NETFLIX'S CHEER IS AN ODE TO STRUCTURE

The incredible 6 episode adventure into the world of competitive cheerleading is more about discipline than victory.

There are lots of things that make me think about my childhood. Becoming a parent, the holidays, anytime I eat guacamole. Another thing that has me swimming in nostalgia for my varsity days is the new Netflix docuseries, Cheer, which follows the Navarro College cheer squad as they work to win first place at the NCA/NDA Collegiate Cheer and Dance Championship in Daytona, Florida.

I did competitive cheer in high school. Before you begin picturing me flipping and jumping around with my belly button exposed, please understand that I was nowhere near the Navarro College level. I was more of a cheerleader to the cheerleaders than I was a competitive athlete. If you’ve seen the series, picture me as a Jerry but with no skill - can’t tumble, can’t jump but I’ll catch you and I can yell! It started out as something to do when I wasn’t in a play. My justification for joining was that it was a way to keep performing in the meantime. But quickly, cheer became a very important part of high school life that helped me forge bonds with people I still love today. I’ll never forget when we competed at Walt Disney World for the high school cheer championships. The intensity of those two minutes and fifteen seconds is very, very real. We “hit zero” but we didn’t even place. A rumor spread that we had placed nineteenth. In retrospect, this rumor was definitely started by our coach in order to boost morale. There was literally no way we were in the top twenty, but I digress.

Navarro College is a junior college in the tiny town of Corsicana, Texas - known for its fruitcake manufacturing. In fact, many of its residents don’t even know that their local junior college houses a national championship team of cheerleaders. But, in the cheer world, which the doc admits is extremely insular, Navarro is a name of legend, attracting cheerleaders from all over the country to try out for a spot on the team. The team is headed by one icy Monica Aldama, a homegrown Corsicana Texan with a degree in Business (which she WILL tell you about) who has been coaching the team for twenty five years.

From the stunning shot in the first episode where petite girls literally float in midair to symphonic musings of Jim Reeves’ “Welcome to My World,” to the final episode featuring the team’s victory splash in the Atlantic, this series is beautiful and does not employ the typical, mean-spirited approach to the sport. To the contrary, there is a lot going on to dismantle the enduring image of the American cheerleader, and there are many things the series highlights that may seem surprising to anyone who knows nothing about cheer. First of all, cheerleading is an extremely demanding sport. Think gymnastics, dance, acrobatics and weightlifting, all wrapped up in bright red lipstick and a mini skirt. On top of the skill level needed to be the best of the best, you have to commit to an entire year of practice for a two minute and fifteen second routine - that you only have one opportunity to perform. The doc does an amazing job of capturing the frenetic energy on the mat, whether that energy is placed towards the elation of a successful stunt (a ‘hit’) or the frustration of a devastating injury.

According to the series, a cheerleading team also seems to be an island of misfit toys, attracting characters of all different walks of life. The doc follows the entire team’s journey to Daytona, but only gives the backgrounds of a handful of teammates including Morgan Simianer, La’Darius Marshall, Gabi Butler, Lexi Brunback, and Jerry Harris.

Save for Butler, a “cheerlebrity” who’s had followers in the cheer world since she was eight years old, these athletes come from broken homes across the country, seeking glory as a cog in the Navarro wheel (one could argue that Butler’s home life is also a bit...unsettling). Perhaps one of the most affecting stories is Marshall’s, who battled his way through bullying and sexual abuse after his mother was incarcerated. Brunback, a Houston native, was a high school dropout who found solace at the gym before she was recruited by Aldama. Simianer was raised by her grandparents when her parents abandoned her and her brother in a trailer to fend for themselves. We check back in with these five repeatedly, highlighting their respective relationships with Aldama.

The doc showcases an endless amount of practices and pep talks, showing Aldama in her element as an unwavering pillar of frosty authority, and yet still a beloved mother figure for nearly everyone on the team. As she stands on the sidelines in her ankle boots and jeans, filming routines on her iPad, the kids fling and fracture themselves to please their Queen. She drills them to the ground, quite literally, as Daytona nears, all the while making sure they maintain the perfect image of a Navarro cheerleader i.e. pristine, polite, professional, perfect. It is very clear who is in charge here. The foundation on which this institution has been built is Aldama and her values.

The show made me think about a book I read after my daughter turned one called Bringing Up Bebe by Pamela Druckerman. The memoir explores the myriad ways in which French parents have seemingly solved the elusive mystery of how to raise a child who is poised, polite and chic as shit, stressing the idea of the “cadre” a.k.a. the frame. The cadre is one of the most important and well-known parenting philosophies in French parenting which emphasizes “setting firm limits for children, but giving them tremendous freedom within those limits.” One might interpret Aldama’s severity as manipulative or self-serving, but I see her employing the “cadre” for kids who crave it.

Can you imagine a more visual representation of setting limits with tremendous freedom within those limits than a basket toss? An institution that allows you to literally fly 20 feet in the air, as long as you uphold what’s asked of you. What other sport allows you to defy gravity as long as you maintain a regimented lifestyle? No partying, no gaining weight, no room for failure. I’d be hard pressed to find something that makes you feel so alive, and yet so completely grounded.

The craving for structure is most evident in the troubled, ever-vaping Lexi, hot-blooded La’Darius, and people-pleasing Morgan, who looks like she could grace the cover of a Brandy Melville catalog (and also resembles a younger Monica, which isn’t cringey until Monica says she gave Morgan a shot at the team because she has the ‘look’).

It’s obvious that Lexi’s life before Navarro was devoid of discipline and structure. She recounts a number of fights she started after dropping out of high school, and the end of the doc finds her despairingly lost back in Houston after being kicked of the team for a drug offense. Morgan, who has already received her Associate’s degree after two years at Navarro decides to stay at the school for another year to cheer for Monica because she needs “the consistency” in her life. She has no other plans. We find La’Darius teaching a younger faction of cheerleaders, employing his specific brand of spirit and strictness. He tells the camera that if he can’t figure out a career in cheer coaching or choreography, he’s going to join the military because he “wants stability” and yearns to learn “how to be more disciplined.”

Cheerleading is so much more than just a sport or a hobby for them. It’s a religion, a cure for loneliness, a job, a framework with proven success. And after a childhood of trauma, it comes as no surprise to me that they would gravitate towards a sport that’s as intense as it is structured. Cheerleading is so many things, and yet it is so singular. To be a cheerleader on a team is to be of service to something bigger, so big that the thing you are of service of is in service of something else. There is no I in cheer.

Which brings me back to Aldama, a figure who has revealed to be quite polarizing (albeit, absolutely watchable). It’s easy to discount her for a false idol, or simply someone who thrives off of drama and power. But, unlike other abrasive coaches depicted in varying forms of entertainment (think Abby Lee Miller of Dance Moms), you don’t get the sense that there is life unlived in Monica’s trajectory. She’s not existing vicariously through “her kids.” It’s clear she ended up at Navarro by choice, and it seems perfectly comprehensible that the athletes promoted her to god-like status of their own volition.

Watching the series took me back to those days when feelings of exhaustion, anxiety and total connectedness was par for the course. I remember hating going to practice, but loving saying that I did it. A feeling similar to that of dreading washing your face before bed, and then the relief in the morning that you did it. I recall getting stepped on, slapped, yelled at, toppled over and coming back the next day to do it again. Maybe it was the commiseration that kept us coming back. Running onto a mat, blacking out for two and half minutes, and then partying until midnight - but you better be back by curfew. So much freedom within the structure. I’ve yet to find a replacement.