The Idol recap: Is this parody or an utter failure to parody?

Chekhov’s hairbrush.

That was my one note when I finished watching the third episode of HBO’s The Idol. And, in a way, the absurdity of such a concept speaks to, well, the sheer absurdity of Sam Levinson’s latest series. For two episodes, we’ve been introduced to Jocelyn (Lily-Rose Depp), a wayward “bad girl” pop starlet who, reeling from the death of her mother and following a slew of NSFW controversies, has inexplicably been seduced by Tedros (Abel “The Weeknd” Tesfaye), a mysterious club owner-turned-music producer who’s keen to give her a new sound. A raunchier sound, in fact.

And yes, in this episode, “Daybreak,” that ends up involving a hairbrush. If you’ve seen (or read about) anything remotely concerning The Idol you perhaps know what kind of scene such a prop ends up in. Yes, a sexual one. Yes, a slightly discomfiting one. One where Jocelyn and Tedros (yet again) play out the kind of dom/sub dynamic that is clearly central to who they are as a couple which, to the series, is indicative of a wider commentary on women’s agency, men’s sordid desires, the music industry’s own vacuity, and, 0h, yeah, a larger statement on the value of trauma (sexual or otherwise) in creating worthwhile art.

But I’m skipping ahead to the end (oh if only I could’ve fast forwarded the entire episode just as easily). We begin instead with Tedros, who’s installed himself in Jocelyn’s home, taking his new ward shopping. Which, okay, sounds fun. Only, as Leia (Rachel Sennott, the series standout) notes, this shopping trip is odd—and not just because she had to drive safely while Tedros went down on Jocelyn in the backseat of her convertible. Well, that surely added to the oddity of it all. But mostly she’s concerned that Tedros is slowly taking over Jocelyn’s life and home. After all, he’d summarily fired Jocelyn’s personal chef for arguably being too handsy with his girl (all while wearing a ridiculous satin robe!). As with every other interaction he has with Jocelyn this episode, Tedros weaponizes ideas of boundaries with the men around her in order to seemingly empower her (but only to do his doing).

Leia’s feelings are clearly valid; she’s nothing if not a perfect audience surrogate. But they fall (mostly) on deaf ears even when that shopping trip to Rodeo Drive ends with a quickie in a changing room (“Make me take it, daddy!”—a line that, on its own would be cringe had it not followed a gay panic-driven foreplay) and a lurid jerk off moment (“You can’t cum inside me,” Jocelyn helpfully reminds Tedros) that’s weirdly played for laughs.

So sex romp and shopping done, Jocelyn and Tedros (and Leia) return back to her palatial home where they have to confront Hank Azaria’s Chaim and Da’Vine Joy Randolph’s Destiny, who are rightfully worried about Tedros’ influence on the not-so-ingenue artist. Talking around and above her, it’s clear the adults in the room have reservations about Tedros but won’t show their cards just yet (smart!) even if that means leaving Jocelyn with Tedros as they work on new music (less smart). Because, surprise! The music industry runs on hits and Tedros may well get one (or two or three!) out of Joss just yet.

Of course, for Tedros, getting good music out of Jocelyn will require…how shall we put it? Uh, psychologically breaking her and remaking her in his own image. That’s mostly the job of Suzanna Son’s wily doe-eyed Chloe and Moses Sumney’s sinewy seducer Izaak, two of the rat-tailed would-be music producer’s wards who chip away at Joss’ own sense of self. Chloe gets tasked with asking her about her mother (while a close-up of a hairbrush fills the screen!) and hears about how hard it is for Joss to be as vulnerable as she needs to be for her art: “The more you let people in, the more reason they have not to want you anymore.”

It’s all pretty shallow in that way where you don’t ever know whether it’s parody or an utter failure to parody. That it’s later followed by a jam session in the recording studio where Izaak and Chloe explain how Tedros has helped them understand that they need not say “No” to anything lest they deprive themselves of new and necessary experiences and what you have is the set up for what becomes the episode’s piece de resistance: a muddled and muddied scene of consensual S&M that involves Tedros becoming Jocelyn’s caretaker (after her mother) and beating her with a hairbrush (just as he mother had) so as to motivate her to make better, more honest music.

If it all sounds kind of ridiculous and in keeping with the vapid tone and tenor of The Idol, well, you’d be correct. Indeed, even the conversations these characters keep having about how artists are born to weaponize their own trauma to create impactful art (the main example being Led Zeppelin’s “All My Love”) feel so empty that it’s hard to take them seriously. Especially when they’re presented with such pompous self-importance; that final scene, with its chiaroscuro lighting and moody The Weeknd song (“All of me,” he coos, “take all of me”), feels like yet another artsy porn scenario elevated by nothing else than an HBO prestige budget.

And so, three episodes in and Tedros has finally inserted himself into Jocelyn’s frame of mind, goading her into seeing their imbalanced power dynamics as something she’s to thank him for—this, she believes, is what will make her a serious artist. One who, like Robert Plant (in Tedros’s teachings) would gladly take on her own trauma in the sake of her artistic ambitions. It’s all quite tired, yes, and rather tepidly presented. Seriously, whatever draw Jocelyn is supposed to find in Tedros is more than inexplicable: It’s nonexistent.

As for where The Idol goes from here…your guess is as good as mine. Will she have a hit single, packaged with her infamous NSFW viral photo? Will she slowly find herself alienated from all those around her as Tedros becomes her sun, moon, and maybe her entire galaxy? Will we get more insipid meditations on pop music, superficiality, and the importance of being “honest” in one’s art?

Stray observations

• Need a gif of Rachel Sennott’s Leia rolling her eyes in slow-motion while driving ASAP.
• I can’t be the only one who really can’t process any kind of on-screen shopping on Rodeo Drive without immediately thinking of Pretty Woman. (Might this be a subtle nod to that film’s treatment of sex work? Are we meant to think of Tedros as a modern day Edward and Jocelyn as a kind Vivian?)
• Da’Vine Joy Randolph deserves the world. That’s it. That’s the observation.
• I will say, Tedros’s pronunciation of “carte blanche” made me audibly snicker.
• When will Dyanne (Jennie Kim) and Jocelyn’s paths cross again? Also, why were we shown but denied more of Jane Adams’ deliciously deranged Nikki?
• Sam Levinson sure loves himself some crossfades. He may have perfected the frenetic neon-tinged editing that characterizes Euphoria but he’s more enamored with this other technique here which stresses a kind of continued simultaneity, a way to bridge scenes and moments in a way that echoes (pun intended) a music video aesthetic (while also, it must be noted, visually calling forth a movie like Vertigo where another young blond woman gets refashioned in a certain man’s eyes—and yes, that’s as far as Levinson will get me to compare him to Hitchcock, don’t worry).
• If you enjoy Troye Sivan’s acting here (which is actually quite striking even when he’s in scenes that make me recoil in secondhand embarrassment), may I recommend Three Months?