REVIEW: Lily-Rose Depp’s turn in The Idol is just a fake baby’s last-ditch grab for fame
Not since Elizabeth Berkley’s career-killing twist in the bonk-buster car crash “Showgirls” in the 1990s has such a soulless mess of boobies, bad acting, and dodgy lip liner missed the mark.
HBO’s latest series The Idol β starring Lily-Rose Depp β may be full of clickbait shock tactics, but it’s little more than a one hit wonder.
Erotic fantasy splashed with scathing satire was probably the pitch, but the result is flat and limp, addicted to the semblance of music industry commentary, but ends just as stark and exploitative in its own right.
As the daughter of Johnny Depp, Lily-Rose, 24, undoubtedly has her father’s high cheekbones, but none of his on-screen charisma.
She plays Jocelyn, a modern pop pop with obvious parallels to Britney Spears (nervous breakdown, check; early life as a child TV star, check) who sings anodyne songs and is surrounded by the usual coterie of money men.
Her mother has passed away, a world tour had to be canceled and her life is unraveling – not too subtly evidenced by her chain-smoking and private tear-jerking moments.
HBO’s latest series The Idol β starring Lily-Rose Depp (pictured) β may be full of clickbait shock tactics, but it’s little more than a one hit wonder
Erotic fantasy splashed with scathing satire was probably the pitch, but the result is flat and limp, addicted to the semblance of music industry commentary, but ends just as stark and exploitative in its own right
Looking for an escape, she goes on a night of binge drinking and promptly falls for creepy club owner Tedros, played by Abel “The Weeknd” Tesfaye, as he yells “Let’s get f***ed” across a crowded dance floor. . What a charmer.
The pair get busy on the club steps before getting to know each other well at her house: a sex session involving a knife that ends with him nearly strangling her – which our liberated sex doll enjoys immensely, of course.
At a press conference at the Cannes Film Festival last month, Depp and the rest of the show’s team kept their faces straight as they tried to bring some gravitas and introspection to the project.
With much understatement, Depp referred to her character’s “occasional nudity,” which she quivered could be seen as a metaphor for her naked mind.
Meanwhile, series creator Sam Levinson tried to give it a shine too.
When asked if The Idol’s treatment of female sexuality had gone too far, the filmmaker, best known for writing the hyper-explicit teen drama series Euphoria, replied: “We live in a very sexualized world, especially in the United States – the The influence of porn is strong and is in the psyche of young people.’
That may be the case, but what Levison fails to acknowledge is that porn’s ubiquity in mainstream culture is only reinforced by seedy shows like his.
Indeed, the series perfectly emphasizes the very blurred line between what is claimed to be social criticism and what could be claimed is mere abuse masquerading as art.
Looking for an escape, Jocelyn (Depp) sets out for a night of binge drinking and promptly falls for creepy club owner Tedros, played by Abel ‘The Weeknd’ Tesfaye (pictured), as he yells ‘Let’s get f***ed’ across a packed dance floor. What a charmer
The pair get busy on the steps of the club before getting to know each other well at her house: a sex session involving a knife that ends with him nearly strangling her – which our liberated sex doll enjoys immensely, of course
In particular, the cast with singer Troye Sivan and former Broadway star Da’Vine Joy Randolph is completely focused on the TikTok generation.
The market is clear: young and impressionable – and nothing under Levinson’s watch is hidden from their view, be it the frequent up-skirt shots or explicit masturbation scenes.
Barely a minute later, the tone is set and Depp squirms around for a photo shoot amid terse conversations from her circling management team.
“Those breasts shouldn’t be checked,” sputters a clichΓ©d record executive.
The conversation quickly turns to how to break the news to Jocelyn that an explicit selfie of her has been leaked online.
In case the image’s detailed descriptions aren’t enough for viewers, Levison offers the full free effect in close-up: the star seen, after intercourse, with cum on her face.
Meanwhile, Jocelyn wanders around, looking puzzled while (of course) wearing a backless robe, asking everyone what they’re talking about.
In a post-MeToo culture, the tone is everywhere β as blunt and awkward as Jocelyn’s dance.
In particular, the cast with singer Troye Sivan (pictured) and former Broadway star Da’Vine Joy Randolph is completely focused on the TikTok generation
The market is clear: young and impressionable – and nothing is sugared from their look, be it the frequent up-skirt shots or graphic masturbation scenes
In a post-MeToo culture, the tone is everywhere – as blunt and awkward as Jocelyn’s dance
Vague references to her well-being and “vulnerable position” are crammed into the dialogue, and they all end up being rather redundant as our girl likes to show off the meat anywhere, anytime.
Needless to say, “changing” to practice her dance routine entails little more than string-connected nipple pasties that defy logic to stay in place.
“I don’t want to make a fool of myself,” the pop star tells her assistant.
Well, we don’t yet know how the character’s story will end, but I can’t help feeling that Depp will cringe at this sad mess in years to come.
Although β from Kate Moss’ half-sister Lottie revealing everything on OnlyFans, to actor Don Johnson’s daughter Dakota humiliating herself in 50 Shades Of Gray β perhaps being in the shadow of stardom for too long makes people more susceptible to ill-conceived, eye-catching vehicles for fame.
But beware: if you’re so determined to get your own place in the spotlight, you could quickly become an idol that no one wants to worship.
The Idol airs new episodes Sundays at 9 p.m. ET on HBO and will be available to stream on Max.