8/17/2023 0 Comments Florence pugh sexy![]() Ah, the perils of fame! Levinson and Tesfaye lay it all out in this almost Biblical cautionary tale that is absolutely, without a doubt-I mean, seriously now- not about titillating its audience.Īs Joss, Depp-the daughter of Johnny Depp and Vanessa Paradis-brings some tentative gravity to all the sordidness. (Joss’ assistant and best friend, played by Sennott, gets it right when she says, “He’s so rapey!”) Before long, Tedros Tedros is wrapping Joss’ face in silk and squeezing her neck just hard enough as they have rough sex. He seduces her, somehow, with his obvious yuckiness. He meets the emotionally fragile yet super-hot and ultra-famous Joss when she shows up at the club he runs. And supposedly, he’s extremely charismatic, but not really. Supposedly, he’s from Hawaii, but not really. ![]() For now, know that Tesfaye plays a seriously bad-news manipulator known as Tedros Tedros, a name so not-nice you’ve got to say it twice. The proof will be right there in The Idol when the general public gets to see it. There were reports of chaos and delays on the set, though who ever knows exactly what that means? Amy Seimetz ( She Dies Tomorrow) was originally signed on to direct she had nearly finished the project when her work was scrapped and the production was taken over by Levinson, who reportedly shifted the show’s pitch and tone. ![]() The Idol, created by Levinson and Abel “ The Weeknd” Tesfaye, who also co-stars in the series, has been plagued by bad press and bad juju for several years now. I have seen Levinson’s mildly stylish but ultimately empty black-and-white two-hander Malcolm & Marie, starring a pouty Zendaya-it seemed OK at the time, though I instantly forgot it. Levinson is the mastermind behind Euphoria, a show I confess I’ve never seen (though I tried, without success, to access a few episodes here in France). “Mental illness is sexy!” she declares with deadpan authority. Meanwhile, the head of Joss’s record label-Jane Adams in an artfully torn T-shirt worn under an expensively baggy suit-keeps a tight rein on her star’s narrative. Not since early 1980s cable TV has there been such a parade of decorous yet sleazy debauchery, though it’s all presented with a kind of shockeroo enlightened knowingness that pretends to expose exploitation even while reveling in it. Her face is glazed with a slick translucent whitish substance that’s probably not snail mucin. There’s also a bit of a kerfuffle among Joss’s team (a group of hovering mother hens played by Hank Azaria, Rachel Sennott, Troye Sivan and Da’vine Joy Randolph) when a picture of Joss goes viral. Later, there’ll be some tastefully shot masturbation accompanied by mild autoasphyxiation, as well as yet more tastefully shot sex that involves a swath of floaty red silk, more mild asphyxiation, and a penknife. This is just the beginning of the many, many nipples to be seen in the first few hours of The Idol. She has full autonomy over her life and body. Yet Jocelyn-generally referred to as Joss-is modern and free and reckless in a just-sprung-from-jail way. “Side boob, under boob and side flank” are all allowed, but full-on nipples? No way. She wants to show her breasts, and so she does, causing a nervous underling to protest that the photographing of nipples is prohibited by the nudity rider in her contract. That artificial coyness lasts about half a minute. We see her, made up so heavily her skin looks like latex, twisting and turning as she’s snapped by an unseen photographer, her red silk robe taped artfully to her skin to prevent any unbidden flash of nip. The Idol stars Lily-Rose Depp as Jocelyn, a Britney Spears-style pop star who’s just climbing back into the spotlight after being sidelined by a breakdown, occasioned by the death of her mother. And so a two-episode chunk of Levinson’s designed-to-shock television series premiered in Cannes on Monday evening. With outre hilarity like that, who needs Sam Levinson’s The Idol? But the festival must go on. The Cannes Film Festival loves a good scandale, and it got a mini one on Friday night when festival director Thierry Frémaux was caught, via a bystander’s cell phone, pitching a “Do you know who I am?”-style fit when a municipal police officer reprimanded him for riding his electric bicycle on the sidewalk.
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