In life, try to find someone who looks at you the way that Damien Chazelle looks at jazz music. Whereas most artists evolve, shifting to different topics with each new project, he has made it a point to make jazz a central piece of every one of his projects. His breakout movie Whiplash (2014) was about a jazz drummer. The film that made him the youngest Best Director winner at the Oscars was a literal story of jazz and Hollywood intersecting for this contemporary dream fantasy. Even when you didn’t think that he could bring the music to the story, such as in the Neil Armstrong biopic First Man (2018), he randomly has Gil-Scott Heron’s “Whitey’s on the Moon” as this counterculture commentary.
Chazelle just can’t quit. So long as he has the green light on his side, he will be making stories about jazz musicians in the 21st century, searching for their place in the world. That is why his first break into TV feels like the most anticlimactic punchline in cinematic history. With all the clout in the world and three Oscar-winning films under your belt, what do you want to do? The Wachowski Sisters created Sense8, which became a global story about the unity of man. David Fincher’s Mindhunters reinvented the procedural. What groundbreaking idea does Chazelle have for The Eddy that deserves to be marquee entertainment on the greatest streaming platform in the world?
Wait for it…
It’s about people at a jazz club.
And with that, the crowd rolled their eyes in unison. If we’re being honest, it’s not terribly unpredictable for Chazelle to be fond of these hot spots given his trajectory. La La Land (2016) ended with the protagonist finally owning his own Los Angeles jazz club. If anything this is an extension, or a response, to what he’s created for.
Given that he’s evolved to have more and more into style, the most staggering thing about The Eddy is how it feels minimal. Compare the jazz clubs of La La Land to The Eddy and you’ll see what I mean. The latter performers are often seen recording in a building that lacks glamor. The brick walls are barren and there’s a dilapidated quality to the structure. This isn’t a Hollywood story, but instead Chazelle’s chance to go subversive. The Eddy takes place in France, but not in one that we’ve seen in all of those French New Wave classics. It’s contemporary and real, where run-ins with local gangs become season-long arcs, and relationships are constantly fraught. If anything, this feels more reminiscent of his first film Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench (2009), which found romanticism in everyday life and lowdown technique.
In that way this feels like Chazelle trying to return to his roots, breaking free of his growing status as a Hollywood wunderkind. He is making a show where the notes coming from that horn aren’t polished. The singer has a passion hidden under the reverb. This is the closest that Chazelle has gotten to making a story that feels real and lived in for the jazz community, if just because it doesn’t feel confined. The eight episodes may have a regimented format, but within the confines it feels spontaneous, moving freely from one idea to the next. It’s like jazz itself, being punctuated by these brief outbursts that would feel unnatural if we didn’t take the lingering moment to look into these characters’ lives and understand the pain and effort.
Even if this isn’t Chazelle’s game wholly, it’s hard to not see this as some strange atonement for the backlash he got for La La Land. Despite being a movie musical phenomenon that relaunched the genre, many complained about various aspects of the storytelling. Some were confused about why they needed to care about two whiny go-getters, living in their own self-delusion. Others were questioning the tone-deaf appropriation of jazz (which was predominantly performed by blacks). Even when it was just a feel-good movie, it couldn’t help but frustrate people.
Those people may be satisfied with the results of The Eddy, provided that they can get into its meandering pacing. This is a show where it doesn’t feel like much of note happens, existing more in the ethereal air of the genre, where a lingering camera feels reminiscent of a horn blowing from across the room. Things grow melancholy as the bass slows down and the singer reaches into her soul for that deep note. This is a show populated with characters that would be out of place in La La Land, who would feel that the whole thing is dishonest to their profession.
Most of all, it is exciting to know that everyone on The Eddy is triple-threat talents. Not only can they act, but they can perform. Every episode is based on a musical exercise. Sometimes it’s more to the background, but it’s always there. Jazz is in their souls, and they only ever feel alive when they’re on that stage, getting lost in the moment. These characters would be nothing without their jazz club. They need The Eddy as a place for survival, to keep them from feeling lost. It’s their escape from everyday life of working lousy jobs, and when they get the chance to record an album, you best believe that even if only 1,000 people buy it, it will mean the world to them.
While jazz is the entryway to The Eddy, it would be wrong to assume that this is the endpoint. We’re not watching eight hours people fiddling away on a drum set. This isn’t where we listen to music theory and find characters lost in a smile. That is what you get in La La Land. What we get here is a better understanding of how music as a greater art form is necessary to our soul. These people could be doing anything else with their lives, but they keep coming back to jazz because there’s something there that they can’t get elsewhere. It only punctuates the struggle on a more impactful level.
The central story focuses on the club owner Elliot Udo (André Holland) as he tries to keep everything afloat. Having been a pianist himself, he sees potential in the band and wants them to have some success. This is his life. He is there to negotiate record contracts and keep the musicians from ending up either strung out or in constant fights where they end up on the curb. The life isn’t glamorous, and there are moments where you wonder why anyone would dare to go through with it. However, there are those moments where a small conversation puts a smile on Elliot’s face and you begin to understand. Beyond the dysfunction, there is a family of musicians who need each other. Nobody understands each other as well as they do.
Elliot’s daughter Julie (Amandla Stenberg) arrives and adds a crux to the story. She takes us to the world outside of the club, where suddenly a story can follow her own fish out of water story. She is even more lost than her father, who at least has musician friends to keep him entertained. She needs to learn the language and customs, attending a school that she rebels against and hangs out with shady people, at times barely staying out of trouble. As she gets her rebellious streak out of her system, she eventually finds a world more complex and lively.
As much as the show reflects jazz as something more complex, it wants to paint modern France as something less romantic. There aren’t too many shots of famous landmarks. This isn’t a travelogue. All that we get are wonderful conversations through a contemporary metropolis. It’s one that is far less white than we’re lead to believe, where we’re introduced to Adam (Elyes Aguis) and his family. Their Muslim religion gets plenty of air time as the story follows death and this struggle to feel like they belong. It’s a world that’s just as blended, even as it respects cultural differences. It's a place where they hold jazz funerals and turn something dour into a party. Everyone has dreams of belonging.
By showing these perspectives, The Eddy has found a new way of understanding why music matters in our lives. For those who love to get lost in the music, finding the brilliance that takes minutes of patience to find, this show may serve some value. The performances may not be as polished or memorable as Chazelle’s other work, but they also feel more organic, fueling the narrative and soul of characters in ways that will become clear to those who watch. It’s a tonal piece and one that requires a certain mind frame to fully appreciate. This isn’t a conventional show, and it’s interesting to see how Chazelle fans will respond to it.
There’s nothing defiant about it. What is here feels like an honest reset for the filmmaker, reflecting on the fact that the world of jazz is much bigger than he gave it credit for. He’s been capturing a more Americanized version of the genre for his entire career, and this is the first time where he feels like he addresses it as more than an art form. Why does he like jazz? It’s the combination of voices, the mix of experiences, all coming together to inform the spontaneous sound blowing through the club.
This isn’t your Funny Face (1957). Audrey Hepburn isn’t about to dance around the room with elegance. We’re about to watch musicians play as a crowd watches on, enjoying the rawness. The troubles are outside. Let them stay there. So long as they are inside The Eddy, everything will be all right. To watch everyone smile and to see the musicians get into a deep groove is to notice why we pick up an instrument in the first place. The album is only a way to give that a permanence, to know that they existed here.
If this is a moratorium on Chazelle’s jazz work, there would be no better fitting way to go out. That is a bit doubtful, but it’s hard to think of him ever making something mainstream that captures the honesty of a show like this, finding a way to tear apart the sheen in favor of ongoing personal problems and identity crises. Even if this is a group effort, it clearly has his stamp on it, and it’s impossible to not watch and be reminded of his other work. The guy just loves jazz, okay? But for the first time in his entire career, it feels like he understands it.
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