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“Here…a good one,” Donald Glover says, sweetly, as he hands me a voluptuous avocado fresh from the tree. Gray hairs are perfectly sprinkled throughout his beard, and his coils are hiding beneath a weathered navy “Hawaii” cap that spent most of the day precariously atop his head, defying gravity. Glover is showing me around the sprawling farm he’s purchased in Ojai, California, that will be the headquarters for Gilga—his new production company/incubator/cultural library. On Gilga Farm there are countless orange trees, an old church that is being converted
into a live-performance and recording space, housing for creatives to spend the night, curious lizards, editing suites, writers rooms, a restaurant that specializes in artisanal sandwiches, and just about every tool or space any musician, director, or showrunner could dream of. Picture Skywalker Ranch but with 21 Savage or Quinta Brunson as temporary residents creating their own Empire Strikes Back.
Donald Glover is one of the most exciting and original voices in Hollywood, a writer turned comedian turned rapper turned actor turned P-Funk All-Star turned showrunner turned farmer. He named his nascent company after Gilgamesh, the mythic Mesopotamian hero who angered the gods. “Gilga is like Erewhon for culture,” he says, referring to the high-end California supermarket. “I want to work with the best people in every medium. To work toward sustainable output. The culture we’re getting from our phones is not high quality. It can be really good sometimes. And fun. But not necessarily high quality. Gilga is the filter for all of that.”
Since last year’s finale of Atlanta, a show that became the blueprint for a whole new generation of surreal dark comedies, the world has been wondering: What’s next for Donald Glover?
The first part of that answer is he’s building out Gilga, which is currently raising capital and recruiting collaborators across creative disciplines. And according to a man I just met named Connor—picture if Jesus wore denim, and was a white man—the other part of the answer is: olives, bananas, and coffee. Connor is here helping with the agricultural wing of Gilga. He rattles off the harvesting plan as he and Glover overlook one of the newly grubbed fields. “Coffee would be greeeat,” Glover mutters, squinting in reverie. He says he finally watched a documentary that Connor recommended called Regenerate Ojai, which is about the dangers of giving children fruits and vegetables sprayed with chemicals. “Any way I can help get more folks to see it, just say the word,” Glover says to Connor. White Jesus nods and thanks him.