Ryan Murphy’s Hollywood Isn’t Perfect, But It Did Make Me Smile
I started Ryan Murphy’s Hollywood, his new series on Netflix, with a clear bias: I love his brand. Not everyone has the palette or patience for Murphy’s outlandish camp, made popular with classics like American Horror Story, Scream Queens, Pose, and Glee. His first foray for Netflix, The Politician, was polarizing: Some loved the show’s Sue Sylvester–like wit and lightning-fast dialogue; others hated it.
And the same goes for Hollywood. The seven-episode series currently has a 58% rating on Rotten Tomatoes, making it one of Murphy’s lowest-scored projects ever. The criticisms are valid. This series—which reimagines what 1940s Hollywood could have been like if women and people of color were in power—is too general, too on-the-nose, too caught up in its own sweeping statement to worry about the lack of logic and detail. It’s idealistic to a fault, with an earnest, overly simplistic message that visibility in pop culture is the magic bullet to ending racism, homophobia, and sexism. (When, obviously, we know those issues run much deeper than that.)
But damn it, against my better judgment, Hollywood still hooked me. I was full-on bawling by the seventh episode, when—major spoiler alert— Camille (Laura Harrier) wins the Oscar for best actress, becoming the first black woman in this fictional universe to do so. I welled up seeing Rock Hudson (Jake Picking)—who’s out and proud in Hollywood but wasn’t IRL—walk the red carpet holding hands with his boyfriend, a screenwriter named Archie (Jeremy Pope). Intermixed with these glamorous moments are scenes of everyday folks sitting at home, listening to the Oscars broadcast and witnessing history unfold. As Camille accepts her Oscar, a young black girl living in a racist town rejoices with her parents. When Archie (black and gay) also wins an Academy Award, a young, presumably queer man starts crying in his studio apartment. This is so cheesy, I thought. But the tears kept running down my face. By the end of the series, I was grinning ear to ear.
Look, I know this show isn’t perfect. Far from it. But I think what others dislike about Hollywood is precisely what I latched onto. Not to get too personal, but quarantine hasn’t exactly been the happiest time for me. I’ve been social distancing alone for 60 days now, and it’s been a real struggle in terms of my mental health. I’ve yet to accept this all as a new normal. I consider myself a smart person, sure, but I wake up every day wishing the coronavirus were just a horrible nightmare. Or if it’s not a nightmare, that an insta-cure will come along that makes everything better in one fell swoop. I want things to be that simple. I’m slowly adjusting, but the nonsensical idea of there being a Band-Aid for this pandemic still persists.
Netflix’s Hollywood is exactly that. It envisions a scenario in which there is a Band-Aid for our culture’s deep-rooted issues. That if people just saw a black woman or gay man on screen, it would obliterate any prejudices they have. That a diverse movie cast can completely change the heart of a bigot. Don’t get me wrong: Visibility is important. Seeing minorities represented in entertainment is a vital piece to achieving true equality—but it’s just one piece. These issues are more nuanced and complicated than Hollywood has time to fully flesh out.
To be fair, there is some acknowledgment of hardship. When it’s announced that Camille will star in the film Hollywood centers around, racists literally riot in the streets. After Archie and Rock walk the red carpet at the Oscars, people boo. Jim Parsons plays a Harvey Weinstein–adjacent talent agent who preys on young male actors. We see glimpses of the industry’s ugly side, though Parsons’s character is quickly redeemed in a way that’s…a choice.
Hollywood’s issue is that it preposterously ties up so many things in neat bows. The hate and negativity Camille receives largely stops once her movie comes out. You never hear from those aforementioned horrific bigots again; it’s if they’ve ceased to exist. Would I love for things to be that easy? For one incredible movie to wholeheartedly change not just the entertainment industry but society itself? Yes, obviously. Unfortunately, that’s not how the world works.
Under the duress of the coronavirus, though, I allowed myself to fully believe Hollywood’s optimistic conceit. It felt great—like the happiest seven-hour pop song, or cotton candy that never grows stale. I embraced the show’s fizzy, wide-eye naiveté without abandon, and it was the most joy I experienced in weeks. If the world were “normal,” I’m not sure Hollywood would have the same effect on me. I’d probably be harsher toward its very clear flaws. But I don’t have the heart to do that right now. I’m going through a serious serotonin drought, and this show temporarily replenished it. To live in a world, even for seven episodes, where such effective quick fixes exist is a welcome respite to the hellscape that is 2020. A hellscape where there is no “easy” fix in sight.
Hollywood on Netflix is now streaming.
Christopher Rosa is the staff entertainment writer at Glamour. Follow him on Twitter @chrisrosa92.
Originally Appeared on Glamour
