Lily-Rose Depp in The Idol.
The Idol is one of the most buzzed-about series in years, but is it any good? Reviewers Zanna Gillespie and Greg Bruce give their verdicts.
SHE SAW
When Euphoria apparently exposed the truth about the present-day high school experience - widespread class-A drug use and hyper-sexuality - we were shocked, terrified and sucked into a lie that the data doesn’t support. Who are these sexually empowered high schoolers who confidently solicit sex from apps and sell fetish content online? Sure, they exist, but all at the one school? All that good-looking? It isn’t reality. It’s a fantasy high school that creator Sam Levinson imagined and he did it well. It’s a good show - far-fetched but good - anchored by a central character, a stand-in for Levinson, struggling with drug addiction. Now, with The Idol, Levinson has done it again - created another fantasy world: the imagined life of a pop star, Jocelyn, played by Lily-Rose Depp and it’s completely unravelling my perception of Euphoria.
The episode opens on a photo shoot of Jocelyn, in which she exposes her breasts. An intimacy co-ordinator intervenes to say that the nudity clause in the contract states that she won’t reveal full breast. A back-and-forth ensues: Jocelyn and her team butt up against the male intimacy co-ordinator because she WANTS to show her breasts - why can’t she? Eventually the intimacy co-ordinator gets locked in a bathroom and Jocelyn is freed from her oppressor.
Later, the pop star joins her dancers for a rehearsal on the patio wearing an impractical black string something, little more than pasties. I’ve attended many dance rehearsals and I’ve seen enough pop star music documentaries to know that no one, absolutely no one, is wearing less than track pants and a crop top to a dance rehearsal. It was supposed to be hot but all I could think about was whether Depp was truly comfortable, semi-naked, surrounded by hundreds of fully clothed cast and crew, take after take after take.
By this point, the explicit nature of the show ceases to be even remotely shocking and instead is scrambling to justify itself. Jocelyn goes to a nightclub and hooks up with a DJ played by Abel “The Weeknd” Tesfaye, one of the creators of the show. She masturbates while strangling herself. The DJ comes over, covers her face with her robe, ties it around her neck, terrifyingly cutting a breathing hole with a pocket knife moments before she suffocates, then proceeds to rub an ice cube in the most intimate of places. Apparently he’s teaching her something about her new single she doesn’t yet understand.
I’m all for empowered female sexuality on screen but The Idol does not read that way. It feels like the sexual fantasies of Levinson and Tesfaye played out on Depp. It didn’t appear to mean anything or say anything of substance except that maybe Euphoria isn’t as good a show as I initially thought.
HE SAW
No preview screeners of The Idol were made available to reviewers. There are many possible reasons for this, but none of them are that producers were worried reviews would be too positive.
And so it has proved. Some reviewers saw the opening two episodes at Cannes, and now many other reviewers have seen the opening episode on streaming platforms with everyone else, and, almost without exception, every one of them has hated it.
But why? I was hooked from the incredible opening shot, which is Lily-Rose Depp’s face, in close-up, reacting to a photographer’s one-word instructions. In that minute or two, you see an incredible range of emotion, all the pain and passion of life, and you understand yourself to be watching not just an extraordinarily talented actor but a star.
Then the camera pulls back, revealing Depp to be wearing a silk robe, which progressively opens, eventually revealing her breasts. From that point, until the end of the first episode, she’s rarely dressed, at least in the way we usually conceive of that word. You can make an artistic case for the nudity, and many of those involved have, including Depp, who says it informs the character. But are these explanations more powerful than the other explanation? Nothing sells like sex.
Much of the action is sexual. Depp’s character, Jocelyn, practises a group dance that is mostly simulated sex, masturbates while choking herself and dry humps co-star Abel Tesfaye, who goes on to do bizarre and terrifying quasi-sexual stuff to her.
In other words, The Idol’s opening episode is extremely salacious, and all the salaciousness is centred on a single young woman. That might be fine if a woman were in charge of the show, but the show’s twin creative forces are very powerful men, so the suspicion is of exploitation. That suspicion is given further weight by the fact the show’s original director, Amy Seimetz, was let go midway through production.
Still, the first episode is immediately and intensely compelling. It raises so many questions, none of which seem likely to be quickly resolved: Who is Jocelyn and what is it that’s f***ed her up so bad? What’s all this about her “psychotic break”? Is it about to happen again? Who is the terrible guy she’s getting involved with and why is she getting involved with him? Why has this cult grown up around him? What is he going to do to her? Are all these horrible hangers-on going to get their comeuppance?
Is the show sleazy and regressive? Yes. Is it exploitative? Maybe. Is it going to be the most buzzed-about show since Succession, watched and discussed ad nauseum by you, me and everyone other than Zanna? Almost certainly.
The Idol is streaming now on Neon.
Washington Post: Sweatpants? No. But elastic waistbands? Absolutely.