From Vulture.com
https://www.vulture.com/article/halston-recap-episode-2-versailles.html

Halston S1 Ep 1 & 2

Halston Premiere Recap: Brand Awareness
By Whitney Friedlander


Photo: JOJO WHILDEN/NETFLIX

It seems inevitable that reviews for Halston, the new Netflix biopic about the eponymous fashion designer, will end up comparing the career of its subject to that of its most famous executive producer: Ryan Murphy. Although this miniseries is created by playwright Sharr White and based on author Steven Gaines’s biography Simply Halston, it comes as part of Murphy’s ridiculously large Netflix deal. And at this stage of his career, simply saying the name “Ryan Murphy” means something. The shows he has produced (with others) for FX like Nip/Tuck, American Horror Story, and Pose helped TV fans come to associate his name with boundary-pushing and the promise of a you-ain’t-seen-nothing-like-it story. Teen dramedies like the WB’s Popular and Fox’s Glee trafficked in the sardonic and gave that genre more bite.
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Murphy was one of the first household-name producers to make the switch to the streaming giant — Shonda Rhimes struck a deal there a few months after Murphy, and Game of Thrones creators David Benioff and D.B. Weiss followed a year later — but the programs that have come out of Murphy’s Netflix deal haven’t seen the same cachet. TV shows like Ratched and The Politician have failed to hit. The movie adaptation of the musical The Prom was both panned and criticized for not being, as Vulture wrote when it was released, “the gift to queer teens it thinks it is.”


Similarly, in the latter half of the 20th century, Halston the brand sold a contagious mixture of luxury, sex, and feminist statements. Vibrant-colored gowns and patterned caftans embraced the new era of braless beauty, while his Ultrasuede shirtwaist dresses — i.e., model No. 704 — celebrated the upwardly mobile, fashionable career woman. Meanwhile, Halston the person (who is here played by Ewan McGregor) would be seen at Studio 54 and photographed on the arms of the likes of Bianca Jagger and Liza Minnelli. He was a celebrity fashion designer and his own brand, before people actually used that term. Then he made a deal with the Devil in the form of a partnership with JCPenney. While partnerships like this may be expected — and essential — now, the move marked the beginning of his downfall.

But before any of this, he was just Roy.

A little boy from nowhere America who grew up during the Depression, young Roy Halston Frowick (played here by Maxim Swinton) started accessorizing hats with chicken feathers he found around the farm. The miniseries uses its opening shots to show that he would present his creations to his trembling mother as tokens to help her forget his alcoholic father’s latest abuse, and she’d tell him, “You are far too special for this place.”

It’s clear that Halston believed his mother’s words. He is next seen as an adult, having perfected the talents he showed at an early age to land a gig as the head milliner at New York luxury department store Bergdorf Goodman. And what a head he is now designing for: Halston is the genius who thought to put a pillbox hat on Jackie Kennedy for her husband John’s presidential inauguration. Suddenly, as with Jason Wu’s inaugural ball gown for Michelle Obama, he’s a household name and his shop is overflowing with rich wives wanting to look like they just stepped out of the new Camelot.

Halston’s brush with fame doesn’t last forever. In a few years, Kennedy has stopped wearing hats, and so have a lot of women. Knowing when it’s time to pivot, he convinces Bergdorf to let him design his own line. He also feels confident enough to buy a drink for the handsome man in the bar (Sullivan Jones’s Ed Austin).

While Ed will stick around for some time, the line’s a bust. Not knowing exactly what his voice is yet, Halston tries to put the new world of mod black-and-white prints and patterns on heavy, matronly fabric. Awkward murmuring fills the air during the show as the audience members aren’t buying it. They politely deign to clap at the end. Yet, Halston does clock something of use from the experience: a young woman in the audience who, among the sweater sets, is wearing a colorful silk hat.

While walking through New York to clear his head, Halston sees that the world is changing and there’s a divide between the wannabe astronauts’ wives of yesteryear and the flowy flower children of the late ’60s. A trip past the Metropolitan Opera Club gives him even more inspiration: Big dreams call for the best team.

In an attempt to become New York’s answer to Balenciaga, Halston quits Bergdorf and plans to set up his own atelier. But like all success stories, it’s not just about looking the part; it’s about who can help you fake it until you make it. He pleads with his friend, interior designer Angelo Donghia (Andrew Elvis Miller), who designed the Opera Club, to create his interiors at cost. The space will be boho chic and include orchids, Halston’s favorite flowers.

Illustrator Joe Eula (David Pittu) joins the group, mostly — it seems — out of curiosity to see how this thing pans out. A youth named Joel Schumacher (Rory Culkin), who before he would go on to direct the cinematic masterpiece that was Batman & Robin was designing the window displays at mod-fashion headquarters Paraphernalia, joins up even though he is completely out of his element. Elsa Peretti (Rebecca Dayan), a model and the estranged daughter of an Italian oil baron, comes on as a fit model, muse, and creative genius in her own right.

All of these people with their own talents and skill sets agree to help one man prop up his name and his vision. But what is a (wannabe) celebrity fashion designer without a celebrity friend who will wear his creations? During drinks with Joe, Halston catches Minnelli’s (Krysta Rodriguez) one-woman performance of “Say Liza (Liza with a ‘Z’).” Backstage, he tells her that her black sequined drop-waist dress and large white frilly collar look like a “Buster Brown getup” and that she needs a better look. They commiserate over wanting to step out of other peoples’ shadows (she with her mother, he with Kennedy) and strike a mutually beneficial partnership that results in her wearing one very saucy red dress.

The episode also hints at what will become bigger issues throughout the series. Halston is a genius who can make an immediately iconic design just with a couple snips of scissors. But he is also a totalitarian boss who treats his employees in ways that would make Scott Rudin uncomfortable. Joel, who came into the situation with a substance-abuse problem, can’t handle it and sneaks off to the bathroom to do speed. And it’s Elsa who almost always can fix the problem, be it figuring out that the breezy caftans Halston designs from Joel’s rich dyed prints look best when paired with a tight hair bun or simply calming the visionary down when he is too stressed out. There also always seems to be a risk of the company going under tomorrow if some wealthy wife or widow doesn’t swoop in to save it. (First it’s Karen Mason’s Mrs. Marsh, who invests $100,000 in the fledgling company as long as Halston gives her son a job. Next it’s Regina Schneider’s socialite Babe Paley, who goes berserk for the Ultrasuede shirtwaist dress).

We also see the emergence of the brand, Halston the Person. He shuts out any attempts from Ed or others to get close to him and tells half-truths like “I had a magical childhood.” (Yeah, he did. But that magic was the make-believe he created as a coping mechanism.) As his star starts to rise, he embraces an all-black wardrobe, accessorized by self-tanner, dark sunglasses, and a more domineering baritone. The little boy with the chicken-feather hat is no more, as the prototype for the aloof celebrity fashion designer has emerged.




Halston Recap: Battle Royale
By Whitney Friedlander


Photo: ATSUSHI NISHIJIMA/NETFLIX/ATSUSHI NISHIJIMA/NETFLIX

The Battle of Versailles fashion show in 1973 was one of the greatest publicity stunts ever associated with the American fashion scene. In an attempt to both raise funds to restore Louis XIV’s former abode and bring attention to American designers, Halston, as well as Anne Klein (played by Elena McGhee), Stephen Burrows (Micah Peoples), Bill Blass (Peter Gregus), and Oscar de la Renta (Juan Carlos Diaz) packed up their best work and their favorite models and headed to Europe to “compete” in an unofficial showdown against Yves Saint Laurent, Pierre Cardin, Emanuel Ungaro, Marc Bohan, and Hubert de Givenchy. The black-tie event was a media bonanza that was the brainchild of the castle’s curator, Gerald Van der Kemp, and Emily Gilmore influential American fashion publicist Eleanor Lambert (played here by Kelly Bishop).
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Halston the designer would say he only got involved because his company was popping and there was no way to keep up with demand for orders, but they also needed more revenue to hire the people to make the clothing that everyone wanted to buy. Eleanor convinces (well, really, blackmails) him to play nice with his fellow American designers and head to gay Paris.


“You’re going to come to Versailles and you’re going to blow those snobby French motherfuckers off the stage,” Eleanor demands. “They don’t respect you and they don’t respect me. Well, that’s going to change.”

But Halston the miniseries made another argument for his reluctance: He was scared. It’s easy to reach some form of notoriety and cash in because you claim no one will back you financially and that no one understands your brilliance. It’s a lot harder to try to reach even further and risk melting like Icarus as you’re cast aside when all your fancy new friends find out you’re a fraud.

Eleanor also arranges one more life-changing event for Halston: a meeting with Norton Simon chief operating officer David Mahoney (portrayed by Bill Pullman), who wants to buy the company. Halston’s hesitant about letting his beloved label fall under some corporate umbrella, but David promises him that he’ll support him as he becomes America’s version of Balenciaga.

All of this is making Halston very uncomfortable. He may roll his eyes at the four other American designers on the ticket, but the truth is that, behind those dark sunglasses, he’s intimidated by them. They all have clout and confidence. He was trying, and failing, to make the Skimp happen. He’s stressed and repressing it all.

It’s even hard for him to ask Liza Minnelli, one of his dearest friends, to come with him on this trip and perform. (Of course she’ll do it; she’ll even ask her godmother Kay Thompson to choreograph something — fitting, as Thompson played a fashion editor in the musical Funny Face).

And so Halston begins to find other coping mechanisms for his anxiety. He picks up men at hookup spots and begins to experiment with drugs. But most importantly, he meets Victor Hugo (portrayed by Gian Franco Rodriguez). Brash and aggressive, Victor is the antithesis to the controlled demeanor that the workaholic Halston wants to project to the world. Naturally, the fashion designer finds him immediately addictive — almost as addictive as the cocaine Victor has in constant supply.

Immediately upon arriving in Paris, Halston’s worst fears are realized. He sees the other American designers immediately, and there’s a frenzy for paparazzi photos. He learns that, even though it was his idea to bring Liza, she has to open the whole American portion of the presentation — not just his. And he’s not closing the show like he thought, but has to go next to last so that Oscar de la Renta can take all the final victory lap. Plus, he gets the worst workroom, some of his clothing hasn’t arrived, he’s short a handful of designs, and illustrator Joe Eula has to design a new backdrop ASAP because — stupid metric system — they sent him the measurements in meters and he designed it in feet.

It’s all too much, and Halston heads to his car to freak out in private. Liza’s sent out to calm him down, and he briefly opens up that he feels like he’s 4 years old again and his domineering father is threatening him. Liza tells him to check his PTSD and “march that tight fabulous ass back in there.”

He does, but not before taking David and Norton Simon up on the offer while also making David swear Halston the person must never be made to feel like he was “unappreciated, underfunded, unprotected, unsafe.” David gives him his word, but it’s clear neither of them are remembering that this is a business venture and not a friendship.

Back in the Versailles workrooms, Joe makes magic by using a broom and some black paint to create what looks like a giant etching of the Eiffel Tower. And, as the leaky ceiling drops water in a bucket to signal each precious second ticking by, Halston and Elsa work to create her a shining purple-sequenced monokini of an evening gown that’s only appropriate to wear in public because it’s accessorized by a black-feathered Moulin Rouge-like fan.

As the curtain goes up for the American showcase, Halston is nervous in his box seat even though he’d seen the audience dozing off earlier. It’s getting late, and the French brought out a spaceship and Josephine Baker, for goodness’ sakes. But then Liza and two dancers wake things up with a rendition of “Bonjour, Paris” and things swing upward. The audience laughs and smiles and Halston’s flowy, metalliclike gowns sparkle under the lights. He gets a standing ovation as the audience throw their programs in the air, and the spotlight swerves to shine on his own dumbstruck face. Halston blows a kiss to Liza and the models on the stage from his box seats and sits back to take it all in.

The scene ends with a callback to Halston’s first fashion show, the Bergdorf Goodman bomb after which he sat silently in the room and recalculated his career options. Here, he’s alone again in the empty theater, but with a smile on his face. Halston’s just signed a lucrative deal and has gotten the approval of Parisian society.

He’s made it. Right? Joe has his doubts, which he confides to Halston on the plane home. But Halston reminds him, “Just think what I can do.” As the designer himself pauses to ponder that, Joe slips away. Halston’s left alone staring out an airplane window, a fresh crop of his beloved orchids sitting on the seat next to him.
Loose Threads:

• In this episode, Liza puffs up her buddy Halston by saying he designed her costumes for the movie Cabaret and that he wouldn’t take credit for his work. This may be confusing to fans of FX’s 2019 miniseries Fosse/Verdon. That biopic claimed that Gwen Verdon is the one who brought in the infamous black halter top and shorts. Either way, Charlotte Flemming is officially credited as the costume designer for the Oscar-winning film.

• The show Halston and Liza are watching at his house is Liza With a Z, the Fosse-directed concert. Halston did do the costumes for that, in particular a red halter micromini.

• Speaking of the color red, there’s more of it and its symbolism of fame in this episode. Liza wears a red scarf while she practices her dance routine at Versailles. It’s casually slung around her shoulder because she’s comfortable in her position in life. De la Renta’s working on a red dress when Halston finds him. He confident he’s the most important, and most famous, designer because he gets to close the show.

• The second episode has introduced an important, memorable member of Halston’s entourage: Pat Ast. The entertainer and model was a muse of both Halston’s and Andy Warhol’s and was a B-movie icon. She’s portrayed here by Shawna Hamic.

• It’s surprising that a show about a man who sold sex and clothing has next to no nudity. I know these decisions are complex, and I don’t particularly want to see Rebecca Dayan topless during the fitting scene, but cable and streaming have made us so accustomed to nudity that not having it is almost distracting.

• This is probably not director Daniel Minahan’s intent, but the meeting of the five U.S. designers at the airport just reminds me of that showdown scene in Anchorman.