Much like ballet itself, the television series “Étoile” experiences its own highs and lows. At times, it delights with a sharp, humorous exploration of ballet culture, a rarity for stories centered on this art form. The show largely embraces comedy, yet it remains devoted to showcasing top-tier dance, featuring excerpts from classics such as George Balanchine’s “Rubies.” Notably, the series avoids common ballet clichés, steering clear of narratives about eating disorders.
However, some moments fall flat, making one wish to rescind earlier praise. The series oscillates between captivating and disappointing scenes, sometimes within minutes of each other. Its opening sequence sets a bittersweet tone: a young girl named SuSu, alone in a dim studio, follows a ballet class recorded on a smartphone. A cleaning woman—revealed to be her mother—quietly informs her that she has just one more floor to ascend after secretly filming the company class.
SuSu laments, “I’ve barely gotten to frappés,” before fast-forwarding to petit allegro exercises. An overhead shot diminishes her as she springs across the floor, accompanied by Blondie’s “Heart of Glass,” which transitions us into a vibrant nightclub scene.
In the nightclub, an inebriated, trivial discussion about composers like Tchaikovsky and Aaron Copland spirals into a bizarre debate over which would win in a fight, followed by a detour into famous composers who suffered from syphilis.
Fortunately, SuSu returns to the ballet narrative and her role strengthens, especially after Cheyenne, the lead French ballerina, notices her as a mysterious nighttime presence and decides to mentor her.
Scenes such as the nightclub exchange can be deflating, particularly given the creative pedigree behind the show: Amy Sherman-Palladino and Daniel Palladino, known for their sharply choreographed dialogue and dynamic characters in series like “Gilmore Girls” and “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.” Their previous works often feel like a dance themselves, with dialogue rhythms that enhance character eccentricities and narrative flow. The show “Bunheads,” another Sherman-Palladino ballet-related project from 2012, also set a high bar in this regard.
“Étoile” is more anchored by its premise than by a strong plot. It follows two ballet company directors—Geneviève in Paris and Jack in New York—who agree to exchange dancers to boost ticket sales. Geneviève remarks that ballet suffered a major setback due to “the mighty reign of king Covid.”
This observation rings true, and “Étoile” frequently shines with keen, realistic details. The show slips in witty jokes with ease. For instance, when Jack learns that expensive etched Champagne flutes are being pocketed by affluent donors, he insists all further etching be halted.
An employee protests in a high-pitched voice, “But they won’t match! What are we, Cleveland?”
The series tackles many challenges faced by dance companies today, including financial struggles, difficult patrons, and internal politics, while also finding room for lighter moments, such as jokes about regional ballet. Real-life dancers also appear, including Tiler Peck, a principal at New York City Ballet, who portrays Eva—a dancer losing focus mid-performance and now shadowed by a therapist aiming to restore her confidence.
Peck’s performance is a standout; she remains fully in character and is positioned to carry episodes in the show’s already confirmed second season.
However, some main characters falter. Jack and Geneviève have more compelling solo moments than their forced banter together. Nicholas, the New York company’s aging artistic director with his affected nostalgic tone, fails to resonate as either humorous or sympathetic.
Exploring the Next Generation of Ballet
The younger cast includes Tobias, a socially awkward, supposedly brilliant choreographer whose creations lack originality. Tobias’s biggest outburst occurs during a ballet premiere when he halts the show to improvise a new version live on stage.
Much of the contemporary choreography in the series is credited to Marguerite Derricks, with contributions from Christopher Wheeldon. Tobias’s revised ballet, featuring portable barres and derivative William Forsythe influences, culminates with a passionate onstage kiss with his lead dancer—a moment that feels out of place and overly sentimental, shifting the tone toward Hallmark territory.
At the heart of the series is Cheyenne, the fierce French étoile who reluctantly moves from Paris to New York. A passionate climate activist and determined ballerina, Cheyenne is horrified by the prospect of performing Balanchine’s patriotic “Stars and Stripes.”
She dismisses potential dance partners with blunt confidence, asserting to Jack, “You think I don’t know what I need? You think I’m a baby ballerina new to the world, shoving lamb’s wool in my shoes to dull the pain? There’s no stopping the pain.”
Portrayed by Lou de Laâge, Cheyenne embodies a tender yet relentless force. She is the series’ emotional core, portraying ballet with unwavering seriousness.
Though Parisian, Cheyenne resonates with a New York sensibility reminiscent of City Ballet principal Sara Mearns, whose spirit seems woven into the show’s fabric. Like Mearns, Cheyenne’s raw dedication to ballet’s expressive honesty is palpable.
Unlike darker ballet narratives such as “Black Swan” or series highlighting eating disorders and abuse, “Étoile” opts for a narrative of resilience. The show references films like “Fame” and documentaries like Frederick Wiseman’s “Ballet,” borrowing dialogue while emphasizing a fortitude akin to that found in “Billy Elliot.” For both Billy and Cheyenne, dance is life itself.
During a performance of “The Nutcracker,” Cheyenne, who rarely falters, makes a rare slip. When the idea arises that she might become the company’s next artistic director, she glimpses a new path—a journey she has already begun as SuSu’s staunchest supporter.
Though the promotion doesn’t materialize, Cheyenne channels her energy into a new Wheeldon creation, playing himself. Her solo, “I Married Myself,” set to music by the pop-rock duo Sparks, symbolizes her complete dedication to her art.
The piece is somewhat slight and melodramatic, opening with Cheyenne’s back to the audience, arms stretched behind her like tentacles. The choreography resembles a gymnastics floor routine, with bursts of speedskating and self-embracing gestures. The solo ends with Cheyenne rushing off stage in tears, collapsing into Jack’s arms after a passionate outburst: “I don’t want to be hollow!”
The dynamic between Cheyenne and Jack echoes the familiar rapport seen in “Gilmore Girls,” yet ballet is not a source of emptiness for her—it is an overwhelming emotional force. “I Married Myself” captures a dance of restless turmoil, reflecting genuine inner conflict.
In an earlier episode, during an onstage interview with Isaac Mizrahi, Cheyenne delivers a heartfelt defense of ballet that encapsulates the show’s essence and reveals why Sherman-Palladino, a former dancer, was inspired to create it.
“Dance got into my brain,” Cheyenne explains, “like a song that won’t leave.”
She continues, “People today want to fight. They want to be angry. OK. But how do we channel that anger? How do we transform it into something better? How do we create hope when no one listens? Maybe they watch. Maybe you dance, you feel, you change the story. Dance can do that. Dance lets you rise above it all. It lets you play among the clouds.”
Throughout his life, Balanchine described himself as a “cloud in trousers,” borrowing a phrase from Russian poet Vladimir Mayakovsky. To some critics, this epitomized Balanchine’s creation of delicate, ephemeral works.
This sense of airy ephemera is essential, not only as a spectacle on stage but as a vital part of life. Understanding this reference unlocks the show’s most profound moments. As Cheyenne says, “When I dance, I want the audience to play with me, to dance in the clouds, to feel what I feel. To hear my song.”
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