SPOILER ALERT: This review contains plot details from the first three episodes of “All’s Fair,” now streaming on Hulu.
It probably says all you need to know about “All’s Fair” that a legal drama ostensibly about women’s empowerment begins with a pilot written and directed by men. In fact, of the three episodes now streaming on Hulu to mark the series’ premiere, only one includes a major credit by a female creative — and it’s shared between executive producer Jamie Pachino and co-creator Ryan Murphy, who collaborated on the script for Episode 2. But this is a review, so I’m obligated to expand: “All’s Fair” is a clumsy, condescending take on rah-rah girlboss feminism, half-baked even by the standards of an overextended Murphy, who co-created the show with Joe Baken and Jon Robin Baitz. It’s true that the tone is intentionally camp-adjacent, and if one squints they could discern the vague outlines of a parody. But that’s little consolation when “All’s Fair” demonstrates such a low opinion of its own viewers, assuming we’ll bark like seals when fed disconnected scraps of sassy one-liners, flashy outfits and men-ain’t-shit commiseration.
Reality star turned shapewear mogul Kim Kardashian is well-cast as divorce lawyer Allura Grant in her first series lead role, because “All’s Fair” reminds me of nothing so much as another unscripted series shot in the Los Angeles area. (Kardashian’s namesake show also airs on Hulu, making “All’s Fair” an effective piece of corporate synergy, if not serialized storytelling.) As Allura, her law partner Liberty Ronson (Naomi Watts) and investigator Emerald Greene (Niecy Nash) swan around their gleaming office in impractical getups, they’re dead ringers for the cast of “Selling Sunset,” who also put on an unconvincing performance of a professional job while doing their real one, which is looking good on TV.
The trio’s law firm, which they founded a decade before the events of “All’s Fair” in a cold open that force-feeds exposition, specializes in divorce and exclusively represents female clients. Renowned attorney Laura Wasser, the tabloid-ordained “disso queen” already immortalized by Laura Dern’s Oscar-winning turn in “Marriage Story” and who represented Kardashian in her own split from Kanye West (and before that, from Kris Humphries), serves as a consulting producer. (“All’s Fair” was also the name of Wasser’s erstwhile podcast.) But “All’s Fair” is not exactly interested in exploring the nuances of family law, nor the collision of the professional and the personal when a divorce lawyer’s own marriage ends, as when Allura’s NFL player husband Chase (Matthew Noszka) decides to walk out. The premise is little more than a pretext for assembling a roster of actresses one might call Murphy’s Angels.
Allura, Liberty and Emerald turn for sage counsel to their mentor Dina (Glenn Close, in a step down from “Damages”) and square off against their sworn enemy Carrington (Sarah Paulson), as in Alexis of “Dynasty,” who of course is just bitter and jealous she’s not a part of the sorority. Even a longstanding Murphy muse like Paulson can’t elevate this material, which calls on her to spit insults like “cuntburger” and “you fucking fucks” in a constant, vituperative stream. At least she, Kardashian, Nash and Close are all credited as executive producers. If the show won’t set them up to do good work, it can give them a shiny title.
Every single client on “All’s Fair” is a variation on the same shallow story: a rich man, a wronged woman and sweet revenge. (The only time homosexuality appears in the text is still in the context of a straight divorce.) In just three episodes, this setup is repeated with such predictability it already wears thin. There’s a mildly interesting thread of casting formerly maligned, misunderstood figures like Elizabeth Berkley and Jessica Simpson as clients, but any cultural commentary is overpowered by just how cruel the show is to their characters. Berkley’s dies by suicide by jumping off a balcony outside their office window; Simpson’s goes crazy and attacks her ex with sulfuric acid. It’s like “All’s Fair” can’t help humiliating these fictional women, canceling out any attempt to elevate their portrayers.
Kardashian doesn’t embarrass herself, because her role doesn’t ask much of her to begin with. Allura exists to embody all the laziest stereotypes of what makes a strong woman: promising to “change your fucking life,” getting revenge fillers and, in one particularly cringey fantasy sequence, donning a Beyoncé-esque yellow dress to go full “Lemonade” on another woman’s car. (Said woman is played by Teyana Taylor — such a revelation in “One Battle After Another,” and so misused here as a sad-sack side piece.) Kardashian isn’t called on to project emotional depth; she’s summoned to look like a badass in hi-def and slow motion, as she could do in her sleep on Instagram.
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If nothing else, Nash gets to have fun here, a relief for the experienced comedian after the grim duet of “Monster” and “Grotesquerie” — her two most recent Murphy projects, the first of which won her an Emmy. But Watts serves as a walking reminder of “Feud: Capote vs. The Swans,” a vastly superior show and a testament to what Murphy can help bring into the world when he delegates. (Baitz served as sole writer on that season, with Gus van Sant directing many episodes.) “Capote vs. The Swans” was also, among other things, a thoughtful meditation on the complex, codependent relationship between gay men in the arts and their female subjects — considerations that never seem to have occurred to “All’s Fair,” which is luridly obsessed with women’s aging, suffering and other forms of debasement.
A procedural about divorce lawyers is a good idea, but “All’s Fair” feels like the first draft of it. The waste feels more flagrant with every pornographic shot of a Chanel bag, vintage car or over-the-top ensemble. “All’s Fair” wants to deliver wish fulfillment — a nonstop montage of middle-aged women enjoying their wealth, success and all the power that comes with them. But the show skips straight to dessert without building any connective tissue in the form of character depth or believable tension. Like all sugar rushes, the high fades fast and you’re left with a stomachache.
The first three episodes of “All’s Fair” are now streaming on Hulu, with remaining episodes streaming weekly on Tuesdays.
From Variety US