Sarah Paulson seems to be having fun on Hulu's new “legal” drama, Ryan Murphy's “All's Fair,” and that's the only good thing about the show.
The New York Times recently published an article extolling her reinvention of the power suit (down to at least a visible thong) and I guess that's one way to avoid the obvious. Still, I'll stick with Paulson's obvious glee at playing a villain. Her Carrington Lane was left to fester in the comic book sexism of a male-dominated divorce law firm when two of her colleagues walked away to form an all-female team, and Carrington is not one to hold a grudge.
It's impossible not to like Paulson, and she's clearly relishing the opportunity to watch, hiss, and indulge in the kind of gross-but-creative profanity that Melissa McCarthy likes to unleash when her characters reach the brink.
As for the rest… well, let's just say that with “All's Fair,” American culture is getting exactly what it deserves: a series that wallows in the shiny, clever trappings of new money (immaculate, soulless homes, private jets, diamonds the size of a Rubik's Cube), defines “sisterhood” as the belief that any personal crisis can be alleviated by vaginal rejuvenation combined with a girl's trip to a jewelry auction, and measures power by the ability to plot. and get revenge. Preferably in the form of large amounts of money.
“All's Fair” may or may not be, as some have said, the worst show of the year (or possibly of all time), but with its celebration of the 1%, personal feuds and financial revenge, it is certainly the first to truly embody the culture of the Trump presidency.
Even the reality star at its center. “All's Fair” does not give the greatest prominence to any of the excellent and experienced actors who star in it (Paulson, Niecy Nash, Naomi Watts, Glenn Close) but to Kim Kardashian, who plays Allura Grant, director of the law firm Grant, Ronson and Greene.
Niecy Nash, from left, Glenn Close and Kim Kardashian are among the stars of Ryan Murphy's new Hulu drama, “All's Fair.”
(Ser Baffo/Disney)
That Kardashian (and Kris Jenner, who serves as producer) were able to summon such forces of the galaxy to showcase her, say, limited The actress' skills could rightly be seen as yet another “you go girl” testament to her seemingly limitless business acumen.
On the other hand, “All's Fair” makes the dismal final season of “And Just Like That” look like Chekhov.
Murphy and the forces at Disney, which owns Hulu, the home of “The Kardashians,” understand Kardashian's cult following and operate under the assumption that viewers will be so fascinated by her and the fashion (which includes an alarming number of hats, capes and gloves) that they won't notice that the lead actor relies on her eyelash extensions to perform for her.
To be fair to Kardashian, few non-professional actors would shine opposite scene partners like Close, Watts and Nash, and the series' writing, which flirts with camp but never fully commits, does no one any favors.
Not since “Charlie’s Angels” has there been a “feminist fantasy” with such a male gaze. (Apologies to “Charlie’s Angels,” which in many ways was a groundbreaking show.)
After struggling on the sidelines of a predominantly male law firm, Allura and Liberty Ronson (Watts) decide to branch out on their own. They do so with the blessing of Dina Standish (Close), the only female partner in that company, and they take researcher Emerald Greene (Nash) with them. When we meet them again 10 years later, Allura also has an assistant/apprentice in Milan (Teyana Taylor), who later provides a predictable plot twist.
The names alone suggest a level of parody, and in the first episode, a mocking quality weaves in and out of the proceedings, but the show always chooses cynicism over satire.
Instead of sexist jokes, Grant's partners, Ronson and Greene, spend much of their time discussing how horrible men are, with the possible exception of Liberty's boyfriend, Reggie (OT Fagbenle of “The Handmaid's Tale,” OT), and Standish's ailing husband, Doug (Ed O'Neill).
That is, after all, the reason for being from the firm: Grant, Ronson and Greene intend to protect rich women from the dangers of the prenup and generally make the bastards pay, sometimes through their “superior” knowledge of the law (in one story, this involves explaining that gifts are the sole property of the recipient, which even I knew), but more often blackmail (if you've chosen to live your life without seeing a butt plug the size of a traffic cone, keep your eyes closed when Emerald start your slideshow).
A brief, and apparently contractually required, mention that the company raises money to help the disadvantaged is ridiculous: “Everything is fair” is 100% aprmys-moi television, in which extreme wealth is presented as too normal to even be an aspiration, and any job not done by Emerald involves parading around in super-stylish sunglasses from one successful showdown to the next. With brief interludes in sumptuous cars and, as mentioned above, outbidding hideous brooches at a high-end jewelry auction (held by a stalwart client, which honestly seems potentially unethical, but whatever).
If the dialogue were sharp, funny, or even self-aware, Murphy and her team could get away with it, but it's not: “It's a shame your mother didn't swallow,” Dina tells Carrington in what passes as proof that women can be just as tough as men. Or that older women can say stupid things. Or that Close will go to great lengths to give a decent reading of any line. Or something like that.
There are brief nods to the women's personal lives – as a divorce lawyer, Liberty is reluctant to marry Reggie, Dina is struggling with Doug's decline, Emerald is a super single mother – but it all seems very complicated. Including the disintegration of Allura's marriage, which becomes a major plot point when the girls rally to make that bastard pay too, and her realization that if she wants to be a mother, she's running out of time.
Reading the zeitgeist, the creators of “All's Fair” clearly weren't looking for praise or awards, just viewers.
(disney)
In many ways, “All's Fair” is an American version of the excellent British series “The Split,” which follows a matriarchal family of divorce lawyers. At first, one of the daughters (played by Nicola Walker) leaves the family firmly and, in her own way, tries to right the wrongs often done to women facing divorce from rich and powerful men while dealing with her own marital breakdown and a family with actual children.
But the “American version” really isn't enough. This is the American version of Trump, where ethics, morality, and virtually all human feelings are secondary to winning, and winning is defined by who ends up making their opponent pay.
Between Kardashian's conspicuous lack of acting and dialogue that often seems lifted from the all-caps regions of X, “All's Fair” has, unsurprisingly, taken a critical beating. Which seems almost intentional.
After all, critics have been routinely, and often brutally, scorned for a long time (after the reviews came in, Close felt moved to publish a sketch of the cast gathered around a “Fatal Attraction”-like “critical bunny stew”). More importantly, reviews, good or bad, do not (nor should they) predict audience reaction (see early theater reviews of “Wicked”). As Trump has proven time and time again, bad press is still press, and the worse it is, the more easily it can be presented as evidence that cultural elites (i.e. critics) are out to get…someone.
So it should come as no surprise to anyone that, despite a 5% score on Rotten Tomatoes, “All's Fair” was Hulu's most successful scripted series premiere in three years.
Reading the zeitgeist, the creators of “All's Fair” clearly weren't looking for praise or awards, just viewers. In this American moment, bad is good, and savvy operators know that if you add enough high-profile ingredients (Kardashian, Murphy, a bevy of excellent actors) you don't have to go to the trouble of making sure the mix is up to the task.
As the president builds a ballroom while food banks are overflowing, why wouldn't television audiences want to feast on the fallen cake?
