“The Idol” has concluded its five-episode run, and there’s one question I can’t help but ask: What was the point of all of that?
The season finale of the series from Sam Levinson, Reza Fahim and the star Abel Tesfaye (the Weeknd) had shockingly little to say about either pop music or power dynamics. Well, maybe not shockingly. Nothing in the first four episodes suggested that there was going to be some brilliant revelation in the eleventh hour, but a girl could hope that we might get a bit more than an underwhelming ending in which the baffling character known as Tedros Tedros is both exposed for the creep that he is and ultimately forgiven by Lily-Rose Depp’s heroine, Jocelyn.
Sure, if you want to, you can argue that there is a transference of who has the upper hand in their relationship. In the finale, Tedros’s back story as a pimp has been publicly revealed in a Vanity Fair article planted by Jocelyn’s manager Chaim. Tedros loses his club and is apparently being investigated by the I.R.S. And yet Jocelyn gives him a pass to her tour date at SoFi Stadium. Backstage he receives a strongly worded warning from her other manager, Destiny, before being embraced by Jocelyn.
“None of this means as much without you,” she says. And then she introduces him onstage to about 70,000 screaming fans as “the love of my life.”
We are ostensibly supposed to read this as Jocelyn now being in control. In her dressing room he looks at the wooden hairbrush she claimed her mother used to beat her. “It’s brand-new,” he says, realizing that she had deceived him. She addresses her fans as “angels,” the very thing he called her. And, after they make out in front of that audience, she tells him, “You’re mine forever. Now go stand over there.”
Are we supposed to believe it was all a ruse on Jocelyn’s part? That she used her own story of abuse to manipulate him? That’s what I think Levinson and Tesfaye are getting at, but it’s more confusing than anything. If Jocelyn were a real pop star, aligning herself with a man who went to prison for holding a woman hostage would tank her career. That’s not power — that’s a man’s idea of what power looks like for a woman.
But let’s back up for a second. For most of this episode it looks like Jocelyn is going to fully kick Tedros to the curb, a conclusion which would have been predictable but at least more satisfying than this one.
Angry that their meeting was not organic but instead a product of his scheming, she calls him a “con man and a fraud.” She has a plan to take over his empire of young talent by making them all her tour openers. When her team arrives for a meeting about whether this endeavor is going to happen, Jocelyn has all the scantily clad singers put on a performance for the label. Despite initial skepticism, everyone is impressed by the vocals and the grinding. They are less so by Tedros, who is wasted and belligerent.
At this point, it is unclear what it would take for Jocelyn to kick the patently useless Tedros out of her house. But we get the answer when it comes out that her ex-boyfriend Rob has been accused of sexual assault. The charge comes thanks to the photo that Xander orchestrated in the previous episode, which placed Rob in a compromising position with one of Tedros’s followers.
Upon hearing the news, Jocelyn immediately recognizes it as Tedros’s doing and finally orders Chaim to take care of him. Chaim obliges, with Hank Azaria chewing his way through a monologue about Little Red Riding Hood. Meanwhile, Jocelyn performs a sexualized interpretive dance to one of her new songs as proof of concept for the tour.
But once Tedros is gone, Jocelyn is back to being bored. She swims. She trains. She smokes, morosely. Fast forward to six weeks later: The tour is already underway, and the disgraced Tedros is invited back into the fold, much to the dismay of the suits who thought they had rid themselves of him for good.
And that brings me back to the question of what “The Idol” wanted to accomplish. Speaking with The New York Times before the series debuted on HBO, Tesfaye said his pitch was “about celebrity culture and how much power they have.” But we never really see Jocelyn wield her celebrity power. Tedros may be hers “forever,” but she is still clearly beholden to him as evidenced by the fact that she welcomes him back.
So I’m left believing that what Levinson and Tesfaye thought they were creating was a messed up love story, in the style of Paul Thomas Anderson’s “Phantom Thread.” In that 2017 film, Anderson pulls off a switcheroo in which a demanding mentor is dominated by his adoring pupil. But over the course of that 130-minute movie we come to understand much more about the central couple than we do over five hours of “The Idol.”
That is the greatest failing of “The Idol”: After all of this, I still don’t know what drives Jocelyn and Tedros. Music, I guess? But I have trouble believing even they care all that much.
Liner notes
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How does an entire tour get put together in six weeks on the basis of three singles? Yes, presumably some of it was in the works before Tedros came along, but these things are monstrous undertakings and Jocelyn has been a little preoccupied.
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What other songs is she going to sing during her set? One of the show’s biggest oversights is that we have no sense of who Jocelyn was as an artist before her crisis.
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One moment Nikki is trying to recruit Tedros and then the next she’s laughing about his demise. It is totally baffling character behavior. (Similarly, I still don’t understand why Xander has any allegiance to Tedros, unless he is supposed to be literally brainwashed.)
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Justice for Leia, the one character with any sense. I wonder what was in her note to Jocelyn.
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Nikki briefly mentions that Andrew Finkelstein’s employees walked out to protest Jocelyn’s misogynistic music. That seems like a bit of an attempt to acknowledge the potential backlash to the series, which has already come and gone.
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Will there be a Season 2? I have a hard time imagining what that would even look like unless Jocelyn and Tedros turn into Bonnie and Clyde. But don’t get any ideas, please, HBO.
