‘Étoile’ Review: Amy Sherman-Palladino’s Amazon Ballet Dramedy Pirouettes Gracefully Before Stumbling in the Final Act

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When it comes to favorites, Amazon’s “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel” and The WB’s “Gilmore Girls” both have their dedicated fanbases, but if I’m in a rebellious mood (and let’s face it, I often am), I’d argue that my preferred Amy Sherman-Palladino series is “Bunheads”.

Since the show “Bunheads” comprises just 18 episodes, there’s much unexplored potential. Initially, it had a rocky start but soon discovered its unique style. Unfortunately, ABC Family decided to discontinue it, leaving room for speculation that it might have avoided the typical quirks that Amy Sherman-Palladino often introduces (tweeness) and the tendency to force her characters into predictable plot dead-ends. It remains a pristine, charming, flawlessly executed representation of Sherman-Palladino’s talent.

As a gamer, I’d say Bunheads was all about untapped talent. The main characters were young ballet dancers, which meant the show could steer clear of the hurdles in portraying mastery – something Amy and Daniel Palladino grappled with when it came to Midge Maisel and her comedy. Instead, it focused on the infectious energy of youth.

Sherman-Palladino and Palladino are back in the ballet world with their new Amazon dramedy titled “Étoile“. Admittedly, I had some initial worries about its potential self-importance given its title and emphasis on high achievement in a global setting. However, contrary to what one might expect, it seems that Étoile doesn’t come across as overly pretentious at first glance. In fact, it appears to have a sense of humor about itself.

Consequently, for approximately six to seven episodes, the series, which lasts an hour, is pleasantly agile, filled with the creators’ affection and respect for this world, and features outstanding lead performances by Luke Kirby and Charlotte Gainsbourg, as well as a remarkable English-language debut from co-star Lou de Laâge.

In the final stretch, there’s an unwarranted descent, a pattern often seen by die-hard fans of Sherman-Palladino – when characters act in irrational ways to create intrigue for upcoming seasons. Certain actions in the latter part of Étoile were so senselessly stupid that they spoiled my enjoyment of a series I had previously found engaging.

As a devoted admirer, I find myself immersed in the lives of two dynamic figures: Kirby, who assumes the role of Jack, the executive director at the Metropolitan Ballet Theater in the heart of New York City, and Gainsbourg, who steps into the shoes of Genevieve, interim director at Le Ballet National in Paris. Both our beloved institutions are grappling with hardships, and if their upcoming seasons fail to captivate audiences, ballet as we know it might cease to exist.

Genevieve proposes an innovative approach: There’s a suggestion for a trade, either entire businesses or specific business sectors, which can be described as a way to infuse the vibrancy of New York City into Paris and vice versa, adding a touch of Parisian elegance to the Big Apple.

In aid of the situation, the enigmatic billionaire and potential war offender, Crispin Shamblee (portrayed by Simon Callow with a flair for grandeur), consents to cover the costs. Nevertheless, Jack remains cautious.

Jack and Genevieve, with their history of romance and current flirtatious interactions, decide to poach team members for a year-long project. Genevieve picks Tobias (Gideon Glick), the eccentric yet talented choreographer from the Metropolitan, and Mishi (Taïs Vinolo), a French dancer who was previously let go from the Parisian company. Meanwhile, Jack chooses Cheyenne (de Laâge), an accomplished ballerina from Paris who is known for her no-nonsense attitude. Initially portrayed as an environmental activist, Cheyenne’s character evolves throughout the first season, requiring frequent trips between Paris and New York City due to certain character traits introduced at the start that eventually lose significance.

In this context, “Étoile” refers to a term meaning ‘star’, particularly in the realm of ballet. It’s inspired by the beauty and grace of ballet dancing and its accompanying music. Jack and Genevieve engage in a friendly discussion about Tchaikovsky versus Aaron Copland, but rest assured that this isn’t an in-depth exploration filled with challenging ballet vocabulary or technicalities. Instead, it offers an enjoyable and accessible experience for all.

Étoile doesn’t aim to delve into the gritty, behind-the-scenes aspects of ballet that involve its darker side, such as physical strain, drug use, sexual misconduct, and power abuses. However, it could be a compelling production about these very issues within the world of ballet. I’m aware of this because I watched Starz’s Flesh and Bone, which portrayed these themes in a distressing yet not necessarily well-executed manner.

Star incorporates humor concerning dancers dealing with overwork and foot problems, among other issues, but it steers clear of examining potential physical and mental abuse within this profession through another perspective. Instead, it offers a Sherman-Palladino-inspired blend of quick-wittedness, fantasy, and polished direction – Amy and Daniel were largely responsible for writing and directing the season, although there’s a break during midseason for other writers and director Scott Ellis. Ultimately, this series can be described as an offbeat workplace comedy that revolves around individuals passionate about a high-end art form, immersed in an unfamiliar environment.

In Étoile, the overall delight of the creators towards the environment translates into a more relaxed approach to choreography. While many cast members boast extensive ballet backgrounds, such as Vinolo and David Alvarez from West Side Story, who portrays the only American dancer capable of partnering with Cheyenne, not all do. However, due to the frequent doubling in dance scenes, even those with a casual interest in dance may not discern which performers are executing their own moves and when, although more observant spectators likely will.

The Star exhibits a selective approach when displaying dance performances. After the initial episode, we’re left with brief rehearsal clips for an extended period, followed by four episodes showcasing six featured dances, another gap before a dance-centric finale. Often, it encourages viewers to trust their words when they claim certain performances are extraordinary or creative forces are genius. The dance scenes are typically shot in a straightforward manner, with many full-body and full-stage shots, minimal close-ups of sweaty dancers – fitting for a series that aims for a bit of distance rather than intense intimacy. All the footage is captured with a stylish fluidity; it’s rare to find a show where the Steadicam operator gets prominent credit.

In simpler terms, The Star doesn’t reveal many dance scenes but when it does, they are mostly full-body or full-stage shots and not too close up. It prefers a more distant perspective rather than an intimate one. The camera work is smooth and elegant, and the Steadicam operator often gets recognition in the credits.

In this production, Kirby, who won an Emmy for his portrayal of the affectionately overzealous Lenny Bruce in “Mrs. Maisel,” takes on the main role. It’s not surprising that he resonates deeply with Jack’s stream-of-consciousness agitation, which might be seen as akin to certain characters treating their dance moves as part of a performance. Gainsbourg mirrors Kirby’s anxious energy, and their chemistry is convincing enough to support the continuous flirtation between them.

The creative team behind the show, including Gainsbourg, feel a slight disappointment that the storyline is split between New York and Paris, where Paris is portrayed as relatively devoid of landmarks and even pokes fun at shows like “Emily in Paris” for overusing the Eiffel Tower. This division results in Paris having characters like Mishi, who are socially uncomfortable, and Tobias, who are highly withdrawn, thus lacking the vibrancy seen in the New York chapters, which benefit from the lively portrayal of de Laâge.

De Laâge, known for her strong presence on French screens with two Cesar nominations, embarks on her first English TV role. Taking up this challenge by joining an Amy Sherman-Paladino show is akin to stepping into your first snowfall and then choosing to ski down the Matterhorn via helicopter. Moreover, Cheyenne’s character isn’t a minor one in an Amy Sherman-Palladino production; she’s a storyteller who is given lengthy monologues by the writers, urging her to convey their words convincingly.

She indeed delivers, with more than half of my laughter stemming from instances such as de Laâge’s hilarious dolphin impression and a lecture she gives to Jack’s lower body. The most impactful emotional development of the series likely revolves around Cheyenne and SuSu (LaMay Zhang), a young girl that Cheyenne encourages to take ballet classes. Despite Étoile ultimately disappointing Cheyenne by the end of the season, this does not diminish de Laâge’s outstanding debut performance.

* She makes me laugh a lot, especially during her dolphin impression and when she talks to Jack’s private parts. The best emotional storyline in the show is probably about Cheyenne and SuSu (LaMay Zhang), a girl who starts ballet classes because of Cheyenne. Even though Étoile let Cheyenne down by the end, this doesn’t change how great de Laâge did in her first appearance.

In a lighter tone, I appreciate the humorous supporting roles, particularly that of Callow as Crispin, who thrives in his outrageously zany character within this series. Similarly, David Haig’s portrayal of the Metropolitan’s artistic director offers early comedic highlights, even if he seems underutilized during the season finale. The script seems uncertain about how to handle Alvarez’s Gael, leaving a rather bland core to several key plot twists in the final episode. On the other hand, the writers seem more assured in extracting brief yet impactful performances from some Sherman-Palladino regulars, like Yanic Truesdale and Kelly Bishop, whose appearances add humor and steal scenes without being burdened by the show’s concluding missteps.

After watching numerous shows created by Amy Sherman-Palladino, I’ve come to expect unconventional seasonal cliffhangers in her storytelling style. Therefore, I shouldn’t be surprised or let down when a season I mostly enjoyed ends on such a note. Perhaps this is why I appreciate Bunheads as much as I do, despite its unsatisfying ending. Of course, I can blame ABC Family for that unfortunate conclusion.

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2025-04-23 20:25