Hollywood (2020)

I have complicated feelings about Ryan Murphy’s work. In a way, it’s a little reminiscent of how I feel about past Doctor Who showrunners Russell T. Davies and Steven Moffat, both of whom can write fantastic television, but whose individual writing quirks can overwhelm their work when left unchecked, surfeiting on the very qualities that work so well in controlled doses. Murphy can be a lot like that, even if I don’t think he’s written anything I like as well as “The Parting of the Ways” or “The Eleventh Hour.” With this miniseries, though, his shtick mostly all works for me, and I came away enjoying myself (premise spoilers.)

Post-war Hollywood is in for a reckoning. Jack, a young vet, has dreams of making it big, but he’s not the only one. There’s Archie, a gay Black screenwriter who wants to challenge audience expectations about what he can write. Raymond, a half-Filipino director who, though he passes as white, wants the freedom to tell Asian stories onscreen. Camille, a Black contract player with the talent to play more than just the maid, but not the opportunity. Roy, a closeted actor who’s just been signed by a predatory agent. When studio giant Ace Pictures experiences a surprise shakeup, all these people come together in the hopes of making a picture Hollywood has never dreamed of.

This miniseries has gotten some similar criticisms as Hamilton when it comes to representation. While Hamilton casts people of color as white historical figures, losing sight of the stories of historical figures of color in the process, Hollywood focuses on fictional marginalized pioneers of the silver screen, touching only briefly on the real pioneers who worked so hard to break through – Hattie McDaniel and Anna May Wong both appear as characters in the story, but minor ones. I understand criticisms that Murphy and co. could’ve told about the struggles of these real people instead of making up characters who never existed, but on the whole, I’m all right with it. This is a historical fairytale, every bit as much as Inglourious Basterds doesn’t let actual history get in the way of the story it wants to tell, and it’s a fairytale that has a perfect right to exist. It’s neat to imagine how Hollywood (and by extension, the world) might’ve been different if history had been a little more like this miniseries.

And yeah, things get silly at points, and there are parts I don’t like. Some turns of events are a little too pat, specific “twists” are too heavily-foreshadowed, and certain intriguing aspects of the story don’t get enough play. I also roll my eyes a little that, even in a story expressly about marginalized creatives fighting for the chance to tell their stories, the first point-of-view character we meet is still the straight white guy (of course.) On the whole, though, this is put together well. I enjoy the frothy, old-Hollywood feel of it all, and there are some beautifully affecting scenes. Especially in the final episode, there’s a lovely sequence that shows just why the events depicted in this story matter.

Plenty of nice performances here. For Murphy regulars, I enjoy Darren Criss as ambitious director Raymond (by the way, I appreciate that Murphy allows Criss to play mixed Asian American characters,) Jim Parsons is very effective as vicious agent Harold, and Joe Mantello (who was great in the Murphy-directed adaptation of The Normal Heart) tears it up as reliable-to-a-fault producer Dick. Other highlights include a fabulous Patti LuPone as Avis, the shrewd wife of the studio head, and Jeremy Pope as Archie, the determined screenwriter – plus, Michelle Krusiec and Queen Latifah are great in their brief appearances as Anna May Wong and Hattie McDaniel.

Warnings

Sexual content, scenes of violence (including sexual abuse and discussion of suicide,) language (including homophobic slurs and racial insults,) drinking/smoking, and strong thematic elements.