The Idol has one truly great element nobody's talking about
The Idol spoilers follow.
What a time to be an investor in HBO stock. Following the one-two prestige punch of The Last of Us and Succession, the home of quality content threw a skippable one out to free up our Sundays over the summer: The Idol.
Euphoria stans and The Weeknd's XO Crew were probably the only people excited for the show, which was mired in production woes and reported to be a truly terrible entry into the world of TV long before it even hit our screens.
We're now at the halfway point of the six-part show's summertime run and the reason Levinson, Abel Tesfaye and nightlife entrepreneur Reza Fahim thought this was worthy of a Cannes Film Festival debut remains unclear.
What is clear is that there are flickers of the brilliant show that could have been in what is largely a flat drama out for sexual provocation, when TV like Game of Thrones or even Levinson's own superior show Euphoria numbed our ability to be shocked years ago.
The first episode finds chart-topping pop star Jocelyn (Lily-Rose Depp) during a titillating photo shoot for her forthcoming album cover, while the second takes a Black Swan-style look at the crushing monotony of filming a music video. The third one is largely upended by some tasteless trauma play and an inexplicable pronunciation of "carte blanche".
Jocelyn is on the precipice of a comeback from mental health troubles following her mother's death. Behind her waits a coterie of handlers and PR people, coaxing her over that edge.
This darkly comic ensemble is filled out with a spectacular roster of character actors: Hank Azaria, Rachel Sennott, Jane Adams, Da'Vine Joy Randolph, Dan Levy, Eli Roth. All of whom put to shame the more humbling efforts of Tesfaye as Tedros, who Jocelyn meets at his Los Angeles club and then asks to move in with her, for no discernible reason other than that they both like Prince.
This is where The Idol splits into one show about a cult leader with all the raw charisma of a wet noodle and another show about the grim reality of pop stardom in 2023. Unfortunately, those behind the scenes seem painfully more vested in using Tedros's rattail to flog the former, leaving the latter as a tantalising glimpse of the show that could have been.
The dual nature of the show may be in part owing to the fraught way it was made. Amy Seimetz abruptly dropped out of directing the production, having already shot most of the series.
Reports at the time stated Tesfaye felt the show was leaning too heavily into a "female perspective" and the move sparked a major creative overhaul, with Levinson brought on in her stead.
Whatever Edward Scissorhands efforts went on behind the scenes to stitch Seimetz's and Levinson's work together could in part have created the forked feel of The Idol, as well as its occasionally jarring tonal shifts. Because not only are these two elements of the show wildly different in quality, they feel like wholly different genres of television.
From the opening scenes of the first episode, the writing seems to be going for satire, even if it doesn't all land.
Jane Adams' outrageous record label executive is explaining why mental health is sexy, Rachel Sennott's long-suffering personal assistant/best friend Leia is trying to hide Jocelyn's phone and Hank Azaria's manager Chaim is locking an intimacy coordinator in one of the toilets of Jocelyn's Bel Air mansion – which is The Weeknd's actual lavish nine bedroom pad.
These scenes and subsequent glimmers after them, like when Leia uncomfortably tries to explain to Chaim who on earth enigma Tedros really is, have the rhythms of a show that could have been a darker Entourage or even a popstar version of Veep.
This is not to say there aren't uncomfortable moments on this side of the show too – a conversation over the necessity of intimacy coordinators and a Jeffrey Epstein joke in the latest episode both feel intentionally incendiary.
Yet the show's creators don't seem to realise the potential they had on their hands. When Tesfaye spoke about the comedic elements of The Idol, he singled out his own character Tedros and his "pathetic" rattail.
He told the New York Times after their screening in Cannes: "It's funny, we were in the theatre watching Tedros and there are moments where only us three were laughing. People have no idea."
And that is the problem of the show. It's focusing on Tesfaye's weak link character and the creepy cult that is starting to cannibalise both Jocelyn and The Idol, if the latest third episode is anything to go by.
But before the whole thing descends into a badly written sexual bacchanal, it's worth acknowledging what the show gets right and what it could have done with these characters.
We learn that Jocelyn has made a lot of money for her entourage of publicists and music execs and they want her to jump back on the hamster wheel with the bankable earworm 'World Class Sinner/I'm A Freak'.
While Tedros is positioned as the villain, this ensemble circling Jocelyn is doing a version of what he is and milking her for all they can. The less said about that hairbrush scene the better, but what it did show was that the people behind Jocelyn were willing to turn a blind eye to her mother's abuse because she was essentially printing money.
This is more sinister and relevant to today's world of celebrity than the erotic thrills of Tedros's pantomime cult, given that stars like Selena Gomez, Britney Spears and Ariana Grande have shown that beneath the popstar veneer, the machinations of the music industry can be crushing and being a woman operating in it can have a litany of detrimental effects.
Depp told the New York Times they "always knew" the show they were making was "provocative". But the world where a music exec can chop and change one clunky named popstar (Jocelyn) for another (Dyanne, or Blackpink's Jennie) at the drop of a hat is far more darkly fascinating than the tired and po-faced erotic provocation they seem to have been going for.
The Idol airs on HBO in the US, and is available on Sky Atlantic and NOW in the UK.
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