Government Cheese isn’t just a reference to the low-cost, highly-processed, nutrient-poor imitation cheese once distributed to low-income Americans. It’s also the title of a bold, surrealist family comedy that flips expectations and genre conventions. Set in 1969, the series is the brainchild of writer Ayesha Carr (The Carmichael Show, Rel) and visionary music video director Paul Hunter, known for his work with artists like Pharrell Williams, Justin Timberlake, and Jennifer Lopez.
At the heart of the story is Hampton Chambers (David Oyelowo), a spirited ex-con with big dreams and even bigger obstacles. Hampton is determined to make his fortune with a clever invention — a self-sharpening drill he calls the Bit Magician. His goal? To live the American Dream. But in late-60s America, especially in the white-dominated suburbs of Los Angeles, being a Black ex-felon is more barrier than badge of honor. Especially in suburban Chatsworth in the San Fernando Valley.
The story of Government Cheese began as a short film — a proof of concept produced by Hunter and Oyelowo. The unique tone, blending surreal absurdist comedy, social critique, and spiritual depth, caught the attention of Carr, who helped expand the vision into a full-fledged television series. Together, Hunter and Carr set out to create a show that broke free from clichéd portrayals of Black family life, especially those steeped in pain and trauma.
Aeysha Carr. Photo by Eric Charbonneau/ Apple TV+)
“We didn’t want to dwell on Black trauma,” says Hunter. “Even if things look bleak, these characters are joyful, optimistic, full of love — and very very funny.”
The pilot episode sets the deadpan quirky tone immediately. It opens with Hampton’s last day in prison, a sequence that veers from comedic to poignant with effortless ease. Case in point – the dining room riot with food flying around like asteroids in space.
Armed with little more than a few dollars and a big dream, Hampton heads home to the San Fernando Valley — and to a family that greets him with cautious ambivalence and cofusion. The series quickly shifts from prison tale to a family dramedy, with a twist of surrealism.
At its core, Government Cheese is driven by Hampton’s spiritual journey. While the Bit Magician is his ticket out of poverty and marginalization, the real work is repairing relationships with his family and redefining success. Hampton isn’t just chasing wealth — he’s chasing redemption, relevance, and belonging. He unapologetically deserves a place on the Forbes list and doesn’t permission. He thrives on sheer determination.
That journey is complicated by the family he left behind, particularly his wife, Astoria (Simone Missick). Astoria is a woman of few words but great presence — someone who can shut Hampton down with a glance. Missick describes her as “very atypical, and very personal to me. She’s based off of my mother and my aunt; women who exude this quiet and poise, and they reserve their judgment in their faces.” She’s unsure whether she wants Hampton in the family home. They can’t just pick up where they left off.
While he was gone, she began building her own identity — pursuing personal, professional, and romantic growth. There may even be a new beau in her life to rival Hampton.
Their two sons, Harrison (Jahi Di’Allo Winston) and Einstein (Evan Ellison), are as different as their names suggest. Harrison, the elder, is sharp, cynical, and deeply skeptical of his father’s ambitions. He hasn’t missed Hampton at all and makes no effort to hide his contempt. He also speaks plainly about the racial dynamics he faces in his predominantly white school — the double consciousness he carries as the “dark cloud” in the room.
Paul Hunter. Photo by Eric Charbonneau/ Apple TV+
Einstein, on the other hand, is introspective, curious, and full of quiet hope. A deep thinker. He supports his father’s reintegration in his own subtle way, fascinated by culture, philosophy, and the Chumash people — the Indigenous custodians of Los Angeles. While Harrison embodies skepticism, Einstein represents the kind of radical belief and hope Hampton desperately needs.
The family is the only Black household in the Chatsworth neighborhood. But Government Cheese resists the urge to portray them as victims of their environment. They’re not trying to fit in — they’re simply trying to thrive. The show’s creators consciously avoid tired racial tropes about assimilation or suffering. Instead, they spotlight ambition, humor, and imagination.
Defining Tone
Tonally, the show feels like a unique blend of Coen Brothers quirk, Wes Anderson visual flair, and Spike Jonze surrealism. Its offbeat rhythms, visual inventiveness, bizarre cutaways and spiritual undercurrents set it apart from many contemporary TV comedies — especially those that deal with race and class more overtly.
Adding another layer of tension and charm is Bootsy (Bokeem Woodbine), Hampton’s longtime friend and sometimes bad influence. Bootsy is a chaotic dreamer — a man who drags Hampton into questionable schemes, but also keeps the dream alive. The Bit Magician will se the light of day. He’s both the devil on Hampton’s shoulder and the voice that reminds him why he started dreaming in the first place.
Government Cheese is a show about striving — not in the conventional American Dream sense, but in the messier, more complicated terrain of self-worth, legacy, and love. It’s about building something real when the odds are stacked against you — and doing it with joy, style, faith, and a spoonful of silliness.
