Why is Top Boy so good?
It’s like a Shakespearean drama, but with more trackies and hijacked e-bikes
Top Boy doesn’t just *tell* a story—it throws you into a bin shed in East London and locks the door. The characters aren’t just “morally gray”; they’re 50 shades of streetwise, juggling loyalty, ambition, and survival like a cursed Rubik’s Cube. Sully’s scowl alone could power a small turbine, and Dushane’s “retirement plans” involve less golf and more laundering money through a chicken shop. Who needs soliloquies when you’ve got “you get me?” as the modern answer to “to be or not to be”?
The tension is thicker than Jamie’s accent
Every episode feels like someone’s holding a lit firework in a room full of gasoline cans. The show’s genius lies in making you root for people who’d probably steal your phone—and your charger. It’s so bingeable you’ll forget basic human needs, like blinking or remembering your Netflix password. Cliffhangers? More like *cliff-danglers*, leaving you dangling over a moral abyss, screaming “WHY WOULD YOU END IT THERE?!” into a void (or your group chat).
Top Boy’s secret sauce:
- Dialogue sharper than a Snapchat reply from your ex
- Soundtracks that slap harder than a sudden UK rainstorm
- Nostril-acting™ (seriously, watch the nostrils—they’re doing Oscar-worthy work)
It’s a masterclass in making location a character
East London isn’t just a backdrop—it’s sipping tea in the corner, judging everyone. The concrete towers, street markets, and aggressively British weather are as vital as the actors. You’ll feel the grit in your teeth, smell the fried chicken, and develop a paranoid urge to check your own burner phone. Even the pigeons seem like they’ve got side hustles. It’s a world where “family” could mean blood relatives or the guy who sells you knockoff AirPods—and honestly, both are valid.
Who originally played Sully in Top Boy?
If you’ve ever watched Top Boy and thought, “Hmm, Sully looks like someone who could drop a grime track *and* a threat with equal menace,” congratulations—you’ve cracked the code. The role of Sully, Summerhouse’s perpetually scowling, tracksuit-clad wildcard, was originally played by none other than Kane Robinson. Aka Kano, the British grime legend who probably taught the word “mandem” to the Oxford Dictionary. Plot twist: he wasn’t just acting. He was method-existing.
From Grime to Crime (Drama)
Before Kano was out here making viewers nervously check their door locks, he was busy being a pioneer of UK grime music. His 2004 hit “P’s and Q’s” slapped harder than Sully slapping sense into a careless foot soldier. Casting him as Sully in 2011 was like hiring a shark to play… well, a shark. The man brought the same energy to the role that he brought to mic drops—unapologetic, raw, and with a dash of “you really wanna test me?”
- Multitasking King: Dropping albums (Made in the Manor) while dropping characters (literally, in Sully’s case).
- Facial Expressions: 90% scowling, 10% plotting arson. A masterclass in silent chaos.
- Authenticity: Grew up in East London, so he didn’t need a “street consult.” He was the consult.
Fun fact: Kano almost didn’t take the role because he thought acting was “weird.” Imagine an alternate universe where Sully was played by a Shakespearean actor named Giles sipping tea between takes. Thanks to Kano’s last-minute “why not?” attitude, we got a character who’s less “TV villain” and more “that one cousin your family warns you about.” The streets – and our Netflix queues – salute him.
Is Jack in Top Boy a girl?
Let’s address the burning question that’s kept you awake longer than a Summerhouse gang member waiting for a delayed text-back: Is Jack in Top Boy a girl? Short answer? No. Jack is very much a boy with a name that sounds like it was plucked from a 1990s action movie starring a golden retriever. But hey, confusion happens when you’re navigating a show where characters named Dushane, Sully, and Jaq exist in the same universe as someone named *Jack*. Did the writers run out of edgy name ideas? Unclear. But unless there’s a secret plot twist involving a gender-reveal party gone wrong (featuring fireworks stolen from Jamie’s stash), Jack’s gender is as settled as Stef’s love for chicken wings.
Why the mix-up? Let’s overanalyze:
- Name Game: “Jack” is about as gender-neutral as a brick. But in this case, it’s attached to Jaq’s little brother, who’s roughly 60% hoodie, 30% pre-teen angst, and 10% plot device.
- Jaq’s Shadow: Jaq—the certified badass with a fade sharper than Sully’s grudges—overshadows everyone, including Jack. It’s like mistaking a teapot for a rocket ship because they’re both in the kitchen.
Could Jack secretly be a girl? Sure, if you believe in alternate realities where Dris actually finishes a sentence or Shelley opens a yoga studio instead of dating Dushane. But in *this* timeline? Jack’s just a kid stuck in a world where his biggest worries should be homework, not dodging roadmen. Unless… *dramatic pause*… the hoodie is hiding something? A secret identity? A second head? A gender-bending portal? (Netflix, call me.)
Let’s not spiral. Jack’s gender isn’t the enigma here—it’s why anyone trusts Little Simz to fix a printer. Focus, people. And maybe rewatch the scene where Jaq calls him “bruv” 17 times in 10 minutes. Case closed. Probably.
Why was Jamie written out of Top Boy?
Because the streets demanded a sacrifice (and maybe his agent called)
Jamie’s exit from *Top Boy* hit fans like a rogue chicken peri-peri wing to the face—spicy, unexpected, and leaving everyone questioning life’s fairness. **The showrunners didn’t just kill him off; they turned his character into a cautionary tale about trust-fund drug dealers and the perils of sibling loyalty.** Rumor has it the writers needed a “holy s**t” moment to rival *that* Reddit fan theory about Dushane opening a vegan bakery. Mission accomplished.
Was it the actor’s fault? Let’s blame the pigeons
Micheal Ward (Jamie’s actor) was reportedly juggling roles faster than a clown at a dystopian circus—including a gig in Ed Sheeran’s *Subtract* album visuals. But let’s not ignore the elephant (or pigeon) in the room: maybe Jamie’s exit was a coded message from London’s feathery overlords. *Top Boy* pigeons have more screen time than some politicians’ integrity—coincidence? Absolutely. But it’s funnier to imagine a avian conspiracy.
Other theories, ranked by absurdity:
- Jamie failed his TEFL exam and fled to teach English in a remote village (RIP “mandem” grammar lessons).
- He owed Sully £20 from a 2012 FIFA bet and the interest became astronomical.
- The writers mistook “write him out” for “throw him off a roof.”
The real reason? Drama. So much drama.
Let’s be real: *Top Boy* thrives on chaos thicker than Stef’s accent. Jamie’s death wasn’t just a plot twist—it was a narrative grenade. It gave Sully main-character energy, made fans debate for weeks, and reminded us all that *no one* gets a happy ending in Summerhouse…unless you count surviving a stabbing as “happy.” Meanwhile, Jamie’s ghost is probably somewhere side-eying Dushane’s retirement plans. Priorities, innit?
