TV Review: "Étoile"
The newest show from Amy Sherman-Palladino shows just how complicated it can be to strike the balance between art and commerce.
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Warning: Full spoilers for the season follow.
Before I start this review, I have to state upfront that I am almost totally unfamiliar with the work of Amy Sherman-Palladino. I of course know about her various successful series–The Gilmore Girls, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel–but, through some strange quirk, I have yet to watch any of them. However, there was something about her newest venture, Étoile that just seemed to appeal to me and, since my boyfriend is someone who loves dance (and is a dancer himself), this seemed like a good place to start with the Sherman-Palladino oeuvre.
As one might gather from the title Étoile focuses on various ballerinas and those who are associated with them. Roughly half of them are affiliated with the New York Metropolitan Ballet, while the other half are with the Le Ballet National, and the two groups are led by Luke Kirby’s Jack McMillan and Charlotte Gainsbourg’s Geneviève, respectively. Together, Jack and Geneviève decide that the thing that would perhaps boost the fortunes of both of their companies is for them to trade off their talent. Needless to say, this doesn’t go over particularly well with either of their companies, and many of the conflicts that arise during the course of the first season can be traced, in one way or another, to this strategic decision.
For his part, Kirby’s Jack is almost always a nervous wreck, and one can hardly blame him. Like Geneviève he constantly has to deal with the various temperamental personalities that comprise his company, particularly Cheyenne (Lou de Laâge) the temperamental but undeniably brilliant transplant from Paris. Yet underneath all of his bluster and ill temper there beats the heart of a man who truly does love the art of ballet and wants to do everything in his power to make sure that it succeeds, and it’s to Kirby’s credit that he manages to bring out so many contradictory shades of the character.
For her part, Geneviève is a bit of a mess but, like Jack, she harbors a sincere love and passion for dance and for its important role in society and culture more generally. I love the way that Gainsbourg pours herself into this role, giving us a woman struggling to break out of her status as a mere interim director and show that she is more than capable of leading her company into the future. However, as with so many other people who are caught between the demands of art and commerce–to say nothing of a demanding board–she often finds herself not quite as up to the task as she might like. It certainly doesn’t help that she’s her own worst enemy, prone to embarrassing social faux pas and being caught flat-footed in highly public situations. In one notable misstep, she ends up comparing a disastrous oil spill–one created by a ship belonging to Crispin Shamblee (Simon Callow), the bankroller of the whole balletic enterprise–to a case of the hiccups. Still, one can’t help but cheer for her in her increasingly desperate efforts to keep the ship afloat, despite the antagonism of her dancers and the Minister of Culture herself.
Of course, every good show has to have its villain, and in this regard Étoile also excels. When it comes to scenery-chewing cads, there’s no one who excels quite as much as Simon Callow. Crispin Shamblee is a villain straight out of a melodrama; if he had a mustache he would be twirling it every time he appears on the screen to torment Jack with the fact that it is he, as the source of all the money, who has all of the real power. This is a man, after all, who goes out of his way to rename a music hall just to stick it to all of those who’ve looked down on him for being nouveau riche. I’ve often thought that Callow tends to over-act, but here that sort of scenery chewing is right at home.
Some critics have argued that Shamblee is nothing more than a source of comic relief, but I actually think that the opposite is the case. Yes, Shamblee is quite willing to show up looking quite ridiculous, but he also makes it clear that he has no compunction about destroying anyone who challenges him, whether this be Jack or Cheyenne herself. In one of the season’s most chilling scenes he threatens her by suggesting he’ll damage her reputation by painting her as a slut. There’s an iciness in his eyes that chills you to the bone, and you find yourself quite willing to believe that this is a man who is driven by nothing more than his own ego and hubris.
Dramedy is one of those words that gets thrown around with a lot of abandon, but I think it’s a fitting description for this show. There are some truly hilarious moments, to be sure, but there’s also potent human drama here. Even Cheyenne, who seems to look down on everyone and everything around her, has a remarkably poignant moment when, during a Q&A, she speaks plainly yet evocatively about why it is that she chose the path of a dancer rather than any of the other careers that she might have had. Simply put: she had no other choice.
Indeed, I repeatedly found Cheyenne to be one of the show’s most fascinating characters, precisely because she is so damned frustrating and blunt. When you’re as good a dancer as she is, however, you can afford to be a diva, and you also can’t help but admire her willingness to cut through the bullshit and tell it like it is. I particularly enjoyed her scenes with her mother, Bruna (Marie Berto), and watching them trade barbs and growl angrily at each other is a true highlight of the season.
Equally frustrating, though hilarious and strangely sympathetic, is Tobias Bell, the moody and truly idiosyncratic choreographer who is sent to France as part of the exchange. Gideon Glick is nothing short of sublime in this role, with his shaggy hair and general ‘90s vibe. Just as compelling is his attraction to Gabin (Ivan du Pontavice), his star dancer, his muse and, as is clear, his crush. From the moment they meet it’s clear that there’s more than professional curiosity in Gabin’s gazes at Tobias, just as it’s clear that Tobias sees more in his temperamental dancer than just a body to bring his choreography to light. Theirs is very much a slow-burn romance, but you know from the way that they look at one another and put their toes right on the line that there’s something brewing there. Suffice it to say that their eventual kiss is as bonkers as anything else that Tobias does, but it’s all the more touching because of that.
Of all of the characters, though, I think that it’s Mishi, so soulfully portrayed by Taïs Vinolo, who holds my heart. I loved everything about her and her arc, from the way that she struggles to figure out her place when she’s not dancing to her very odd but endearing relationship with Cheyenne’s curmudgeonly mother, Bruna (I couldn’t help but see more than a little of my own mother in Bruna, which perhaps helps to explain why I love the character so much). She even gets her own little romance, and I can’t wait to see how her arc continues to develop in the second season.
In sum, I really quite enjoyed Étoile. I know that some other critics found it frustrating, but for me it was a delight from beginning to end. Each of the characters has their own struggles and their own difficulties to overcome and, contrary to some of the more critical voices out there, I actually felt that it grappled with some of the complexities of dance. Great art often requires a great deal of sacrifice, particularly in our current moment in which the arts writ large are under constant and unremitting attack.
Bring on season two!