Will film and television never tire of digging into the bones of the dead Kennedys? Apparently not this year.
Adding to the already Homeric list of fictional representations of a family so mythically fraught with tragedy that many consider it cursed is FX's “Love Story: John F. Kennedy Jr. & Carolyn Bessette,” which chronicles the couple's high-profile courtship, marriage and, of course, the shocking and untimely end.
Framed as an American version of the Princess Di story (a charming young woman falls in love with the son of a powerful, judgmental and unwelcoming family only to be relentlessly stalked by a voracious and predatory media as her romance falls apart), “Love Story” begins as a glamorous and tantalizing modern fairy tale before turning into a rather harsh examination of family expectations and the perils of fame.
It includes fictionalizing your most intimate moments for the purpose of a miniseries, and in Kennedy's case, your father's murder and your family's reaction to the trauma are revisited once again.
But hey, that's entertainment.
From the moment of his birth, just weeks after his father was elected president, the son of John F. Kennedy and Jacqueline Kennedy was a national fixation. As he grew into a handsome, charming and ambitious young man, photographers pursued him endlessly. And while his sister Caroline rigorously guarded her privacy, John chose a public life. Named People magazine's Sexiest Man Alive in 1988, he lived in New York City, where he was often seen riding his bicycle to work, first at the Manhattan district attorney's office and then at the offices of George, the political and pop culture magazine he founded. A coveted and perennial guest at parties, he was considered the most eligible bachelor in the country. Who can forget his role as the object of Elaine's sexual fantasy in the 1992 “Seinfeld” episode “The Contest”?
Sarah Pidgeon as Carolyn Bessette, advertising director for fashion brand Calvin Klein.
(currency exchanges)
When he began dating and later married Carolyn Bessette, Calvin Klein's advertising director, media attention skyrocketed. If Kennedy was an American prince, the charming and elegant Bessette was his princess, loved, hated and surrounded at all times by predatory paparazzi. Tabloids and magazines regularly reported on the status of the relationship, often cruelly. When the couple died, along with Bessette's older sister Lauren, on a private plane piloted by Kennedy that crashed in July 1999 as the couple was en route to attend Rory Kennedy's wedding in Hyannis Port, the nation reeled in shock and mourning.
That's a fact. The rest, including “Love Story,” created by Connor Hines and produced by Ryan Murphy, is fictional storytelling. Murphy has built a multiverse out of his fascination with the kind of tragedies, feuds and horrors that dominate the headlines; Kennedy-Bessette's story is ideal for him, exploring a slightly more contemporary version of the elite New York milieu (even Jackie Kennedy's sister, Lee Radziwill) of “Feud: Capote vs. the Swans,” another of his series.
High-profile love that ends in tragic death is, of course, the basis of the narrative, but this “Love Story” aims to have a higher calling. Loosely based on Elizabeth Beller's biography “Once Upon a Time: The Captivating Life of Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy,” according to those involved, it is an act of historical correctness, an attempt to counter a narrative in which Bessette was a cold, calculating (albeit very elegant) manipulator responsible for Kennedy's unhappiness and, quite possibly, the plane crash that killed them more than a quarter-century ago.
At this point, I don't know how firmly entrenched this narrative remains, given that it was pretty New York-centric to begin with; Most people under 50 probably don't remember much about the couple beyond their combined and separate beauty and the tragedy of their deaths. But those who knew and loved Bessette can find solace here.
In this narrative, Bessette (Sarah Pidgeon) is an ambitious but kind and free-spirited young woman who, by dint of great personal style and excellent customer sense, jumped from a mall retail store folding sweaters to the Calvin Klein headquarters. There he catches the attention of the teacher himself (Alessandro Nivola) by suggesting that Annette Bening wear a man's jacket to the premiere of “Bugsy” (which Bening did). Klein is so impressed that he picks her up at one of the company's fancy events and presents her to Kennedy (Paul Anthony Kelly): “You're going to thank me for this,” Klein tells her.
Far from fainting as she is expected to do, Bessette jokes tartly and refuses to give him her number. “You know where I work,” he says. “Try reception.”
It's a fantastic moment, and Pidgeon sells it, just as she sells Bessette's initial internal conflict: She knows that getting involved with the American prince is a bad idea, but he's very persistent and, well, she just can't help herself.
We'll have to take his word for it. Kelly was clearly chosen for his physical resemblance to Kennedy, but try as he might, he never captures the natural charisma or sex appeal of JFK Jr. Despite all of Pidgeon's best efforts, it's hard to believe that passionate love is what overcomes Bessette's very legitimate aversion to being trapped in the orbit of a famous man rather than entering into a romantic relationship with him.
Which, according to Jacqueline (Naomi Watts), is precisely what any woman her son marries will have to accept, as she knows only too well. This is why Jackie has disapproved of all of his romantic partners, including and especially his on-again, off-again girlfriend, Daryl Hannah (Dree Hemingway). Jackie's disdain for her makes some sense given the whiny, entitled, oblivious way Hannah is written here (you honestly can't imagine why she and Kennedy ever get back together), but it's an excuse for Jackie and Caroline (Grace Gummer) to exude irritation at Kennedy and give her all kinds of lectures about how she needs to get her act together.
In the series, Caroline Kennedy (Grace Gummer), left, and Jackie Kennedy (Naomi Watts) lecture JFK Jr. about how he should get his act together.
(Eric Liebowitz/FX)
Alternately embarrassed and defiant, this version of JFK Jr. is a lost little boy, positioned as a victim of his name and his mother's expectations; Aside from unsuitable girlfriends, she doesn't think much about her decision to leave law and start a magazine.
The former first lady's influence on her son offers, unfortunately, an excuse to delve into her own life, particularly (and in at least one scene, unforgivable) in her final days. Watts, working through an eternal haze of cigarette smoke, delivers as fine a performance as the annoying material allows. But Hines can't resist repeatedly dragging Jackie back to Camelot and that fateful day in Dallas.
Gummer's Caroline is smart, witty, and biting: when John complains that Jackie doesn't judge her as harshly as she judges him, Caroline replies that her many psychiatrists would disagree, but she's also presented almost entirely as an obstacle to the love story. With Bessette as the clear heroine of this story, it is impossible not to see Caroline, even with the humor and humanity that Gummer brings, as an antagonist, rude when not necessary and dismissive of the decisions her brother has made.
New York in the mid-to-late '90s plays a role here – the tabloid headlines when John fails the bar exam, the Mark Wahlberg (then Marky Mark) scandal, the rise of Kate Moss, the struggles of Kennedy's George magazine – but many of the “street scenes” seem cleared for filming, except when they're filled with paparazzi.
In the early episodes, the Kleins, Calvin and Kelly (Leila George), offer a thematic and, at times, much more tantalizing counterpoint; Kelly knows what it's like to be a famous man's second banana (they would separate the same year Kennedy and Bessette married). As a dominant but insecure designer (who didn't come out as bisexual until 2006), Nivola is a bright spot in the series; His Klein has much more chemistry, although not romanticism, with Bessette than John.
Still, it's a pleasure to watch these initially star-crossed lovers dodge all the sermons and doom prophecies (the always excellent Constance Zimmer appears as Bessette's mother, who is also unhappy about the marriage) as they make their way toward each other.
But as the series progresses (eight of the nine episodes were made available), the media's appetite for images and rumors about the couple makes Bessette's life increasingly confined and unhappy. The energy of the series falters considerably and it's hard not to feel a little giddy as we watch it unravel.
It's always difficult to make a series or movie that explores the pressures of fame and media-fueled public interest without seeming hypocritical. In “Love Story,” the real villain is the public's relentless demand for access to the lives of John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette, whether they want to grant it or not.
There is no escaping the fact that by watching “Love Story” we are participating in a posthumous version of the same thing.
