But who is an Angelina, right? The answer, as stated in Peacock’s body limited series, is «the way Angeline wants to be.» Based Articles by Gary Baum on Angelina for Hollywood Reporter and created by Nancy Oliver (True Blood, The Client is Always Dead), Angeline gleefully plays the line between personality and delusion, and does so with all the playful verve of the real figure she digs into. These are brilliant things.
«I’m not a woman,» Angeline (Emmy Rossum) coos to herself in the opening moments of the series. «I am an icon.» Her eyes are closed, her delivery is sure; in the language of our time, she manifestation. She shapes her reality, and in five episodes of Angeline, this need to control her own self-perception – and our perception from hers extends to the aesthetic fabric of the show itself. The result is a winking camp opus about the liberating power of illusion and how far you can go in fantasy if you can get everyone else to believe it with you.
Each of the series’ five episodes, directed by Lucy Czerniak («Fucking World’s End») and Matt Spicer («Ingrid Goes West,» another gripping story about a woman reinventing herself in Los Angeles), is basically the focus of attention. themselves around people – mostly men – who were pulled in by Angeline’s gravitational pull and thrown out the other side, supporting the players in her from dirt to Kings-??? story. There’s Freddy (Charlie Rowe), a himbo rocker whose up-and-coming rock band is infiltrated and quickly destroyed by Angeline Yokos to create notoriety for herself. There’s Harold Wallach (Martin Freeman), an insecure billboard printer forced by willpower to become Angelina’s manager; Max Allen (Lucas Gage), who unsuccessfully tried to make a documentary about her during her later years; Jeff Glasner (Alex Karpovsky), a fictionalized version of Baum who tries to dispassionately explore his past; the list goes on. Often we move from action to stylized Errol Morris-style talking-head interviews, explaining how Angeline eluded them or hurt them.
But then! “Ugh, disgusting,” Angelina pouts in response to a particularly obscene detail. «It made No happen.» She takes control of the narrative again, and suddenly we see things from her carefully chosen point of view. She is one of those women who invented herself, her life and her personality from a single piece of fabric and used her magnetism to evade any uncomfortable glimpses of reality that would encroach on. Angeline understands this in darkly funny detail, down to the characters from her mysterious past who vanish from the screen the moment she decides they don’t exist.