Hello Genius, It's Your Weekly Recs!
Hello Genius, It's Your Weekly Recs!Streaming the Feminine Mystique, Gator Wrasslin', Three Glorious Things with Kit Williamson, and More...
Dear Wags, We arrived fashionably late to the party on two Netflix offerings, for which we blame Hollywood’s relentless content firehose. One, the addictive America’s Sweethearts: Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, has already been seen by many millions. The other, The Only Girl in the Orchestra, an Oscar-nominated short about an 89-year-old former double bassist for the New York Philharmonic, is not exactly a binge magnet. Guess which one leaves us feeling more hopeful about the human condition. With their white hot pants, megawatt smiles, and quasi-militaristic devotion to perfection, the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders have been irresistibly compelling for generations. It’s not just about sex (though it is about sex). It’s about that old, ratings-proof cocktail of American femininity: athleticism and ambition, Jesus and shaking your booty, girl power bromides, the exaltation of selflessness, relentless competition, and a treacly sorority veneer. It’s riveting to watch these young women scramble up a slippery ladder toward stardom, greeting every tyrannical demand for excellence with a sunny "Yes, ma’am." These are likable, hardworking, All-American girls. They juggle second jobs (being part of the country’s most elite cheerleading squad doesn’t come with a fat paycheck—we’re repeatedly reminded that it’s about sisterhood and the glory of supporting the team). They buff their teeth, hair, and bodies to perform jump splits and squeeze into uniforms that never size up. And for a few fleeting moments, what they achieve is dazzling. You cannot watch these dancers and not be convinced of their sincerity. My, how they grind away at being sweet. What they balance—sparkling while blending in, kindling burning ambition beneath a spray-tanned facade, fusing a ritualized bump-and-grind with Southern ladyhood—is familiar cultural choreography. It makes for a great soap opera because we all recognize its precariousness. The women must audition again and again for a spot on the squad and, after five years, are required to retire. Their minders tell them that this gauntlet amounts to the best years of their lives. Along the way, they’re scrutinized for flaws from every pitiless angle. Are their high kicks still high enough? Did they dare to look tired? Is there something—a shoulder slump, an intractable roll of belly fat, a dimming twinkle—that doesn’t work? Yes, ma’am, they’ll fix it. It’s a glitzy, sadistic, and undeniably watchable metaphor for the American struggle—the gold-plated escalator that often leads nowhere. "I’m behind in the game of life," declares Victoria Kalina, a four-year veteran, on her 24th birthday. She celebrates alone with her mother, a former Cowboys cheerleader herself, sharing cake in a room drenched in pink. Fans of America’s Sweethearts, which debuted on Netflix last June, will remember Victoria as the most poignant cheerleader—the one who relentlessly chases an impossible ideal but falls short. She struggles with an eating disorder and depression. After making the squad for a fourth season, she’s warned not to expect a fifth. Determined to prove the doubters wrong, she initially pushes forward. But ultimately, she chooses to step away. Now, she’s in New York City, pursuing a new dream: becoming a Rockette. Good for You—go all the social media attagirls. She’s taking care of herself! She’s so brave! Such an inspiration! Or maybe, just maybe, the relentless pursuit of showbiz fantasies—the seed of unrealistic ambition planted in any impressionable soul who dares to look at a screen—is making us sick. After the pom-poms, the glitz, and the bombast of AC/DC’s "Thunderstruck," what lingers is sadness. The Only Girl in the Orchestra promotes a kinder path. Molly O’Brien’s 30-minute documentary tells the story of her aunt Orin, who became the sole female member of the New York Philharmonic in 1966. That made her a trailblazer, though she dislikes the label. Orin O’Brien, daughter of early Hollywood movie stars George O'Brien and Marguerite Churchill, watched as her parents basked in adulation—and then lost it. Her father’s slide off the A-list was particularly wrenching. As a teenager, she took up the double bass, a bulky instrument consigned to the back of the orchestra, where it supports the more glamorous ones. Despite the press coverage O’Brien got early in her career, she never wanted stardom. She loves that double bassists provide what she describes as "the floor" of an orchestral performance, providing music with its foundational depth. For 55 years, O’Brien played with the Philharmonic, happiest when not standing out. Alongside her orchestral career, she taught generations of musicians. When she finally retired in 2023, many of her students gathered to serenade her. In her ninth decade, she seems younger than many of the strivers in Sweethearts. When Molly O’Brien tries to frame her aunt’s story as one of individual triumph, Orin resists. She broke a barrier for female musicians but is proudest of being part of an ensemble. When Leonard Bernstein singled her out for praise, she bristled at being momentarily put on display. "This is my theory of how to enjoy your life incredibly," she says in the documentary. "You don’t mind playing second fiddle. I think it’s better to love something so much that you do it for its own sake and for the wonderful people you’re playing with. You’re creating something together, which is better than something alone." Let it not matter too much, but Orin O’Brien is a beautiful woman. More importantly, she is manifestly happy. Like the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, she was part of a celebrated collective, though one far more forgiving of physical imperfection. There was no brutal time limit on her life’s work, no mandate for eternal youth and glamour, no perverse imperative to chase attention at any cost. What kind of lives do we wish for our daughters and sons? We act as if everything hinges on a few frenetic seconds under blazing lights. Yet deeper truths hide in the background, woven into the stories of those who give life enduring resonance. Yours Ever,
 Manchurian CandidateParadise (Hulu). Future historians may look back at this era as the golden age of political and espionage thrillers, fueled by our mistrust of institutions and toxic politics. Dan Fogelman’s entry is among the best. Sterling K. Brown, in peak intensity mode, stars as a Secret Service agent assigned to a darkly cynical president (James Marsden). When the Commander-in-Chief is assassinated, his protector doesn’t seem all that sorry. Did he play a role in it? And what’s the connection to a powerful, string-pulling tech mogul (Julianne Nicholson)? The twists unfold in a deceptively pristine suburbia crawling with conspiracies.—Richard Paley... Continue reading this post for free in the Substack app
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