‘Mike’: Hulu’s Mike Tyson Series Starring Trevante Rhodes Could’ve Been A Contender

When Mike Tyson (Trevante Rhodes) greets his audience out for his one-man show, he greets them as a hero and as a victim, and as a champion and a punchline — but not as a villain. His theatrical confessional, which takes inspiration from the “Mike Tyson: Undisputed show” that toured the country in 2013, sees him recounting his triumphs and tribulations to gasps and cheers, but rarely judgment. The setting provides an easy throughline for creator Steven Rogers and showrunner Karin Gist‘s sympathetic, fourth-wall-breaking miniseries, “Mike.” 

And yet, the simple conceit is probably the story’s biggest weakness. Because how do you provide a three-dimensional recounting of a complicated man’s life, like Tyson’s, without desiring to traverse those complexities? “Mike” teases a personal, one-on-one conversation with the infamous heavyweight champion, accused abuser — and convicted rapist — but does him and his victims few favors in its hackneyed approach that’s a cross between “Raging Bull,” “I, Tonya,” and “The People v. O. J. Simpson.”

READ MORE: Summer 2022 TV Preview: Over 35 Shows To Watch

See, despite the distinctive fourth-wall-breaking narration, the plotting is conventional: We begin in Tyson’s childhood to take in his turbulent upbringing: His father physically abused his mother; she left his father with her children in tow; the family landed in poverty; local bullies picked on Tyson because of his lisp. The desperate situation forced Tyson into a life of crime, precipitating a troubled existence in and out of juvenile detention centers, where he ultimately met Bobby Stewart, a former boxer, who trained him and introduced the young fighter to former heavyweight trainer Cus D’Amato (Harvey Keitel).   

These early memories, though expected in their aim — to humanize Tyson — are effective, particularly because they demonstrate the contrasting side of, at the time, the teenage pugilist. He is a kid starved of love and of a role model, a victim of environment and tragedy. D’Amato becomes a kind of light, an enabling figure partly out of love, partly because the former trainer of champions Floyd Patterson and José Torres sees Tyson as his return to glory. The ever-dependable Keitel forms an easy chemistry with Rhodes, showing that when the latter has an experienced scene partner, he can still provide the vulnerability he promised in “Moonlight.”

The primary issue with “Mike,” however, stems from the brevity of each episode, which runs at a half hour each. The boxing, for instance, lackluster in its execution, from its shooting and detail, rarely gives a sense of Tyson’s ability. Though he carried the reputation as a bruising fighter, he wasn’t without technique. He employed a “peek-a-boo” style, and relied on head movement and precise footwork to become the most dominant heavyweight champion of the modern era. While Rhodes brings those elements to his performance, the series itself doesn’t give an accurate portrait of Tyson’s skill or work ethic. Instead, it too often opts to portray him as innately gifted.

The boxer’s later romance with Robin Givens (Laura Harrier), and his later spousal abuse toward her, is similarly given precious little screen time. We learn almost nothing about her or any other woman in Tyson’s life for that matter (his sister appears for a couple scenes as only a sassy, tough-love Black woman). The story being told from Tyson’s point of view exacerbates the blind spots arising from the brisk episodes. Because within the setting of the one-man show, he is the center of adulation. In the scenes set in the past, we see the world as he sees the world. 

Tyson doesn’t care about Black women. Therefore, the series doesn’t concern itself with them: His mother is portrayed as a toxic woman with barely a hint of love; Givens, through his eyes, is temperamental and viciously cruel to him; his sister only appears to provide support. None of them are fully felt people. This allows the series to censor the darker sides of Tyson in lieu of his naïve glee. How do you diagram how a man who’s the hero of his own story can also be the villain? “Mike” never coheres to these disparate aims as it relies on mealy-mouthed fourth-wall-breaking antics. 

The writers do try to rectify this shortcoming in the fifth episode, which concerns Tyson’s rape of the 18-year-old Miss Black Rhode Island, Desiree Washington (Li Eubanks) in 1991. Ms. Washington assumes narration duties, explaining to the audience her background and dreams, and what happened on that gruesome night. There are no graphic scenes of rape. But there isn’t as much humanizing of Washington as one would like either because, after that night, we zoom toward the trial, thereby bringing Tyson back to the forefront. 

Ms. Washington endured too much outside harassment before, during, and after her rapist’s conviction, yet we are only provided glimpses of it. Through Ms. Washington, an opportunity existed to interrogate the mental anguish faced by women, particularly Black women, who accuse powerful men of sexual crimes. But the series isn’t wholly interested in that power dynamic. Instead, it opts for the juicier courtroom scenes where it can score easy emotional points rather than performing actual character building that tries to understand the person’s plight away from their symbolism. It’s a persistent problem in a show that barely scratches the surface of Tyson’s mental health problems or the crummy partnership shared by the boxer with promoter Don King (Russell Hornsby). 

To be clear, only five episodes were offered for review. That makes for three remaining episodes. Even with that fact in mind, you can’t shake the feeling of how much Rogers and Gist are leaving on the table. The real-life Tyson has already expressed his anger with “Mike” by accusing the creators of stealing his life without proper compensation. If he watches “Mike,” he’s unlikely to change his mind once he witnesses the thinness of his story as represented here. Still, he’s unlikely to find a portrayal more sympathetic to him, either. And that’s sorta the problem with “Mike.” [C-]