Fashion for TV shows is a bit like the restaurant industry. It’s a rich, untapped source of detail and conflict, hampered by the logistical complexities of bringing that closed world to the screen. And just as The Bear was preceded by a slew of competitive reality shows, as well as the misguided adaptation of Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential starring a young Bradley Cooper. The French drama La Maison is the latest in many attempts to create haute couture. A fascinating drama. “Project Runway” remains an unscripted project, but recent scripted efforts have ranged from the politely respectful (“Becoming Karl Lagerfeld”) to the bafflingly incompetent (also aired on Apple TV+). “The New Look”).
Unlike previous series that fictionalized the lives of icons like Yves Saint Laurent and Coco Chanel, La Maison takes liberties. Perhaps relatedly, this is the most powerful recent effort to graft fashion onto entertainment. Created and show-executed by Jose Caltagirone and Valentine Millville and executive produced by Alex Berger (The Bureau), “La Maison” invites inevitable comparisons to “Succession.” It is more frothy than it is, and does little to avoid the problems inherent in communicating creative talent and talent. Huge investment within a limited budget. But freed from the obligation to pay homage to bygone legends, “La Maison” is able to build a story around nasty, mean, and absurdly wealthy people. And rather than remaining stuck in the past, the show manages to provide a voracious look at the changing modern industry.
Just because “La Maison” doesn’t evoke inspiration from its name doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Renowned fashion house Ledu is one of the last independently owned clothing stores in France and a respected global brand. Comparable to Chanel in size and structure, but demanding designer Vincent (Lambert Wilson) is also a member of the eponymous family, just as Lagerfeld is one of the Wertheimers. The Redux family’s main rivals, the Lovell family, own France’s richest luxury conglomerate. The Lovells will be replacing the Arnaults from the giant LVMH, which was the presenting sponsor of the recent Paris Olympics. (LVMH is also parodied on Emily in Paris, the unfortunate holder of the throne of TV’s biggest fashion series. Things were dire, I told you!)
However, even if viewers don’t notice these references, there’s still plenty to catch their attention. Vincent is caught on tape going on a racist John Galliano-style rant, sparking a major PR crisis at the company. Pearl Foster (Amira Cassar), Vincent’s longtime muse and second-in-command, devises a radical plan to save Ledu. His mission was to take over Paloma Castel (Gita Hanlot), the daughter of Vincent’s late lover, and take command. Paloma and her partner Yeji (Park Ji-min) run an eco-friendly Berlin line that’s more outsider art than commerce, so her hiring is a major adjustment for everyone involved. There is.
Paloma’s ascension runs parallel to Lovell’s matriarch Diane (Carol Bouquet)’s plot to defeat Ledoux once and for all. Vincent’s younger brother Victor (Pierre Deladonchamps) has long since gone into exile, and after a sibling rift, he marries Diane’s wallflower daughter (Florence Loiret Caille). (He still maintains a long-term relationship with Pearl, though; these guys are French.) Diane decides to solidify her advantage over the snobs who disdain her newfound money. They are persistent and are looking for other targets who might be willing to help them acquire a majority stake. One is Vincent’s unstable nephew Robinson (Antoine Rennertz), a petulant nepo baby who dreams of a line bearing his name as well as his family’s. Robinson’s mother Marie (Anne Consigny) tends to ignore business in favor of her vanity art foundation, but there are potentially blackmail materials rattling around her walk-in closet.
As an American, it’s interesting to see retail giants, rather than finance or media, portrayed as the country’s symbolic elite. (The Roy parallels in “Succession” are better traced here. The Reddus family, like our favorite pseudo-Murdoch family, owns a private island and uses the family’s ) But it also means there’s something new about the tensions dug up by “La Maison.” When doing so reduces some characters to their original forms. Paloma is often used as a repository for every cliche about socially conscious youth that a writer can come up with. She can barely open her mouth without mentioning waste reduction, gender equality, and body positivity. Still, when was the last time television delved into the concept of “greenwashing,” or the slow subsumption of independent designers by international luxury brands? Or did Balmain’s Olivier Rousteing make a cameo appearance and treat the creative director like a celebrity? Casal’s Pearl emerges as a more nuanced heroine, a woman who grows from a passive model to an active executive without receiving comparable recognition.
“La Maison” is densely plotted and feather-light, packing corporate espionage and terminal diagnosis into a lengthy 10-episode spurt. (Paloma appears to be designing, launching, and producing its debut collection within weeks.) Its speed and nimbleness are reminiscent of “Call Your Agent!” Two other French-language series, “Drops of God,” have gained attention in the United States in recent years. But in a sense, La Maison is just making up for lost time. For a long time, the shows of value built around fashion were Hollywood’s version of designer sketches, hypotheticals with little execution. “La Maison” is finally ready to appear on the runway.
The first two episodes of “La Maison” are currently streaming on Apple TV+, with remaining episodes airing every Friday.
