For all of his faults, the noblest thing about TV producer Ryan Murphy is his love of changing the narrative. In a literal sense, this means giving opportunities to artists that have largely been ignored in the industry, whether it be the transgender-centric Pose or Feud’s quest to make a longstanding Hollywood feud something more sympathetic and heartbreaking. These are stories about breaking apart patriarchy, showing the artists who have been trying to play in the boy’s club over the decades, and he has done an incredible job of letting them not only star in the show but write, direct, etc. This small choice has helped his work to stand out for better or worse, finding deeper dramatic tales alongside something campier than what we’ve ever seen on TV before.
Whereas Feud balanced his tendencies in ways that elevated his story, his latest Netflix-sanctioned series Hollywood takes things even further than he has before. Instead of just discussing existing misogyny, homophobia, and racism in the industry, he is now creating an image of wish fulfillment. Not unlike Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood (2019), this is a chance to rewrite history, reflecting a sensitive look at what would happen if the winners were different. How would things ultimately shift in the industry?
Unlike the Quentin Tarantino epic, this is a story told from the perspective of the underdogs in their prime. In the 1940s at a gas station, Jack Castello (David Corenswet) is a wet behind the ears employee, wishing to be an actor and make his big break. He is first seen standing in front of a studio gate (Ace Studios). Everyone is desperate for a place in the bigger picture, but all they’re judged for are their looks. Jack has to find a way to stand out, and it’s not going to be just standing around, looking at the finger go over him for the umpteenth time.
He takes action, working his way through a series of obstacles to land him in the right position. If there’s anything that’s immediately stark about Hollywood, it’s that Jack’s job at a gas station involves “servicing” in a different way. He becomes a bisexual prostitute, fornicating with figures that will either pay him or better his career. The first few episodes are loaded with a hormonal bliss that finds everyone’s pants below their ankles within five minutes. It’s the type of moment that makes one wonder if this is a show about rewriting history or creating salacious images that aren’t often associated with the era.
What can be said about this decision is that Murphy’s view of Hollywood is one that is largely based on a system of favors and compromise. Jack has to work his way through demeaning sex to find himself in a room with a studio exec (Jim Parsons), which even then involves convincing him that sexual harassment isn’t enough. The only thing keeping him in charge is the fact that he knows what the public wants, and he has the ability to control and turn the tables his way. If you only know Parsons from The Big Bang Theory, prepare for a hot-buttoned character who is uncomfortably aggressive. It kind of works in the way that all Murphy stunt casting does though it’s also funny to see Sheldon Cooper be an alpha.
If there’s anything worth getting into with what this story achieves, it’s in the making of the central film. It is where the heart of Hollywood lies. As much as it’s about working through a series of uncomfortable obstacles of desperation, there is something gleaming from the eye of the film that became Meg.
The screenwriter Archie Coleman (Jeremy Pope) has a great vision. After making his chops in the unsuccessful world of black pictures, he wants to crossover into the mainstream with a biography on Peg Entwhistle. Her story is itself fascinating, full of a rich subtext of the movie industry driving her to madness. She is a victim of neglect and abuse, and Archie’s fascination with her allows for this story to get subversive.
Why do we tell Entwhistle’s story? So that it can hopefully matter, reaching a wider audience and making the conversation focused more around how we treat women in the industry. Considering that it ends with a bold (and true) story of her jumping off the H on the Hollywood sign, it is a perfect entryway into what this series wants to do. By having a black author tell a story about a tragic actress, it’s finding the sympathy that Murphy has always been fascinated by.
But of course, that can’t be so simple. Archie is one of many figures who must work extra-hard to even get in the door. He gets by with the rise of his boyfriend Roy Fitzgerald, later dubbed Rock Hudson (Jake Picking) who has “the looks” to get by. Add in biracial characters like Raymond Ainsley (Darren Criss), and the even more ignored Asian actor Anna May Wong (Michelle Krusiec), and you get the sense of Hollywood slowly showing the door falling down. The repressed homosexuality in the industry slowly starts to appear, but even then it’s still a best-kept secret. Nobody will buy Rock Hudson tickets if they discover that he’s gay.
Whether or not Murphy meant it as an intentional commentary, the shift of Peg from an Entwhistle biopic into a story of a black woman in the exact same situation – along with having the first interracial onscreen relationship – ultimately changes the narrative. While the ending suggests that having Archie openly express his love for his boyfriend at the Oscars was a positive change, it also meant that one type of narrative wasn’t told. Peg may have influenced Meg, but it almost undermines Entwhistle’s plight in order to shift the conversation significantly. It reveals that no two narratives can be told at once, and there is still this drive of competition for who could tell the better story, the one that will drive audiences to a theater.
For as much as Hollywood has a novel premise and a fun supporting cast, the series feels entirely slight. Whereas most Netflix series have been knocked for being too long, Hollywood feels like it’s either too short or not using its time wisely. There are only seven episodes and the first two are ostensibly an extended “pilot” that requires you watching Jack having so much sex just to get into the industry that you may mistake this for a show building to something softcore. It’s a feeling that the show doesn’t shake until the last three episodes, especially with Parson’s Henry Wilson being forceful with every client, demanding to see their genitals. It’s strange that this series wants to be so progressive but is so rooted in harassment that it sometimes overshadows the small accomplishments.
Which is a bummer because, in between these moments, you get a genuinely promising story. It’s one where the characters actually grapple with what Classic Hollywood’s legacy ultimately is. Why did we want the industry to be white, heterosexual, and male? Why were other voices ignored? As much as opportunities and compromise are informative of every decision in this series, it does feel at times like Murphy misses a bigger point, a chance to tighten the script and shift from just being a chance to watch sexy guys kiss each other. While it could work in small doses, it feels too much like an introductory note that it becomes impersonal, never allowing these characters to be anything more.
I also didn’t realize that this was going to have real actors being depicted. Since I’m not too familiar with Rock Hudson’s career, I had no reason to believe that his journey in the series was meaningful until episode four. By then, we’re halfway through the series and his upward trajectory needs to exist opposite these other stories that choke precious air time. No character is allowed to feel significant for long. While there are charming moments of Archie acting like an aspiring writer with The Mary Tyler Moore Show “I’m gonna make it after all!” enthusiasm, they’re ultimately undone by the fact that we need to rush through this story.
Is there any doubt that Meg will not be a hit? Murphy is too infatuated with the era to not give them a happy ending. Even with the required conflict in the penultimate episode where prints are burnt (don’t worry, somebody made copies), you have this belief that everything will work out. Everyone will get their shot at glory because of this film.
I want to believe that the final episode is really what this show wanted to be. It’s the one opportunity where the show grinds to a halt, stopping with exhaustive subplots that try to show how many outsiders there are in the industry. Do we need to hear all of their stories? Well, that’s the only thing this show has going for it. We need to represent women, gays, biracial, blacks, Asians, and anyone who Classic Hollywood would never give an Oscar.
There are ways to do it. Murphy has done it better elsewhere. However, I think there is a moment that becomes especially touching with further context. Camille Washington (Laura Harrier) is a black actress who stands a good chance to win an Oscar for Meg. She one day has lunch with Hattie McDaniel (Queen Latifah), where she is encouraged to campaign hard. It’s here that she reflects how hard that blacks have to work if they want to get anywhere in the industry. While the film itself symbolizes those sacrifices they need to make to get there, this Oscar discussion becomes powerful because it shows that even when they’re respected, they’re still segregated.
McDaniel is necessary to Hollywood despite having two brief cameos. She is the one black actress to win an Oscar, albeit for a now problematic role as Mammy in Gone With the Wind (1939). She took on those roles because she lacked a conventional attractiveness that allowed her any other role. She was trapped, even after winning. It reflects that even when you’re on the other side, you need to fight twice as hard to get anything done.
Murphy’s love for these obscured actors is the real value that this show has. More than silly wish-fulfillment, it’s a chance to introduce a young audience to Hollywood’s problematic history, where talented artists were being undermined simply because they looked different. It suddenly shows that history wasn’t as straightforward as we thought, where there were queer icons before our very eyes. If there’s anything that could’ve made the show better, it’s to beef up Anna May Wong’s part. She was a real performer, but the viewer comes away with an equal amount of understanding that they did going in, which is not a whole lot. I personally learned more from an Indiewire article that I read later than anything about her marginalized role (which was serviceable to the theme, but not plot).
At the end of the day, Hollywood is a show that could’ve done with more focus. While its heart is in the right place, it’s nowhere near as condensed and effective as Feud, nor is the thesis as clear as we want to believe. There’s too much padding at first, cramming too many characters and salacious moments into a plot that could do with sprawling out, allowing for them to breathe. Instead, everyone feels like the crowd standing in front of that gate, eagerly waiting for their shot. That’s how the story should start, not where it is midway through the season. It’s likable at points and fulfilling in others, but it’s ultimately a disappointing fantasy that botches a premise so full of potential.
Hollywood wants to celebrate artists from yesteryear that the history books have ignored, and it only kind of does. The issue is that with a layer of fiction over it (some, like the Peg/Meg script, are clever), it’s hard to tell what is based on truth and if we’re looking at a real person. I’m sure most of these are real people, but what is this saying about their actual career beyond this one project? Not a whole lot. While I think there’s a great reason to recognize Anna May Wong and Hattie McDaniel, I don’t know that Murphy gets us there.
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