Around halfway through Will Smith’s set the video screens are taken over by a mock streaming service called Willflix. The cursor cycles through box office smash after box office smash before teeing up a shoutalong to Inner Circle’s Bad Boys, drawing attention to his outsized cultural footprint while also framing the night as a whole: a disorienting splurge of nostalgia, high energy set pieces and self-help sermons, channelling the tonal whiplash of watching the first five minutes of 10 films before calling it and going to bed.
Smith launches into Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It, the crowd leaping and yelling each lyric as he falls into formation with six dancers dressed in outsized sports jerseys, mimicking his own Phillies cap and red starter jacket. He wore a similar get-up on the cover of his recent album Based on a True Story, a critical and commercial turkey that documented his journey into shame and acceptance post-Oscars slap, and there’s friction between its stomping rap-rock soul-searching and Smith’s undimmed need for everyone to have a good time when he’s around.
