnam protest, his exile from boxing and his first loss (with Joe Frazier taking on the secondary parallel role); another full season leading up to and including the Rumble in the Jungle (with George Foreman as the parallel foil); and then a final season on the closing chapters of his career, from the Thrilla in Manila on (perhaps making more use out of Regen Wilson’s Howard Cosell).

In an ideal world, Watkins would be able to take a few between seasons, just to let Best age up a little and continue what should be a well-deserved breakout.