By Emma Thimgren

With his controversial new series The Idol, provocateur director Sam Levinson enlists The Weeknd to portray the music industry. Through the lens of a female popstar, their male gaze turns empowerment into a sleazy tale of exploitation. Even though the storyline is supposed to be centered around Lily-Rose Depp as the leading character Jocelyn, her perspective fades away into the distance.

HBO first announced The Idol in November 2021. It was marketed as Sam Levinson's next big undertaking after the success of Euphoria, but garnered further attention as it would be the acting debut for Abel 'The Weeknd' Tesfaye as Tedros. As the release of the series got closer, the rumors and controversies kept piling on. The original director Amy Seimetz left the production and Levinson took over choosing to reshoot big parts of the project even though it was already nearly finished.

Rolling Stone Magazine was able to talk to some of the crew and published an exposé in March, where it was revealed that what was supposed to be a feminist point of view was rewritten into “torture porn” and “rape fantasy”. They also described how it “went from satire to the thing it was satirizing”. Although there has not been a clear answer for the reasoning behind the overhaul, the crew alleges Tesfaye felt the show had too much of a female perspective with too much focus on Depp and not enough on himself.

The premise of the series is not anything we haven’t seen before. A female pop sensation rises to stardom and quickly becomes an object instead of a person – a product to shape into dollar signs. Jocelyn is eager to break out of the pop music she rose to fame with. In search of herself, she is led astray by Tedros, a nightclub owner who is also a self-help guru and cult leader. While the star's assistant and friend Leia is hesitant, proclaiming, “He’s so rapey.” Jocelyn strangely answers, “I kinda like that about him.” While only the first episode is available thus far, it appears their toxic relationship helps her to be a better artist, but at what cost?

Seeing how Jocelyn could possibly break out of this would be an entirely fresh perspective, and one Depp could have handled well, it’s a shame that version never made it to air. Instead, Jocelyn stays a passive object, submissive to the man that the original script probably thought she should be breaking free from. Levinson has served up an even more uncomfortable and misogynist watch than 50 Shades of Gray. What makes it even worse is how seriously it takes itself and its ambition to reach beyond Euphoria into art cinema. The surprisingly impressive arsenal of actors — including Troye Sivan, Dan Levy, Moses Sumney, Blackpink’s Jennie, Hank Azaria and Rachel Sennott — is not enough to balance out how contrived of an actor Tesfaye is.

Levinson’s interpretation is that Jocelyn enjoys being abused and controlled by the much older Tedros, the empowerment in this version being that she should be able to choose for herself — as long as she aligns with the patriarchal values and performs for the male gaze, that is. But to choose you have to have a voice, and the character of Jocelyn is stripped of hers. Instead of Tedros, it is the political correctness of today that is portrayed as a limiting cage.

The creators reason that simply acknowledging his creepiness is enough for them to get away with it. It feels like the equivalent of sexist comedians thinking they’re entitled to say anything under the guise of a joke. In an attempt to shield themselves from critique, they several times in the episode label it as “slut shaming” or “kinkshaming”, when in fact it's not the what but rather the how. Jocelyn is given no agency and gets framed as the cool girl, laughing at her friend’s worry and instantly obeying every whim from Tedros without question, even when she’s very evidently uncomfortable.

The parallels to Euphoria start with the excessive sex scenes and substance abuse but ends before any real vulnerability from, or empathy with, the shallowly written characters. This is probably in part thanks to the rewrites, resulting in ambivalent directions and choppy storylines, but more pressing is the series' lack of identity, as the only clear purpose is to be edgy and provocative. Levinson and Tesfaye ended up writing something far more feminist than they had anticipated and overcompensated with sexual coercion, to control the very thing they themselves created. It would be funny if it wasn’t so grossly offensive. ♦

Sam Levinson’s Bizarre Provocations Fall Flat in ‘The Idol’s First Episode

By Emma Thimgren