‘All’s Fair’: Ryan Murphy, Kim Kardashian give us a Trump-era show

Sarah Paulson seems to have exploded Ryan MurphyHulu's new “legal” drama is All's Fair, and that's probably the only good thing about the series.

The New York Times recently published an article praising the reimagining power suit (down to at least one visible strap), and I suppose that's one way to avoid the obvious. However, I'll stick with Paulson's obvious glee in playing the villain. Her Carrington Lane is left behind to fester under the comic book sexism of a male-dominated divorce law firm when two of her colleagues leave to form an all-female team, and Carrington is not one to back down from a grudge.

It's impossible not to like Paulson, and she clearly relishes the opportunity to stare, hiss and indulge in the crude but creative profanity that Melissa McCarthy loves to unleash when her characters reach the brink.

As for the rest… well, let's just say that American culture is getting exactly what it deserves: A series that is awash in the shiny, ready-to-counterfeit trappings of new money (immaculate and soulless houses, private jets, diamonds the size of a Rubik's Cube) and defines “sisterhood” as the belief that any personal crisis can be alleviated through vaginal rejuvenation, coupled with a girls' trip to a jewelry auction and pressure gauges. power through the ability to plot and take revenge. Preferably in the form of huge sums of money.

All's Fair may or may not be, as some have said, the worst show of the year (or perhaps of all times), but with his celebration of the 1%, personal feuds and financial vendettas, he is certainly the first to truly embody the culture of the Trump presidency.

All the way down to the reality star at its center. “All's Fair” doesn't earn top marks for any of the fine and experienced actors who play the title role – Paulson, Niecy NashNaomi Watts, Glenn Close – but also Kim Kardashian, who plays Allura Grant, head of the law firm Grant, Ronson and Green.

That the Kardashians (and Kris Jenner, who is the producer) were able to muster the galaxy's might to showcase it, let's just say… limited her acting skills can rightfully be seen as further evidence of her seemingly limitless business acumen.

On the other hand, “All's Fair” makes the final season of the series dark. “And so” looks like Chekhov.

Murphy and the folks at Disney, which owns Hulu, home of Keeping Up with the Kardashians, understand Kardashian's cult following and operate on the assumption that viewers will be so captivated by her and her fashion (which includes an alarming number of hats, capes and gloves) that they won't notice that the main character relies on eyelash extensions to act as her.

It's fair to say that few non-professional actors could shine alongside scene partners like Close, Watts and Nash, and writing a script that flirts with camp but never fully commits does no one any favors.

Not since Charlie's Angels has there been “feminist fiction” with such a male perspective. (Apologies to Charlie's Angels, which was a groundbreaking show in many ways.)

After suffering on the sidelines of a male-dominated law firm, Allura and Liberty Ronson (Watts) decide to open their own business. They do so with the blessing of Dinah Standish (Close), the firm's only female partner, and take with them ace investigator Emerald Greene (Nash). When we meet them again, 10 years later, Allura also has an assistant/mentee in Milan (Teyana Taylor), who later provides a predictable plot twist.

The titles alone suggest a certain level of parody, and the quality of the dramatization comes and goes in the first episode, but the series chooses cynicism over satire every time.

Instead of making sexist jokes, co-stars Grant, Ronson and Greene spend most of their time discussing how terrible men are, with the possible exception of Liberty's handsome Reggie (OT Fagbenle's The Handmaid's Tale) and Standish's sick husband Doug (Ed O'Neill).

That is, in the end, reason to be about the firm: Grant, Ronson and Green are intent on protecting rich women from the dangers of prenuptial agreements and generally making bastards pay, sometimes through their “superior” knowledge of the law (in one storyline this involves explaining that gifts are the exclusive property of the recipient, which even I knew) but more often through blackmail (if you're determined to live your life without ever seeing a traffic cone-sized butt plug, keep your eyes closed when “Emerald” begins). her slideshow).

The brief and seemingly contractually required mention of a company raising money to help the disadvantaged is laughable: “Everything is fair” is 100%. AprilANDI-I television in which extreme wealth seems too normal to even be ambitious, and any work not done by Emerald consists of leaping in super-elegant shades from one successful throw to the next. With brief interludes in luxury cars and, as previously mentioned, price gouging on hideous brooches at a luxury jewelry auction (held by a corporate client, which frankly seems potentially unethical, but whatever).

If the dialogue had been punchy, funny, or even self-aware, Murphy and his team might have gotten away with it, but they don't. “It's a shame your mother didn't swallow,” Dinah tells Carrington, which is taken as proof that women can be just as tough as men. Or that older women might talk nonsense. Or that Close will do whatever it takes to read any line with dignity. Or something like that.

There are brief hints at the women's personal lives – like divorce lawyer Liberty doesn't want to marry Reggie, Dina struggles with Doug's decline, Emerald is a super-single mom – but it all feels very banal. Including Allura's crumbling marriage, which becomes a major plot point when the girls get together to make that bastard pay, and her realization that if she wants to be a mother, she's running out of time.

In many ways, All's Fair is the American version of the excellent British TV series “Split”. which tells the story of a matriarchal family of female divorce lawyers. Early on, one of the daughters (played by Nicola Walker) leaves the family firm and, in her own way, tries to right the wrongs that often happen to women faced with divorce from rich and powerful men, while dealing with her own marriage breakdown and a family with actual children.

But the “American version” doesn't really fit. This is the American version of Trump, in which ethics, morality and virtually all human feelings are secondary to winning, and victory is determined by who ultimately makes their opponent pay.

Due to Kardashian's noticeable lack of action and dialogue that often seems lifted from the all-caps X areas, “All's Fair” unsurprisingly received criticism. Which seems almost intentional.

After all, critics have long been regularly and often viciously disparaged (after the reviews were published, Close felt the urge to publish a sketch of the cast gathered around Fatal Attraction, which looked like a “critics' bunny stew”). More importantly, reviews, good or bad, do not (and should not) predict audience reaction (see early theatrical reviews of Wicked). As Trump has proven time and time again, bad press is still bad press, and the worse it is, the easier it can be presented as evidence that the cultural elite (i.e. the critics) are out to get… someone.

So it should come as no surprise that despite a 5% score on Rotten Tomatoes, All's Fair was Hulu's highest-grossing scripted premiere in three years.

Reading the zeitgeist of the times, the creators of “Everything Is Good” were clearly not looking for rave reviews or awards, but only for viewers. In this American moment, bad is good, and astute cameramen know that if you add enough big-name ingredients – a Kardashian, a Murphy, a bevy of fine actors – you don't have to worry about matching the mix to the occasion.

With the President building a ballroom and food banks flooded, why wouldn't TV audiences want to eat a fallen cake?